Page 35 of Forced to Marry the Russian Pakhan

“We’re flying back to Boston,” he continues as if I haven’t spoken. “The plane leaves in an hour.”

Boston. Away from New York. Away from my family.

To my surprise, relief floods through me at the thought. I’m not ready to look my father in the eye and ask why he built my life on lies. Not ready to confront my brothers about the weapons.

“Fine,” I say, pushing myself upright.

Trifon has clothes for me, and I don’t ask how. I shower, dress, and follow him downstairs without argument.

On the plane, I curl into a seat as far from him as possible, staring out the window as New York shrinks beneath us. My hangover throbs behind my eyes, a dull counterpoint to the sharper pain in my chest.

“You’re unusually quiet,” Trifon observes after a while.

“What do you want me to say?” I snap. “Congratulations? You were right about my family?”

He sighs, unbuckling his seatbelt to move to the seat opposite mine. “I want you to understand why I did what I did.”

“Kidnap me? Force me to marry you?”

“Yes.” His bluntness catches me off guard.

I stare at him incredulously, waiting for the explanation that could possibly justify any of this.

“That night at the hospital,” he begins, “you became a target the moment you were seen with me during the shootout. The Zakharovs—our enemies—they saw your face. They would have come for you.”

“So you said,” she sighs.

“I kidnapped you because I thought your family would blame me for putting you in danger.” His voice stays steady,matter-of-fact. “I thought they’d come after me, start a war. I didn’t know they had no idea where you were.”

The pieces start clicking into place. “So the marriage...”

“I thought it would convince your family to build an alliance with mine if they thought we were bound together. Old school, but effective.” He leans forward, elbows on his knees. “If your family thought I’d kidnapped their daughter, they’d tear Boston apart looking for me. But if you were my wife? Different story.”

“And you figured this out when?”

“After you jumped from my car. I did some digging. Found out who you really were.” His eyes study my face. “Please, Yulia, you have to understand, I was afraid for my own family.”

The pieces click together so fast that it makes my head spin.

The hospital. The job. The way my father never wanted me too close to the business, but never too far, either. The way I wasplacedexactly where they wanted me, thinking it was all mine. My accomplishment. My life.

And Trifon… marrying me before the Zakharovs could get their claws in. Before my family could twist this into another war.

It all makes horrifying, terrible sense.

I press my palm to my temple, the ache in my skull nothing compared to the pounding in my chest.

“God,” I whisper, staring at him like I’m seeing him clearly for the first time. “It actually makes sense…”

My voice cracks at the edges, but there’s no denying it now.

“What happens next?” I ask, dreading the answer—but needing it anyway.

He shakes his head. “It doesn’t matter. What matters is that you’re safe. And for now, I’m not planning to tell your family about our arrangement.”

That surprises me. “Why not? Isn’t that the whole point?”

“The point was to have an ace up my sleeve if needed. But right now, they don’t know you were ever in danger. They don’t know you’ve seen the truth, and they don’t need to know you’re my wife.”