Mile High Daddy: Chapter 30

Everything is blurry.

Pain crashes over me in waves, sharp and unrelenting, pulling me under. I can hear voices, distant and warped, but I can’t make out the words.

Hands. There are hands on me, holding me down, moving me, lifting me.

The bright hospital lights blind me.

I try to focus—on anything—but the pain is too much. My body feels like it’s being ripped apart from the inside out.

“Stay with me, kiska.”

Mikhail’s voice.

I try to hold on to it.

I feel myself being wheeled down a hallway, the cool air stinging my skin. My mother’s voice cuts through the noise—frantic, worried—but I can’t make out what she’s saying.

Mikhail’s hand squeezes mine. I cling to it, to him. “Mikhail…blood, you were shot.”

“It’s okay, kiska. I’m here, don’t worry. I’m okay.”

Then everything goes black.

The next time I wake, the world is softer.

The harsh fluorescent lights are gone, replaced by the dim glow of morning filtering through the curtains. The air smells clean, sterile, and my body feels heavy, but the pain has dulled to an ache.

My eyelids flutter open, the hospital room coming into focus.

And then I see him.

Mikhail.

He’s sitting on the bed beside me, one arm draped over my waist, his other hand cradling mine. His head is lowered, his dark hair messy like he’s been running his fingers through it all night.

I watch him for a moment.

Even in sleep, his face is tense, like he’s been on edge for hours. There’s bruising along his jaw, a faint scratch on his temple, and his shirt is untucked where I can see he’s bandaged. But I know—he hasn’t left my side.

His eyelashes flutter, and then he lifts his head, his gray eyes locking onto mine.

Relief floods his face. “You’re awake,” he murmurs, his voice hoarse, like he hasn’t spoken in hours.

I try to speak, but my throat is too dry.

The first thing I feel is the aching emptiness in my belly.

The babies.

“Where are they?” My voice comes out raw, panicked. I try to sit up, but a sharp pain slices through my abdomen, forcing me back down.

Mikhail is beside me in an instant, his hands firm but gentle as he presses me back against the bed. “Lila⁠—”

I grab his wrist. “Where are they?” My heart is pounding. My hands shake. “Are they okay? Mikhail, tell me⁠—”

For a long moment, neither of us speaks.

Then, his lips part.

“They’re beautiful, kiska.”

I freeze.

My heart stops.

Tears prickle at my eyes.

“The babies?” I whisper, my voice breaking.

Mikhail nods, his expression softening in a way I’ve never seen before.

“Yes, yes, baby, they’re perfect.”

He reaches for a cup of water on the bedside table, bringing the straw to my lips. I sip slowly, watching him.

“How long?” I manage.

He swallows, his grip on my hand tightening. “You were out all night.”

My gaze flickers over his tired, beaten face. “And you stayed here?”

My throat tightens. He stayed despite the fact that he’s injured, and he must be in so much pain. And yet, he stayed because of me.

Mikhail’s breath is warm against my temple, his hand cupping the back of my head, pressing me against his chest.

“I thought I lost you,” he murmurs, his voice low and rough, like the words are pulled from deep inside him.

I shudder against him. “You got shot because of me.”

Mikhail exhales, his grip on me tightening. “I couldn’t lose you,” he says simply, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “Not you. Not them.”

His free hand comes up, cupping my cheek, his thumb brushing against my skin with surprising tenderness.

I shake my head, my throat burning. “How did you even get me to the hospital?”

A small, humorless smile tugs at his lips. “It was mostly adrenaline.”

I stare at him. This man, this impossible, infuriating man, carried me here while bleeding out himself.

My eyes sting.

I press my forehead against his, my breath hitching.

Mikhail doesn’t move away. He just holds me closer.

A sob breaks from my lips.

“Don’t cry, kiska,” he murmurs, his voice softer than I’ve ever heard it.

But I can’t stop. My hands clutch at his shirt, gripping him like I can anchor myself to this moment, to him.

I swallow hard. “I was dreaming, and I thought I lost you.”

Mikhail’s arms tighten around me, like he’s trying to pull me into him, fuse me to his body. His jaw brushes my temple, and I feel him exhale, slow and deep, like he’s trying to keep himself together.

“You will never lose me,” he murmurs.

I pull back slightly, just enough to look at him. His face is raw, stripped of all his usual steel and coldness. His gray eyes are bare, open, filled with something so fierce it steals my breath.

My chest constricts.

“I love you.”

The words slip out before I can stop them, before I can second-guess myself.

Mikhail’s breath catches.

Something breaks in his face, something deep and devastating. And then he’s cupping my face, his thumb brushing my trembling lip, his gaze burning into me.

“I love you, kiska.” His voice is hoarse, raw. “I have since the moment I saw you.”

A sob escapes me, but this time, it’s not from fear or pain—it’s relief.

Mikhail pulls me against him again, his forehead pressing to mine, our breaths tangled, our hearts pounding in sync.

“I love you,” he murmurs again, like he needs me to believe it, to feel it.

I do.

I always have.

I squeeze his hand and grip his shirt, my fingers curling into the fabric.

“I need to see them,” I whisper, my voice shaking. “Take me to them.”

Mikhail squeezes my hand back. “They’re in the NICU,” he says carefully. “They came early, but the doctors say they’re strong. The nurses will take you to see them soon.”

The NICU.

The words send a fresh wave of panic through me.

I shake my head, trying to sit up. “Mikhail⁠—”

His hands are on my shoulders instantly, firm but gentle as he eases me back against the pillows. “You just had surgery, Lila. You need to rest for a little longer.” His voice is softer than I’ve ever heard it, but there’s no room for argument.

Tears burn my eyes. “I don’t care. I need to see them. Are they—” My throat closes. “Are they really okay?”

His expression softens.

“They’re perfect,” he murmurs. “Tiny, but fighters.”

My chest tightens.

“What…what are they?” My voice breaks.

Mikhail’s lips twitch, his fingers brushing over my cheek.

“Twin boys, kiska.”

I suck in a breath.

Twin boys.

A sob wrenches from my chest.

Mikhail leans closer, cradling my face, his thumbs brushing away the tears before they can fall. “They’re waiting for you,” he whispers. “But they’re safe. And they’re ours. And you’ll see them soon, I promise.” He strokes his thumb over my hand, watching me carefully as I try to calm my racing thoughts. “Rest, kiska,” he murmurs, his voice low, almost soothing. “The nurse will take you to see them later.”

I want to argue. I need to see them now. But exhaustion pulls at me, my body still weak from everything it’s been through.

Mikhail must see my hesitation because he leans in, pressing a kiss to my damp forehead.

“They’ll be there when you wake up,” he whispers.

I close my eyes, the steady beat of his heart beneath my fingers the last thing I remember before sleep claims me.

When I wake again, the room is dimly lit, and Mikhail is no longer beside me.

Instead, my mother is sitting near the bed, a soft smile on her lips. Mikhail is on the couch, his lips drawn into a line. But at least his head wound is covered.

“Mom.” My voice is hoarse, but she reaches for my hand, squeezing it tightly.

“I’m here, sweetheart,” she says. “How are you feeling?”

Before I can answer, I notice another figure standing near the doorway.

Alex.

Or…Alexei?

The sight of him stirs something deep in my chest—confusion, frustration, and a dozen unanswered questions.

I sit up too fast and groan as pain lances through my abdomen. Mikhail rises and places a firm hand on my shoulder. “Slow down,” he mutters.

I barely hear him. My gaze is locked on Alex. I turn fully toward him, trying to sit up, ignoring the dull ache in my body.

“So…are you Alex or Alexei?”

A beat of silence.

He exhales, rubbing the back of his neck.

“About that—” my mom starts, but I cut her off, turning to face her instead.

“You know him?”

My mother sighs, her grip tightening on my hand. “Lila, Alexei is my cousin.”

The words hit me like a slap.

“What?” My breath catches. “You—what do you mean? Since when?”

She swallows, her face unreadable. “Since forever. My family…you already know I came from a Bratva bloodline before I left. Alexei’s father and I were close before everything changed. When I realized the situation with Mikhail, I reached out to him.”

I blink. My mind is racing.

“You reached out to him?” My throat tightens. “Why?”

She exhales. “To protect you.”

I freeze.

My mother’s voice is gentle, but firm. “I didn’t trust your father. And I didn’t know if Mikhail was as dangerous as the men who came before him. So I asked Alexei to watch over you.”

My gaze snaps back to Alexei.

His expression is unreadable, but there’s something almost hesitant in his posture.

“Everything was going fine,” he says, his voice measured. “Until the night Mikhail was attacked.”

I stiffen. “The night I left?”

He nods. “I was blamed for it,” he says. “Mikhail’s enemies wanted to turn him against me. So I left town before things escalated.”

I left Mikhail wounded and bleeding. A lump forms in my throat, guilt curling through my ribs.

I shake my head. “So you came to Camden Hill…”

Alexei nods. “To watch over you. On your mother’s request.”

I stare at him, my thoughts racing. “And Ryan?” I ask.

He exhales, crossing his arms. “Ryan was involved with one of the crime families.”

I frown. “Which one?”

“The Giordanos,” he answers. “They’re based in Chicago, but they have connections everywhere.”

A shiver runs down my spine.

Ryan. The guy I thought was just some random finance guy—he was involved with them?

Alexei continues, his voice steady but edged with something colder. “He tried to recruit me, wanted me to work with him on a deal, but I turned him down.”

“Why?” I ask, my fingers tightening on the blanket.

His mouth quirks slightly. “Mostly because I didn’t want to blow your identity.”

My stomach flutters uneasily.

Ryan had been right under my nose this entire time. My instincts about him were right.

“Also, he was a jerk,” Alexei adds casually. “The guy thought he was untouchable.”

I swallow hard. “And the deal?”

Alexei leans against the chair, watching me carefully. “He stole a shipment from his own boss. Wanted to smuggle it out through the Canadian border.”

My mother inhales sharply. “So that’s why he was in Camden Hill?”

Alexei nods. “Yeah. He thought a small town would be the perfect place to lay low and move product without drawing attention. Problem was—he owed Evans money.”

“So my dad knew Ryan was in town, and he used him to try to kill Mikhail?” I say.

“Exactly,” Alexei says. “Evans had been looking for an opportunity, and Ryan was desperate. It didn’t take much for Evans to recruit him. Ryan thought he could play both sides—run his smuggling operation and take out Mikhail in one go.”

I feel sick. I press a hand to my belly, suddenly grateful that Mikhail found me when he did. If he hadn’t⁠—

I shake the thought away.

It’s too much to process at once.

I exhale sharply, pressing a hand to my forehead.

It doesn’t change what happened, but suddenly, things feel…different.

The enemy wasn’t Alexei.

It was always my dad.

“I still don’t buy it,” Mikhail says, stepping forward.

Alexei doesn’t flinch. He just tilts his head slightly, something almost amused flickering in his gaze. “I don’t expect you to,” he admits, folding his arms. “I did cause a lot of damage to your warehouses. I wanted control of New York. You were in my way.”

Mikhail’s jaw tics.

“But in a way,” Alexei continues, his voice quieter, almost thoughtful, “I admired you.”

Mikhail watches him for a long moment, his expression impassive, unreadable.

I can see it—the calculation, the weighing of whether Alexei is worth trusting now, after everything. I hold out my hand, slipping my fingers into Mikhail’s warm, strong grasp. His muscles tense, but he doesn’t pull away. When his gaze flickers to me, I shake my head.

Mikhail exhales sharply, his fingers tightening around mine before he finally speaks again.

“We’ll deal with this later.” His voice is low, firm, final.

Alexei just smirks. “Looking forward to it.”