Page 56 of Forced to Marry the Russian Pakhan

“Volkov’s shipments are delayed. Again,” Trifon says. His voice is ice. “Either he’s stalling, or he’s lying. And I don’t tolerate either.”

His brothers nod.

“Move the meeting to New York. I want eyes on all ports—Boston, Newark, Baltimore. If the Italians are testing us, I want to make sure they regret it.”

There’s no debate. No pushback. Just instant obedience. And somehow… It’s not just terrifying. It’s magnetic.

This is who he is. He’s laying out orders like a general commanding troops, and they’re falling in line without question.

It’s so different from the man who knelt between my thighs last night and looked up at me with hunger in his eyes.

But it’s still him. Still Trifon. Just a different facet of the same dangerous, compelling man.

I shouldn’t be turned on by him running his criminal empire, giving orders that probably involve violence. I should be horrified, disgusted.

Instead, I’m pressing my thighs together again, trying to quell the ache building between them.

I shift my weight on the floorboard.

A creak.

Shit.

His eyes snap toward the door—and find mine. For one breathless second, neither of us moves. He doesn’t say a word. But his gaze drops—very deliberately—to my mouth. Then lower. Then back up.

I flush so fast I nearly choke on it.

Does he know what I was dreaming about? Can heseeit on me?

I take a step back, heart slamming, and turn to flee.

Chapter 14 - Trifon

She thinks I don’t notice the way she looks at the windows. Like they’re bars.

She hasn’t said a word about feeling trapped—not once. But I see it. In the way she lingers in the gardens all day. The way she turns her face slightly when the sun comes through the glass. The way she stiffens when I enter the room, like she’s reminding herself she has no say in being here.

Or maybe the last one doesn’t have anything to do with her feeling trapped. She’s been avoiding me for three days since I caught her eavesdropping—running in the opposite direction whenever I enter a room, eating meals at odd hours to dodge me at the table.

It would be amusing if it weren’t so goddamn frustrating. The woman had my tongue on her quivering clit, and now she can’t even look me in the eye?

No. This ends today.

I find her in the garden, curled up on a stone bench with a book balanced on her knees.

I clear my throat. She jumps, the book nearly sliding off her lap.

“Jesus,” she gasps, pressing a hand to her chest. “Make noise when you walk.”

“I did. You were somewhere else.” I nod at the book. “Good reading?”

She closes it, her fingers nervously tracing the edges. “Just trying to stay literate.”

The sun catches in her hair, turning the strawberry blonde strands to liquid copper. She looks softer out here among the roses.

“Get dressed,” I tell her. “We’re going out tonight.”

Her eyebrows arch. “Out? As in…outside the grounds?”