Page 132 of Married to My Sis’s Bratva Fiancé

He stared at me for a few seconds, then his gaze dropped to my belly.

"The baby?"

"Fine. I'm fine too." I hit the call button, and tears spilled anyway.

His mouth curved, barely there.

The doctor and nurses rushed in. I stood off to the side while they checked his pupils, blood pressure, and the wound. Kiryan kept frowning, clearly hating not being in control, but he didn't try to force himself upright.

The life he'd lived made him good at swallowing pain. It also taught him when to listen.

When the room finally settled again, he held a hand out to me.

Not an order.

Just his palm up, waiting for me to choose.

I put my hand in his.

His fingers closed instantly, gentle, like he was afraid I'd change my mind.

"The warehouse?"

"It is over. Matteo and Isabella are both dead."

Something dark passed through his eyes, like he'd watched a door that had haunted us too long finally slam shut.

"You saw her shoot?" I asked.

"I saw it."

"So you ran in."

"I did."

"You could have died."

"I knew."

Heat flared in my chest all over again.

"You always do that. You decide, and everyone else just has to live with it."

He didn't argue.

"I'm sorry."

Hearing that from Kiryan hit me harder than any gunshot.

"I don't regret taking that bullet," he said, watching me. "But making you watch me fall—making you carry that fear—I made the choice for you again. I owe you an apology."

My breath stuttered.

That was the change.

Not kneeling. Not buying my paintings. Not throwing his whole organization onto a negotiation table.

He finally understood protection and control weren't the same thing.