Page 78 of Married to the Bratva

Maxim strides in seconds later, his expression a mix of alarm and determination.

“Sophie?” His eyes lock on mine, scanning me for injuries, and then dart to my belly. “What’s going on?”

“The baby,” I say, my voice shaky but steady. “It’s happening.”

Maxim’s entire demeanor shifts. He crosses the room in a heartbeat, wrapping an arm around my waist to support me. “We’re leaving. Now.”

“What about work–” I start, but he cuts me off.

“You’re not staying here one second longer than necessary.” His voice is firm, commanding, but there’s a gentleness in theway he adjusts his hold, ensuring I’m comfortable. “Your clients can wait.”

Grandma nods, grabbing her walker. “Don’t worry about us. Victor and I will handle things here.”

Victor smirks. “By ‘handle things,’ she means she’ll boss me around while eating ice cream.”

“Damn right,” Grandma retorts, her smile faint but reassuring. “You deal with the work calls, I eat. We agreed that was the system.”

Another contraction hits, and I grip Maxim’s arm, my nails digging into his sleeve. He doesn’t flinch, his focus entirely on me. “Breathe, malyshka,” he murmurs, his voice low and soothing. “Time to go have a baby.”

58

SOPHIE

The hospital room is a blur of white walls, beeping monitors, and bustling nurses.

The contractions come faster now, each one stronger than the last, pulling a guttural groan from my throat.

Maxim is by my side, his hand gripping mine, solid and unyielding, like an anchor in the storm.

“Breathe, Sophie,” he says for the hundredth time, his voice steady despite the chaos. “You’ve got this.”

“Easy for you to say!” I snap, glaring at him through the haze of pain. “You’re not the one doing—oh God!”

Another contraction cuts off my rant, and I squeeze his hand so hard I’m surprised his fingers don’t break.

The doctor glances up from his position at the foot of the bed, his expression calm but focused. “Almost there, Sophie. One more big push.”

I let out a shaky breath, blinking back tears. My body feels like it’s being torn in two, but there’s a flicker of hope, a promise that the end is near. Maxim leans closer, his forehead nearly brushing mine. “I can’t do this,” I mutter, tears pouring down my cheeks.

“You’re strong enough for this, malyshka,” he whispers, his voice low and intimate. “You’ve always been strong enough.”

His words hit somewhere deep, past the pain and fear, straight to my heart. I nod, gathering every ounce of strength I have left.

“Okay,” I say through gritted teeth. “Let’s do this.”

The next moments are a blur of motion and sound—shouts of encouragement, the steady rhythm of Maxim’s voice, the unbearable pressure reaching its peak. And then, suddenly, a new sound fills the room.

A cry. A gorgeous little cry.

My entire body goes still as the doctor lifts a wriggling, squalling baby into the air. “Congratulations,” he says with a broad smile. “You have a beautiful baby girl.”

The nurse places her in my arms, and I stare down at her, my breath catching in my throat. She’s perfect—rosy cheeks, a shock of dark hair, and eyes scrunched tight as she wails her displeasure at being dragged into the world.

“She’s…” I trail off, tears streaming down my face. “She’s incredible.”

Maxim leans over me, his hand brushing my shoulder as he looks down at our daughter. For a moment, his icy exterior melts away, replaced by something totally unguarded. Awe. Love.

“She’s ours,” he says softly.

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