Page 177 of Betrayal and Vows

"Anton!" The scream tears from my throat so violently it feels like it's shredding my vocal cords. "Anton, come back to me! Please!"

I lunge forward, but hands catch me, holding me back. "No, let me—he needs to hear me—Anton!"

"Again," the doctor orders. "Clear!"

Another jolt. Another terrible stillness.

The beep continues.

"Anton, please," I sob, struggling against whoever is holding me. "Don't leave me. Don't you dare leave me!"

But he doesn't move. Doesn't breathe. The monitor's accusation fills the room.

He's gone. He's gone. He's gone.

My knees buckle. The fluorescent lights spin overhead, and darkness swallows everything.

I wake to unfamiliar ceiling tiles and the steady beep of machines. For one blessed moment, I don't remember. Then it all crashes back—the warehouse, the blood, that horrible flatline sound.

"Anton," I whisper, my throat raw.

"Hey." A gentle voice draws my attention. Maxsim sits in a chair beside my bed, his dark eyes filled with something that looks like pity. "You're awake."

I try to sit up, but my body feels like it's made of lead. "Where's Dmitri?"

"Getting coffee. He'll be back soon."

My heart hammers against my ribs. "And Anton? How is?—"

But Maxsim's expression tells me everything I need to know. His eyes drop to his hands, his jaw tightening with the weight of words he doesn't want to say.

The sob that escapes me sounds like a wounded animal. "No. No, he can't be?—"

Hot tears stream down my face as the truth settles like a stone in my chest. Anton is dead. The man I love, the father of my child, is gone. I press my face into the hospital pillow and weep until I can't breathe.

The door opens and Dmitri's voice fills the room. "What the hell did you do to her, Maxsim?"

"I didn't do anything!" Maxsim protests. "She just asked about?—"

"About Anton," I finish through my tears, lifting my head to look at Dmitri. His usually playful face is drawn with exhaustion and grief. "He's really gone, isn't he?"

Dmitri approaches my bed slowly, like he's afraid I might shatter completely. "Lena?—"

"The baby." The words tumble out before I can stop them. "Is the baby okay?"

Something shifts in Dmitri's expression. Despite everything, a small smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. "The doctors say my nephew is his father's son. Stubborn as hell and refusing to give up."

The confirmation that I'm still pregnant should bring relief, but instead it makes me cry harder. Our baby will never know his father. Will never feel those strong arms holding him, never hear that deep voice reading bedtime stories.

Dmitri sits on the edge of my bed and pulls me into his arms, letting me soak his shirt with tears. "I'm so sorry. I'm so fucking sorry."

"What am I supposed to do now?" I whisper against his chest. "How am I supposed to live without him?"

"You live because he would want you to. You live for that baby. You live because?—"

The door bursts open, cutting off his words. A doctor in scrubs rushes in, his face flushed with exertion.

"I need to speak with you about your husband."