Page 116 of Savage Vows
The bright hospital lights sting my eyes. Everything smells like antiseptic, rain-soaked clothes, and fear slowly draining away. Samie is whisked off by nurses, wrapped in blankets, her face barely visible. I catch Adriana’s hand and she sits beside me as the ER staff tape gauze to my arm, working fast, murmuring toeach other about stitches and blood loss. She winces when they swab the wound and I reach for her hand, squeezing it.
“You okay?” I ask, searching her face.
She hesitates. “Just a little pain in my side.” She tries to smile, but it falters. A nurse pauses, glancing at her.
“Are you pregnant?” the doctor asks, quick and direct.
Adriana nods, brushing damp hair out of her face. “Yes.”
“Have you had your first ultrasound yet?”
She shakes her head, looking nervous. “Not yet.”
The doctor’s voice softens. “You might want to get that checked out, just to be safe. I can arrange it tonight.”
She glances at me, worry flickering across her eyes. I squeeze her hand again. “Let’s do it,” I say. “We’ll do it together.”
After my stitches and painkillers, we move upstairs. The halls are quiet, the hospital oddly peaceful after everything—the violence, the running, the fear. Someone hands me a pair of scrubs to replace my bloody shirt. Adriana sits beside me, holding my hand the whole time, thumb tracing over my knuckles.
Soon, a nurse calls her name. “Right this way, Ms. Volkova,” she says. Adriana blushes at the name, but I see something like pride in her eyes.
They wheel her into a softly lit room, a sonographer waiting, screen flickering blue and gray. I sit by her head as she lies back, belly exposed, her shirt pulled up to her ribs. The gel is cold when the nurse spreads it, making her laugh, shaky but real. Islide my hand into hers. I feel the tremor in her fingers, but this time it isn’t from fear.
The sonographer places the wand against her stomach and turns the monitor toward us. There’s silence at first, just the hum of the machine, Adriana’s breath catching, my own heart thumping in my ears. The screen fills with shadow and light, shifting shapes. Then, a flicker, a tiny, pulsing dot, bright and alive. The sound bursts into the room—a steady, rapid heartbeat, impossibly strong and fast.
“There,” the sonographer says softly, smiling. “There’s your baby.”
Adriana lets out a shaky breath and brings her hands to her mouth. Tears spring to her eyes. “Is that?—?”
“That’s your baby’s heartbeat,” the nurse says. “And—” She moves the wand gently, tilting the image. “Everything looks healthy so far. You’re early, but the heartbeat is strong.”
I can’t take my eyes off the screen. That flutter, that rhythm—my child, our child. All the pain in my arm, all the wounds and fear of the last weeks, it just…drops away. There is only this: Adriana’s fingers gripping mine, her breath hitching as she tries not to sob, the echoing sound of that tiny heart drumming out hope into a room full of strangers.
She laughs, the tears spilling down her cheeks. I wipe them away with my thumb, and for the first time, she doesn’t flinch at my touch. I bend over, pressing my forehead to hers. “That’s ours,” I whisper. “We made that.”
She nods, laughing through her tears. “I was so scared, Dante. I thought I’d lost everything.”
“You haven’t lost me,” I say quietly, kissing the salt from her cheek. “You never will. You gave me something I never knew I wanted.”
The sonographer prints a picture and hands it to Adriana. She stares at the tiny shape—barely bigger than a peanut, curled up, perfect. I kiss her temple, and for a long time we just sit, arms wrapped tight around each other, the monitor still humming, the baby’s heartbeat filling the space with a music I never want to forget.
We’re both quiet for a while. Adriana turns the image in her hand. “I didn’t think I’d ever feel happy again,” she says. “I didn’t dare hope.”
I brush her hair back, holding her close. “It’s over now. You’re safe. Our baby is safe.”
She pulls me down and kisses me, slow and full of everything she can’t say. I let myself sink into her, into the warmth and the promise of this new beginning.
When we finally part, she’s smiling through her tears. “Let’s go home, Dante.”
I smile back, heart full in a way I never thought possible. “Anywhere you are is home.”
EPILOGUE
ADRIANA
The church isall soft gold and stained glass, sunlight streaming through old windows to pool in jewel-colored puddles on the stone floor. Incense lingers in the air. The bell echoes across the hills, carrying the promise of something new. It’s small—just the way I wanted it. Not one of the grand cathedrals of the city, but a country parish nestled between wild meadows, a place where secrets feel far away and every prayer sounds like hope.
Dante stands beside me at the altar, holding our daughter. He’s never looked more at peace, even with the nervousness he pretends to hide as the priest begins the service. His suit is black, pressed, but his tie is a shade of pale blue that I picked out because I liked it on him. Our little girl is wrapped in lace, the christening gown borrowed from Bella, soft and old and stitched with careful hands.
