Page 53 of Bratva Baby

“Does that… Does that mean you won’t kill my father?”

I stiffen, recalling the vow I nearly made to put a bullet between that man’s eyes. My anger reignites, but then I think of her standing here, trembling with news of our child, and it cuts through the vexation. With a sigh, I force myself to speak calmly. “As long as he keeps his distance. He stays out of our way, he stops meddling, and he never hurts you or our baby… I won’t kill him.”

Relief slackens her face, and she slumps as though a weight lifts from her shoulders. “Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me yet. He’s on thin ice, Seraphina. If he does anything else to threaten us, I can’t promise to spare him again.”

“I understand,” she whispers as her eyes glisten with tears she’s trying not to shed.

Without even thinking, I reach for her hand. “We should verify everything with a doctor. Make sure everything is okay.”

She looks startled by my suggestion. “We? You want to come with me?”

“This child is mine too, and I intend to be there for whatever happens next.”

“Alright,” she agrees, nodding slowly. “I have an appointment set for next week.”

I almost insist on going right now, but we’re well past office hours. Instead, I take a deep breath and force myself to relax. My body aches, and the adrenaline of the last few days seeps away, leaving exhaustion behind. But I can see she’s as exhausted as I am, if not more. Her eyes droop, and dark circles mar the pale skin beneath them. She hasn’t slept much, if at all.

I squeeze her hand and step back, trying to find the right words. It’s a strange feeling, being unsure what to say. After all, we’re not exactly the lovey-dovey sort. “Let’s go to bed.”

***

We arrive at the doctor’s office under the watchful eyes of two of my most trusted men, including Anton. Seraphina insists they wait outside while we handle this privately, and I yield. This place feels so cold and sanitized. I never pictured myself here like this, guiding my wife to an exam room to confirm we created a life together.

A nurse in pastel scrubs leads us to a small room, instructing Seraphina to change into a gown. I stand by the door, uncertain where to place my hands. She disappears behind a curtain, and I hear the rustle of cloth as she changes. My mind flashes through every scenario—what if something’s wrong with the baby? What if her father tries to use this as leverage? I wouldn’t put it past the asshole.

My teeth grind at the thought. No one touches her. No one touches our child. If Evan so much as breathes a threat, I’ll do whatever’s necessary.

The door opens again, and the nurse returns with a cart of equipment. She sets up a monitor and asks me to step aside so she can start the procedure. I comply, watching Seraphina settle onto the exam table with a sheet draped over her lower half.

The nurse applies some gel across Seraphina’s abdomen and explains the process. I listen intently, more anxious than I’ve ever been, which is saying something for a man who’s seen his share of violence. The machine emits a low hum, and an image appears on the screen.

Seraphina’s eyes lock onto that screen, unblinking. The nurse points to a small little object shaped like a lima bean. “There. That’s your baby’s heartbeat.”

My own heart stalls. A flutter of movement pulses on the grainy screen, so small it hardly seems real. Seraphina’s face crumples with emotion—relief, awe, maybe fear. I step closer, swallowing the lump in my throat. That little lima bean is ours. Something we made in the midst of betrayal and chaos.

The doctor joins us a bit later and confirms everything appears healthy for how far along she is. She rattles off some guidelines—prenatal vitamins, a balanced diet, avoiding stress. I almost laugh at that last part, given our lives. But I store the advice away, determined to figure out how to shield her from the storms that plague our world.

When it’s over, the nurse leaves us with a small printout of the ultrasound. Seraphina clutches it like it’s the most precious thing in existence. I stand by her side, uncertain how to articulate the level of protectiveness and vulnerability swamping me.

She glances up with tears brimming in her eyes. “Everything’s okay.”

“So it seems.” My gaze roams over the printout, a blurry snapshot of something that will anchor us together for the rest of our lives—or shatter us if we’re not careful.

Returning home, I hardly have time to process the relief before my brothers corner me. News travels quickly in this household. They at least wait until we step inside to greet us in the foyer with a barrage of questions and congratulations.

Aleksei slaps a hand on my shoulder, making me tense. “You’re really joining the dad club now?”

“I guess so,” I answer, though a part of me warms at his enthusiasm. He’s balancing his own brood of triplets. If anyone knows how to handle fatherhood in this insane world, it’s him.

“Congratulations, brother,” Dmitri tells me.

Akim comments, “So we’ll have another Barkov running around soon. Is the city ready for that?”

Maksim, who is across the room, leaning against the wall with his usual aloof stance, smirks. “We’ll need to baby-proof your entire mansion, you realize that, right? Kid’s gonna be climbing everywhere in a year or two.”

Nikolai approaches Seraphina directly. “Are you feeling alright? Do you need anything?”

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