Page 56 of Crystal Veil

She nods, her lips pressed together, face pale but determined. My beautiful wife.

The drive to the hospital takes less than fifteen minutes, but every second stretches like eternity. I hold Elena's hand in the back seat, murmuring to her in Russian and English, anything to keep her grounded. Her grip tightens with each contraction, and though I know she's in agony, she doesn't scream or cry. She bears it like a queen.

But I feel like I'm splintering beside her. I would kill a thousand men to spare her this pain. I would burn cities to ash if it meant I could take even a moment of it from her. But this is something I cannot control, command, or intimidate into submission. This is life.

The SUV tears through Miami's streets, and I watch the city whiz past the bulletproof windows. The palm trees sway in the afternoon breeze, and tourists walk the sidewalks with their cameras and bright clothes, oblivious to the drama unfolding inside our vehicle. Their world continues spinning while mine threatens to collapse.

Elena's breathing grows more labored. She squeezes my hand so hard I'm sure she'll break bones, but I welcome the pain. It's nothing compared to what she's enduring.

Another contraction grips her, and she arches against the leather seat. A low groan escapes her throat, and I feel utterly powerless.All my money, all my connections, all the fear I can instill in other men mean nothing in this moment.

“We're almost there,” Artur calls from the front seat. His knuckles are white on the steering wheel. Even he's affected by this.

By the time we arrive, the staff is waiting. Artur arranged everything. The hospital wing is sealed tight. Guards are stationed at every point, vetted and cleared weeks ago. A private delivery suite. A surgical team on standby.

“Elena Rostov, thirty-eight weeks,” a nurse declares briskly. “We need to prep for delivery.”

The room transforms into structured turmoil. Nurses adjust monitors, the doctor arrives and examines Elena, and I stand beside her bed, feeling utterly helpless despite being exactly where I need to be.

The sterile smell of the delivery room fills my nostrils. Antiseptic and anticipation. The fluorescent lights buzz overhead. Medical equipment beeps and hums around us, monitoring Elena's vital signs and the baby's heartbeat.

I don't leave her side. The nurses work around me preparing instruments. I hold Elena's hand, stroking her knuckles with my thumb, whispering reassurances.

“You're doing perfectly,” I murmur, pressing my lips to her forehead. “So strong. So brave.”

She grips my hand tightly as another contraction hits and her face contorts with pain. This is beyond the reach of my influence and the scope of my power. For a man who has spent hisentire adult life controlling every variable, every outcome, this helplessness is devastating.

“How much longer?” Elena gasps between contractions.

The doctor checks her progress. “Not long now. I can see the head.”

Elena's eyes widen with a combination of pain and excitement. “Really?”

“Really,” the doctor confirms. “On the next contraction, I want you to push.”

I lean closer to Elena, my forehead almost touching hers. “You can do this. You're the strongest person I know.”

She nods, her face set with determination. This is the woman who stood up to the most dangerous men in Miami. This is the woman who chose love over safety, who built a life with me despite the risks. If anyone can do this, it's her.

“I can't do this,” she whispers during a brief respite between contractions.

“Yes, you can,” I reply firmly. “You're Elena Rostov. You've survived everything life has thrown at you. You can do this.”

She looks at me, and I see the fear in her eyes.

“We're going to meet our child today,” I whisper. “They’re going to be perfect, just like their mother.”

She manages a weak smile. “Just like their father too.”

The doctor positions himself at the foot of the bed. “Okay, Elena. On the next contraction, I want you to push again. Hard.”

Elena nods, her face set with concentration. The contraction begins, and she bears down, her face reddening with effort. I hold her hand, offering what strength I can.

“That's it,” the doctor encourages. “I can see more of the head. Keep pushing.”

Minutes stretch into what feels like hours. Elena pushes with everything she has, and I watch in amazement as she brings our child into the world. She's incredible. Stronger than any man I've ever known.

“One more push,” the doctor announces. “This is it.”