Page 84 of The Pakhan's Captive
“He’s shivering because his body is fighting the infection,” she explains, standing up to grab a bowl of water and a cloth from the dresser. “It’s normal. Please, stop pacing. You’re making him restless.”
I don’t stop. I can’t. I pace from the window to the door, back and forth, my hands buried in my hair. Every time Theo lets out a small, whined groan, I flinch. I feel like the walls are closing in. I’ve seen men bled out in front of me. I’ve seen limbs lost and lives ended in the blink of an eye, and I never lost my cool. But this? This tiny boy, struggling to breathe in a bed that looks too big for him? It’s stripping the skin right off my soul.
“Where is the doctor?” I roar into the phone when the house physician finally picks up. “Get up here now. If you aren’t at this door in sixty seconds, I will have Lyosha drag you here by your throat. My son is burning! Do you hear me? My son!”
I slam the phone back into the cradle and rush back to the bed. I grab the cloth from Lena’s hand, nearly knocking the bowl over.
“I’ll do it. Let me do it,” I mutter. I press the cool cloth to Theo’s face, but my hands are too heavy, too clumsy. I’m trying to be gentle, but I’m vibrating with a frantic, wild energy.
“Razvan, you’re pressing too hard,” Lena says softly, reaching out to steady my wrist.
“I can’t lose him,” I whisper. The words tear out of my throat, raw and bleeding. I look at her, and for the first time, I don’t care if she sees the wreckage inside me. “Lena, look at him. He’s so small. If his heart stops…I can’t. I won’t survive it.”
“He’s not going to die,” she says, but I’m not listening anymore. I’m spiraling. I’m falling down a dark hole where every bad thing I’ve ever done is coming back to collect the debt.
“This is it, isn’t it?” I start pacing again, my voice rising. “This is the price. For everything I did to you. For the men I buried. God is taking him to get back at me. He’s taking the only good thing I’ve ever had because I don’t deserve to be a father.”
“Razvan, stop it,” Lena pleads, standing up to block my path. “That’s not how this works. It’s just a virus.”
“I wasn’t even there!” I shout, the grief finally breaking through the anger. I stop and lean my forehead against the cold glass of the window, my shoulders heaving. “I wasn’t there when he was born. I didn’t see his first steps. I spent three years being a ghost while he was growing up, and now that I finally have him, he’s slipping away. I haven’t even heard him call me ‘Dad’ yet. Not once. He calls me Superman. He thinks I can do anything, but I can’t even stop a fucking fever!”
I turn around, and I can feel the hot, stinging tracks of tears on my face. I’m a grown man. I’m the Pakhan of the Moscow Bratva. And I am sobbing in a nursery because I am terrified of a toddler’s temperature.
“I love him so much it feels like my chest is being ripped open with a dull knife,” I choke out, stumbling toward her. “I didn’t know it would be like this. I thought I could just own him, likeI own everything else. But he owns me. Every breath he takes is mine. If he stops breathing, I’m dead. I’m already dead, Lena.”
I sink to the floor, my back against the bed frame, my head in my hands. I’m a mess of raw nerves and useless power. I’ve never felt smaller. I’ve never felt more human.
Lena drops down beside me. She doesn’t laugh. She doesn’t tell me to be a man. She just wraps her arms around my neck and pulls my head into her shoulder. I can feel her own tears wetting my skin, her body trembling against mine.
“It’s okay,” she sobs, holding me tight. “It’s okay to be scared. I’m scared too. But he’s strong, Razvan. He’s a fighter, just like you. It’s just a fever. I promise you, it’s just a fever.”
“You don’t know that,” I moan into her neck, clinging to her like she’s the only solid thing in a world that’s turned to water. “You don’t know.”
“I do know. I’ve done this a dozen times without you,” she whispers, her voice a mix of comfort and a tiny, sharp reminder of what I missed. “He gets high fevers when his teeth come in, or when he catches a cold. He’s going to be fine. Just breathe with me. Please, Razvan. For me. For him.”
I try. I suck in a jagged breath, smelling her scent—the comfort of it acting like an anchor. We sit there on the floor for a long time, the only sound the soft hum of the humidifier and Theo’s labored breathing above us. The doctor comes in, looking terrified, but Lena handles him. She directs him with a quiet authority while I just sit there, my hand gripping Theo’s small, hot foot through the blanket.
The doctor confirms what she said. An ear infection. Common. Not fatal. He administers a stronger fever reducer and checksthe vitals, nodding at me with a shaky hand before retreating out the door.
I don’t move. I stay right there on the floor until the doctor is gone and the room is quiet again.
“He’s cooling down,” Lena whispers about an hour later.
I stand up, my legs feeling like lead. I lean over the bed. I touch his forehead again. The searing heat has faded to a warm glow. His breathing has smoothed out, the rattle replaced by a soft, rhythmic snore. He shifts in his sleep, his small hand reaching out and grasping my thumb.
The relief is so violent I feel like I’m going to vomit. I lean down and press a kiss to his damp curls, my eyes closing.
“He’s okay,” I breathe. “He’s really okay.”
“He’s fine, Razvan,” Lena says. She looks exhausted, her face pale in the early morning light.
“Come here,” I say, reaching for her.
I don’t lead her back to our room. I can’t leave him. Not yet. I climb into the small twin bed, shifting Theo to the center. Lena climbs in on the other side. It’s a tight fit—my large frame barely fits on the mattress—but I don’t care. I wrap one arm around Theo and the other around Lena, pulling them both into the circle of my body.
“I’m sorry I went crazy,” I mutter into the dark.
“Don’t be,” she says, her head resting on my chest. “It’s the first time I’ve actually seen you, Razvan. Not who everyone says you are. Just you. Just the father.”
