Page 70 of Pregnant Prisoner By the Bratva
Everything was fine—peaceful—like the calm before the storm.
And then, it happened.
A painful gasp tore from her throat, her fingers clawing at my shoulder. I felt the way her muscles locked tight beneath my grip, her body stiffening as she stumbled backwards. Her hand snapped back to grip the edge of the nearest dresser, the other flying to her belly.
“Ester?” Her name dropped from my lips, my tone dripping with urgency.
Her face contorted in pain, eyes wide with arched brows as a painful sound escaped her mouth, half-whimper, half-gasp. She spread her legs apart with one reflexive move, her lips trembling.
Like lightning, I appeared by her side, worried and confused, my hands holding her by the elbow, steadying her weight. “Hey, hey, hey—what’s wrong—what is it?” The words tumbled out of my mouth in a rush.
She gripped my shoulder, gasping for breath, her face twisted in agony. “It’s happening,” she said, her shaky voice barely above a whisper.
For a second, I froze. Blank.
“Ian, the baby’s coming!” she snapped, smacking me across the face.
The slap reset my brain, and I blinked back to the present, muttering “Fuck.” My wife was going into labor. I straightened, glanced back at the door, and bellowed, “Olga!” My voice echoed loudly, thick with helplessness and urgency.
As though she were on standby outside the door, the housekeeper burst into the room. The moment she spotted Ester, she turned around and called out to the other maids.
Seconds later, three others rushed in and together, they helped my wife to her feet. While they offered words ofencouragement to her, I rushed to the door and looked out the hallway.
“Maxim, get the car ready, now!” I ordered, my voice loud and clear.
I didn’t see him, but I heard his response from downstairs. “Yes, Boss!”
“Breathe, Ester,” Olga urged her. “Just breathe, okay?”
I threw my hands into my hair, completely disoriented as I watched Ester struggling to move her feet. I’d fought many battles in my life, but none of them had spooked me the way Ester’s labor did.
Truth be told, I was fuckin’ scared—for her life and the baby’s. My wife was clearly in so much pain, and watching her scream did more damage to me than I thought.
It took ten long minutes to get her downstairs, but from there, it was a lot easier to get her into the backseat of the car. I wanted to drive while Olga sat with her, but she wouldn’t let me.
I tossed the keys to Maxim, and he took the wheel. Seconds later, I slid into the vehicle, with Olga and I sitting on either end of the backseat and Ester in the middle.
“Maxim, drive. Now!” I barked.
He started the engine and drove out of the estate, tires screeching against the asphalt.
“Ian?” she called out, her voice weak and tired.
“I’m right here,” I said, my hand locking around hers, my voice almost like a vow. “I’m not going anywhere.”
***
The delivery room was a blur of harsh lights, rapid voices, and sharp commands. Time seemed to stretch and fold in on itself.
I couldn’t possibly imagine the pain she was going through at the moment—couldn’t relate to it in any way at all.
Ester was sweating profusely, her face red—twisted in agony. She’d lost her voice from all that screaming, her weak body trembling, her breathing ragged. Her dampened hair was plastered to her forehead, her grip tightening around my fingers with a kind of strength I didn’t know she had.
Ironclad. Fierce. Unyielding.
She didn’t let go, didn’t loosen her grip, and I stood right there beside her, stone-faced but strung tight. Leaning in, I whispered the words that I could think of. “You’re almost there.” I brushed damp strands from her face. “You’ve got this,lyubimaya. I’m right here.”
The female doctor delivering the baby glanced over the hospital bed. “Ester, I’m gonna need you to push a little bit harder, okay?” she said, her voice steady and polite.
