Page 20 of Forced to Marry the Russian Pakhan

Thinking I was preventing a war by marrying her.

Turns out… I may have started one.

I rake a hand over my jaw, staring at her like I’m seeing her for the first time.

“You really don’t know,” I mutter, mostly to myself.

Her eyes narrow. “Know what? That you’re completely insane? Yeah, I’m catching on to that part.”

A bitter laugh slips out despite myself. Her fire’s still there, even tangled up in fear. I should admire that less than I do.

She looks up at me, eyes glazed with tears she refuses to let fall. “Please, tell me. Why am I here? What do you want with me?”

I cross the room, crouch down in front of her. “When was the last time you spoke to your family?” I ask.

She blinks. “Three days ago. Right after my shift. Before…” She doesn’t finish the sentence, but I know what she means. Before the shootout.

“And they haven’t called since? Worried why you haven’t checked in?”

Her lips press together. “They’re on vacation. In Russia. Visiting relatives.”

I nod slowly. That explains it. The Fyodorovs don’t know their daughter is missing because they’re not even in the country. But they will be back. And when they find out I exposed their princess to this world…

I grit my teeth, the weight of it sinking in now.

I thought marrying her would fix this—the whole calculated mess. Her face got caught in the crossfire that night, and I assumed it was only a matter of time before the Fyodorovs came for me. Their daughter? Involved? Kidnapped? That’s war… unless you bury the problem, or make it part of your empire.

So, I did what generations of Bratva men have done before me—turned a mess into an alliance. Marriage over bloodshed. Keep the peace. Fix the optics.

But now? I may have made the wrong call.

I stare at her, those glassy green eyes full of real, gut-wrenching fear, at the tremble in her hands she’s trying so damn hard to hide—and then it hits me.

The guilt.

I shouldn’t care that she’s innocent.

But I do.

And that’s a problem.

It twists low in my gut—the wrongness of it, the realization that I married a girl so far outside this world she doesn’t even recognize her own last name as dangerous.

The guilt claws at me. Sharp. Unwelcome.

But I shove it down. Tell myself this is still a strategy. Still an alliance in the making, even if she doesn’t know it yet.

When her parents come back? When they find out? Better that they hear she’s my wife than assume the worst.

So no—I didn’t make a mistake. I’m keeping the peace. Preventing a war before it starts.

And if I feel bad for the wide-eyed girl staring at me like I’ve upended her entire universe… so be it. I’ve carried heavier burdens.

“Come on,” I say, straightening. My voice softens, the rough edge dulling as I gesture to the stairs. “You’ll take the best room.”

Surprise flashes across her face, like she didn’t think I’d let her have her own space. Suddenly, I realize how petrified she must be.

“I’m not a monster, Yulia,” I add quietly. “You’ll be safe here. Comfortable.”