Page 45 of The Bratva's Knocked-Up Bride

“You should’ve been more careful,” she murmurs, her voice steady but laced with an edge of worry.

Despite the pain, I let out a low chuckle, drawing her gaze back to mine. “I know. But you should’ve seen me, Gwen. I was like a goddamn superhero.”

Her expression softens, and for a moment, I see the playful light return to her eyes. “Superheroes don’t get hurt, Roman.” She teases, and I roll my eyes.

She disappears into the kitchen, rummaging through the drawers and returning a minute later with a first aid kit. While my siblings talk in the background, Anya guiding Riley upstairs to get cleaned up, Gwen retrieves a pair of scissors, carefullycutting away the fabric of my shirt to expose the wound. I grimace slightly, more at the vulnerability than the pain. I’m used to being the one in control, the protector. Yet here I am, sitting on the couch while she plays the role of my caretaker.

“I’d be more worried if I were you,” I tease, trying to lighten the mood. “You’re about to witness my transformation into a full-blown mutant.”

“Funny,” she replies, her tone flat as she dabs antiseptic on the cut, and I can’t suppress a hiss of pain. “This is going to sting a bit.”

“Great,” I mumble. As she works, I can’t help but admire her concentration, the way her brow furrows and her lips press into a thin line. This is the woman I’ve grown to love—the fierce nurse who puts her patients first, even when they’re stubborn as hell.

Love. I don’t even realize I think it until I catch myself after the fact. The word appeared so casually in my thoughts, and I washed over it without even realizing it.

But the word didn’t feel wrong. It fit.

Pushing those thoughts aside temporarily, I reach out and take her hand, needing her to know I’m okay, that I’ll always be OK as long as she’s here. “Gwen, I’m fine. Just a scratch. The real hero is the one who held it together while I was out there risking my life.”

Her eyes narrow, and she shakes her head, a smile ghosting across her lips. “You’re such a dork.”

“Dork? I prefer the term ‘maverick.’”

“Whatever you say,Maverick.” Her tone shifts as she gently stitches the wound, her fingers deftly guiding the needle through my skin. “But if you pull a stunt like this again, I’ll makesure you don’t leave the house without a bodyguard. You need to think about the people who care about you.”

“I can’t promise that,” I reply, my voice low. “I’ll always put myself in danger if it means keeping you and your friends safe. You know that.”

“I do know that,” she replies, her voice softening. “But there’s a line, Roman. You can’t sacrifice yourself.”

I want to argue, but something in her gaze stops me. She’s right; I can’t keep pushing myself like this. But every time I look at her, I know the risks are worth it. “I’ll try to be more careful. For you.”

“Good,” she replies, her lips curving into a soft smile as she finishes stitching me up. “Because I don’t want to have to keep stitching you up like this. It’s too much stress.”

“Maybe I like the attention,” I tease, winking at her.

She rolls her eyes, but there’s a lightness to her expression that pulls me in even deeper. I reach for her, pulling her close, my hand wrapping around her waist. She fits against me perfectly, like she was made to be here as we belong together.

“Roman,” she starts, her voice wavering slightly. “I keep thinking… What if something happened to you? I can’t bear the thought—”

“Shh,” I interrupt gently, brushing a thumb over her cheek. “Nothing’s going to happen to me. I’m too stubborn for that.”

Her eyes glisten with emotion, and I feel the weight of the moment settle between us. I lean in, capturing her lips with mine, pouring everything I feel into the kiss. It’s slow at first, filled with relief, gratitude, and a promise that I’ll always come back to her.

When we finally pull away, she looks breathless, and I can’t help but smile. “You know I’ll always come back to you, right?”

“Yeah,” she whispers, and I can see the weight of her worry begin to lift.

“Good,” I say, pulling her back into my embrace. “Because I don’t plan on going anywhere.”

As she settles against me, I can feel the tension between us shift into something warmer, something more intimate. It’s moments like this that remind me why I fight, why I push through the pain. For her, for the life we’re building together.

A sudden thought hits me, one I’ve been wrestling with since we got married. “Gwen, about what happened with your friend…”

She pulls back slightly, concern flickering across her face. “What about it?”

“I’m proud of you,” I say, my voice steady. “You didn’t hesitate. You fought for her, and that’s something to be proud of.”

“I just wanted to help,” she replies, and I can see the guilt creeping back into her expression. “I didn’t want her to think I abandoned her.”

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