“If she loses, I’ll rein her in, and we’ll spend however long it takes for it to be over braiding each other’s hair and playing with our fairy princess castles. Deal?”

“Deal,” he muttered. “But just so you know, she ain’t gonna beat Snipe, so you might wanna get your braiding shit and castles ready.”

“You’ll see.” I shot him a wink, knowing full well how great a shot Lena was.

Just then, the door opened, and Taras walked in with someone behind him.

“Hey, malysh,” he greeted, smiling warmly at me before looking at my brother. “Hunter.”

“Fedorov,” he muttered and then grinned at the man with him, who I still hadn’t seen. “Other Fedorov.”

My hands clenched reflexively on Hendrix hearing the greeting, but then Taras moved over to get Walker from Hunter, and I saw it was Dmitri, not their father, who’d come with him today.

Shuffling and scooting awkwardly so that I was sitting sideways on the edge of the bed now, I got to my feet and walked over to him, accepting the kiss on the cheek he bent down to give me.

“Dimi!”

I loved Taras’s brother. I’d only met him a few times before our relationship started, but during it he’d hung out with us, and we’d always gotten along well.

“Lapochka,” he murmured, his eyes scanning my face and nodding when he found whatever he was looking for. “You look well for a woman who was in an explosion and then had twins. How are you feeling?”

I knew what the endearment he’d used for me was because he’d used it from day one. Still, hearing him call me sweetie pie—such a cute thing for a man who looked like he did—made me grin widely like it always did.

“I’m getting the stitches in my back out in an hour, and they said they’d look at the staples from the cesarean while they’re doing it to see if they can come out, too.”

“Good news, Nell,” he said through his smile, using the name only a handful of the closest people to me used, then moving his eyes back down to Hendrix. “Govno, he looks just like you, Taras, except he has his mother’s beauty.”

Taras grunted and walked over to join us, having stolen his son back from his uncle. “That’s Hendrix, and I have Walker. Boys, meet your uncle.”

“Would you like to hold him?” I asked Dimitri softly as he stared at them both.

He lifted his eyes from Hendrix briefly to make sure I was ok with it, and then reached for him when I moved my arms closer to him.

Once he had him securely in his arms, he crossed over to the bed and sat down, his long legs touching the floor and then some, unlike my own, which dangled when I sat like that.

“Christ, he’s tiny,” he mumbled, sounding like he was scared of hurting the baby in his arms. “I swear my bicep is bigger than his head.”

More than likely it was, and this wasn’t only because the boys were premature. Both Fedorov men were tall and built like walls, so even a full-term baby’s head would probably be smaller than his bicep.

“Perfect, aren’t they?” Taras asked, his voice husky as he stared down at Walker. “I swear they change every day.”

“They are,” Dmitri agreed, his eyes still trained on the baby he was holding.

“I can’t wait for Dad to meet them.”

Those words were like ice water being poured over me. The Fedorov Pakhan meeting his grandsons? Babies that didn’t come from his son’s wife?

I felt something on my back and a voice say something, but I was struggling to breathe through the panic.

I don’t know how long it lasted, but I started to come round, aware of a big hand rubbing my back as a deep voice rumbled, “Come back to me, baby. You’re safe, Nell, come back.”

Blinking, I looked around the room and saw Dmitri and Hunter watching me with concern, both of them holding one of my sons now. Looking down, I took in the muscular legs under my own, and followed them up until I saw Taras’ face near my own, worry clouding his eyes.

“What happened?”

“You switched off, malysh,” Taras whispered, his hand still rubbing, like he needed it for himself, too. “One second we were talking, the next you were panting and staring into space.”

Grabbing the hand that wasn’t rubbing my back, I whispered urgently, “Your dad can’t meet them, Taras. He’s the Pakhan, and your kids are meant to come from your wife. He’s going to be so pissed—so, so pissed.” The words all ran together, and I watched the expression on his face change from concern, to confusion, to understanding.

It was Dmitri who spoke up first, though. “He knows, lapochka, and he’s very excited to meet them. My brother sent him some photos of them, and he looks at them all the time.”

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