174

[REBECCA]
“Will you accompany us?” I turned to Nona, a pout forming on my lips.
She shook her head gently. “Lynda will be by your side. I’ll stay back and ensure everything is ready for the grand homecoming.”
Nona theatrically pressed her palm to her forehead, a sigh escaping her lips, a gesture reminiscent of Lynda’s dramatic flair. I rolled my eyes, familiar with such antics.
“So much to prepare,” Nona sighed contentedly, her expression serene.
“While Mommy is busy, we’ll welcome the baby into the world. Fair trade,” Lynda chimed in with her characteristic cheekiness.
More accurately, it would be me ushering the baby into the world.
A shiver traversed my spine at the notion, coinciding with another surge of intense pain in my back and lower belly. It was a sharp, searing sensation.
And this was just the beginning.
A tremor of fear quivered within me, panic’s tendrils gradually tightening their grip. “Lynda, promise me you won’t leave my side.”
Her calming touch on my arm provided reassurance. “I’m not going anywhere, even if you threaten to strangle me.”
“Good,” I managed to reply once reassured.
Eventually, Lynda and I embarked from the kitchen, my pace considerably slower as each step felt unwieldy. The sensation of imminent release accompanied me with each movement.
Amidst the sounds around me, a shout pierced through the air, knitting my brows in confusion.
Was that Artemy?
“I’ve got the bag!” his voice boomed.
Lynda and I strolled into the living room, just in time to witness him making a beeline for the door without so much as a glance in our direction.
Perplexed, I exchanged a quizzical look with Lynda.
With Lynda at my side, I waddled towards the entrance. Just as we stepped outside, the two cars hurriedly sped out of the driveway, as if they were being pursued by some malevolent force.
My confusion escalated. “What? Wait, what just happened?”
“Did they seriously leave without us?” Lynda’s voice dripped with frustration as she stared at the vacant parking spot. “Who’s supposed to assist with the delivery? Artemy? Brayden? Those absolute idiots.”
Rubbing my weary temple, I couldn’t help but acknowledge the chaotic mess before me.
A surge of pain shot through my lower belly, causing me to double over. Suddenly, the cars screeched back into the driveway.
Artemy and Brayden practically tumbled out of the vehicles, their haste evident. “What on earth? Why aren’t you in the car?” Brayden’s irritation was palpable.
Artemy approached me in silence, and I shot him a pointed glare. He looked sheepish, offering a quick apologetic gesture.
Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed Damian and Howard emerging from the courtyard. Their steps quickened as they approached the gathering.
“What’s the matter?” Damian’s concern was evident in his rapid inquiry.
“It’s time. The baby is coming. But she’s two days early. Is that normal?” Artemy’s words tumbled out, his hand gently cradling my stomach protectively.
Howard and Damian exchanged wide-eyed glances, momentarily struck speechless.
Just what I needed. Two more panic-stricken Mafia members.
“Artemy, two days early isn’t a big issue. I’m sure everything is fine,” I attempted to reassure, hoping to bring some calm to the situation.
Howard and Damian regained their composure.
“It’s time,” Howard murmured, a mix of apprehension and resolve in his tone.
“We’ve got this. Stay composed, everyone. Howard, we’ve navigated this before. We’ll manage,” Damian’s response carried an unexpected sense of tranquility.
Howard nodded, seemingly finding reassurance in Damian’s demeanor.
Suddenly, Damian’s previously composed facade shattered. “Where the hell is the car?”
Lynda rolled her eyes, annoyance evident on her face. “Right behind you.”
Damian’s focus returned, and he barked out a terse command. “Let’s get her in the car. Move, boys.”
Artemy gently lifted me into his arms, cradling me close. “I’ve got you, Angel.”
My arms locked behind his neck, I held on tightly as he carried me to the waiting vehicle. After settling me in the seat, he joined me, wrapping an arm around my shoulders before issuing a succinct order. “Let’s go.”
Lynda was halfway seated, legs outside the car when it accelerated out of the driveway. “Damn it!”
Brayden’s patience waned. “Pull your legs in.”
“If you can give me a moment, jerk,” Lynda retorted, her voice laced with defiance.
Resting my forehead against the curve of Artemy’s neck, I inhaled his distinct masculine scent. His scent, his expensive cologne, enveloped me, and I felt a sense of relief as tension gradually released from my shoulders.
Beneath me, Artemy remained tense, his legs like rigid pillars. One of his hands was clenched at my hip, while the other soothingly rubbed my pregnant belly.
From my vantage point, I could sense the fervent rhythm of his heart and the pulsating vein in his neck. Pressing a tender kiss to that spot, I shut my eyes, offering my reassurance in a hushed tone, crafted exclusively for his ears.
His hand paused, hovering over my stomach. I felt him draw in a series of deep breaths, yet his lips remained sealed.
The remaining journey transpired swiftly and in silence, the weighty atmosphere hanging heavy. Not a single word escaped anyone’s lips, and the tension seemed to constrict the air.
As Artemy guided me out of the car, a sense of relief washed over me like a cleansing wave. Enveloped in his arms once more, I could finally inhale unhindered as he transported us into the hospital’s embrace.
“Where can we find Dr. McCain?” his voice reverberated within the entrance hall.
The space was bustling with medical personnel and patients, all activity stilled by his vocal eruption.
“You really shouldn’t yell,” I murmured, my cheeks aflame under the scrutiny of the onlookers. Artemy, oblivious to the spectacle, remained steadfast in his quest.
“Are you Artemy Loskutov?” queried an elderly nurse, unperturbed by his growl, her demeanor more irritated than intimidated.
“Yes,” he rumbled, his gaze a menacing glare that failed to faze her.
“Dr. McCain has already prepared a room for your wife. Follow me,” she retorted before pivoting away, indifferent to the lingering impact of her words.
We trailed her toward the elevator, Artemy’s hold on me unyielding even as I attempted to extricate myself.
“Could you put me down now?” I implored softly, self-conscious of my weight.
His glare met mine, a silent standoff ensued until his countenance softened. “No,” he snapped, a vestige of primal protectiveness tinting his tone.
Well, now he sounded almost primitive.
“I can manage,” he continued, the timbre of his voice now considerably more tranquil.
Sighing, I conceded. There was no use arguing; he was resolute, and I could sense he would persist.
Exiting the elevator, the nurse directed us to a room nestled in a corner. “This entire floor has been reserved for your use,” she informed me, the weight of the statement dawning upon me.
Artemy, absorbed in his forward march, led us to the designated room. Upon entering, my preconceived notions were promptly overturned.
The expanse before me was vast, far beyond my expectations. A cluster of couches adorned one corner, encircling a coffee table. The bed, too, defied diminutiveness, easily accommodating a double frame. The pillows appeared temptingly plush, and the array of machines, delicate in comparison, neighbored the bed.
It seemed Artemy had meticulously prepared for this moment.
He eased me onto the bed, gently pressing me against the pillows. “Where is Claire?” he inquired once more, his cerulean gaze locked onto mine.
However, the nurse’s voice intervened, diverting his attention. “She’s currently in the midst of a surgery,” she responded placidly, as if accustomed to managing such inquiries.
“What? She should be here, with Rebecca. Who’s going to handle the delivery?” Artemy’s voice escalated, his control slipping through his fingers.
I rubbed my temple, observing his unraveling with a mixture of understanding and concern.
From my peripheral vision, I observed the nurse tending to the machines, only to return with a syringe. “This won’t cause much discomfort,” she whispered, administering the needle to my arm. I averted my gaze, electing not to witness the procedure. The sensation was akin to a minor prick.
Artemy, true to his nature, seized upon my grimace, his reactions spiraling into a confrontation with the nurse.
“What have you done? What’s happening?” he demanded, his agitation palpable.
Brayden’s intervention became imperative, restraining Artemy before he could launch himself at the nurse.
Oh, heavens. Someone needed to intervene. The situation teetered on the precipice of chaos.
“Sir, please, you must remain composed. I am merely executing my duties. Your wife’s contractions have begun, yet the birthing process may span several hours, contingent upon her body and the baby’s response. I’ve encountered cases where labor persisted for up to eighteen hours,” the nurse elucidated, her tone both soothing and strained.
Evidently, her patience was dwindling at an alarming rate.
“Your wife isn’t the first woman to undergo childbirth. She’s in capable hands,” the nurse mumbled before exiting the room, leaving the turbulence in her wake.
“Well,” Artemy replied, his tone carrying a mixture of defense and pride, “she happens to be my beloved partner. What’s unfolding is her inaugural experience of childbirth, you see a truly profound juncture in her life. Undoubtedly, there exists a substantial distinction in this context.”
I let out a weary sigh, allowing my head to sink into the softness of the pillow beneath me.
It was becoming increasingly evident that the journey ahead would stretch out into a considerable span of time, filled with its own set of challenges and tribulations.
A protracted and undoubtedly exhausting expedition, in the company of six imposing and heavily armed individuals deeply entrenched within the mafia’s ranks.
Ironically, these men, known for their merciless and unyielding personas, found themselves on the brink of panic when confronted with the notion of a woman undergoing the miraculous process of childbirth.