Page 50 of The Bratva Queens' Kings

I need to see Roman.

Approaching the bedside, I can hear Roman's breaths—shallow and laborious—cutting through the stillness. Bandages wrap his torso, stark white against his skin that's too pale, too still. Every instinct in me wants to reach out, touch him, assure myself he's real and alive.

"When will he wake up?" The question slips out, edged with a raw need for more good news.

The surgeon, glancing back from the doorway, offers a weary smile. "Soon, he should be coming around in the next few hours. He’s strong, made it through the worst part."

Nodding, I move to Roman's side, my fingers finding his. His hand is limp. It feels unnatural to see him so still, so vulnerable under the harsh, sterile lights of this backroom clinic.

The hours crawl by. I stand there, holding Roman's hand, watching his face for any sign of waking. Occasionally, I stroke his hand, whisper to him about trivial things, about the mess we’re in, about how I need him to wake up and face it all with me.

Then, finally, the miracle I've been praying for in quiet desperation; Roman's eyelids flutter. It's just a twitch, at first, but it ignites a fire in my belly. "Roman?"

His eyes crack open, unfocused and dull with pain, but they're looking at me. "Lana," he breathes out, his voice a raspy thread. "You're okay?"

I nod fiercely, swallowing past the lump in my throat. "Yeah, I'm here.

“Julia… Is Julia okay?”

His concern for Julia, even now, is typical Roman—always thinking about others before himself.

"Yeah," I reply, brushing a strand of hair from his forehead. "She's been through hell, but she's tough. Like you."

His lips twitch, a shadow of his usual smirk. "Knew she'd be alright." He tries to lift his hand, maybe to return the gesture, or maybe just to prove he can, but he winces with the movement.

"Don't move too much. You're not invincible, you know?" I chide softly, settling his hand back down.

Roman's smirk fades into a grimace. "Tell that to the bullet," he murmurs, his eyelids heavy as they struggle against the pull of medication and exhaustion.

Grigori and Luca step back into the room.

“Good to have you back, brother,” Grigori rumbles.

"Missed me that much?"

"We’ve had a quieter time without your wisecracks," Luca chimes in.

"So, Grigori, that scratch of yours—walking it off?"

Roman’s attempt at humor is a balm to my soul, a sign that maybe, just maybe, things could inch back towards normal. Or as normal as it ever gets in our twisted world of loyalties and vendettas.

Grigori chuckles, the sound deep and genuine. "Yeah, it was nothing. Just a little love tap, courtesy of our friends."

Luca leans against the wall, folding his arms as he watches the exchange. "Speaking of our friends, Perez really thought he could stir the pot. Saw Lana's pregnancy as a weakness, thought he could fan the flames of jealousy in Roman by framing him. Even went as far as planting money in Roman’s bank account."

Roman’s eyebrows raise, “Hope the bastard doesn’t think he’s getting that back."

Luca's response comes quick, his smirk sharp as a knife. "Last I checked, dead men don't need cash."

We chuckle at Luca's comment. Roman shifts slightly on the bed. "Look, all I did was call to check on Lana and the little one," Roman starts, his voice firmer now, despite the lingering grogginess from his ordeal. "I just wanted to hear their voices, make sure they were alright. But when I got Julia on the phone and heard what was happening, I knew I had to act."

Luca shakes his head, his tone teasing but with an undercurrent of admiration. "You and your damn heroics. Heard a distress signal and off you went, no plan, just guns blazing. Impulsive and stupid, man."

Roman grins, accepting the jab with a nod. "Guilty as charged. But hey, it worked out, didn't it?"

I take a deep breath, the weight of the past few days settling on my shoulders as I face Roman. "I'm sorry for doubting you. And for not handling things... more gracefully."

Roman shakes his head slightly, dismissing her concerns with a wry smile. "Don't worry about it. I was acting like an ass, and honestly, a bit of a crazy jealous nutjob."

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