Page 57 of Crystal Veil

Elena takes a deep breath and pushes with everything she has left. And then, suddenly, there's a cry. A strong, healthy cry fills the delivery room.

“He's here,” the doctor announces with a wide smile. “You have a healthy baby boy.”

I watch in amazement as the doctor cleans our son and checks his vitals. He's perfect. Ten fingers, ten toes, and a powerful cry that announces his arrival to the world.

“Is he okay?” Elena asks weakly, trying to see him.

“He's perfect,” the doctor assures her. “Strong and healthy. Congratulations.”

They place him on Elena's chest, and she begins to cry. Happy tears stream down her face as she holds our son for the first time.

“Hello, baby,” she whispers. “I'm your mama.”

I lean over both of them, my heart so full it might burst. “And I'm your papa,” I murmur, touching his tiny hand with one finger.

He's so small, so perfect. His skin is red and wrinkled, his hair dark and damp. He looks exactly like I imagined he would but seeing him in person is overwhelming in a way I never expected.

“He's beautiful,” I whisper, kissing Elena's forehead. “Just like his mother.”

Elena laughs through her tears. “He has your nose.”

I can see it now. The same shape, the same slightly upturned tip. My son. My flesh and blood. My legacy.

The nurses bustle around us, attending to the medical necessities. But I'm focused entirely on Elena and our son. Nothing else matters at this moment.

Nick arrives minutes later in the family waiting area outside the delivery room. He’s pacing, chest rising and falling with shallow breaths, his gray hair damp with sweat despite the hospital’s steady air conditioning. His tie is crooked, and he clutches a brown paper bag, likely filled with Cuban coffee and barely contained panic.

Amelia follows soon after, the sharp click of her heels echoing down the sterile corridor. Through the glass, I catch a glimpse of her blonde hair twisted into a messy bun, her eyes already shimmering with unshed tears. She places her hands gently against the window, searching for a glimpse inside.

I step out and quietly invite them in. When we return, Elena turns toward me, a soft glow in her eyes as she holds the baby out to me.

“Can you hold him?” Elena asks.

I nod, suddenly nervous. I've held weapons, handled dangerous situations, and commanded rooms full of dangerous men. Butholding my newborn son feels like the most important thing I've ever done.

Elena lifts him carefully, supporting his head as she transfers him into my arms. Her movements are careful and reverent. She's been preparing for this moment just as long as I have.

And then he's in my hands. My son. Our son. My fingers shake. My arms tighten protectively. His tiny body curls against my chest, and I feel his heartbeat, soft and steady. And I break. A single tear falls, tracing down my cheek and landing on his tiny hat.

He shifts, and his mouth opens in a sleepy yawn. He doesn't cry. He simply exists, in my arms, in the circle of light around us, and I know nothing will ever be the same.

“I'll protect you,” I whisper, my voice raw. “I swear it.”

He blinks, eyes fluttering open for a moment. Hazel, like mine.

And in that moment, a vow etches itself into my bones. I will give you a world I never had. A world without fear. A world without bloodshed. A world where your mother smiles every morning and your laughter is louder than gunfire.

I study his face, memorizing every detail. The slope of his nose. The curve of his lips. The way his eyebrows furrow slightly, as if he's already thinking serious thoughts.

“He's perfect,” I murmur, and Elena laughs softly.

“He looks like you,” Amelia observes. “But he has Elena’s stubborn chin.”

This child will be strong-willed. He'll challenge me, push boundaries, and demand answers. Good. The world needs more people who refuse to accept things as they are.

His name is Niko. We chose it months ago. Just the two of us, curled in bed while the city burned outside our gates. Niko for a boy, and Ana for a girl.

“Niko Rostov.” The name feels right as I whisper it. My son. My heir. My hope.