Page 70 of Forced to Marry the Russian Pakhan

I glance back at Trifon, who nods. “Go. I need to speak with Leonid anyway.”

Nadya practically drags me across the ballroom, whispering commentary about various guests as we pass. “That’sNadim Orlov—total prick, but his wife makes the best pirozhki you’ve ever tasted. Oh, and that’s the Morozov twins—both sleeping with the same woman, and neither knows about the other.”

I stare at her like she’s lost her mind, then look back at the Morozov twins. “You’re joking, right?”

“Swear on my life,” she widens her eyes. And honestly? I do too. Shit like this? Doesn’t happen in real life. Not in mine, at least.

I begin to laugh, the sound feeling strange in my throat. It’s been weeks since I laughed like this.

We find Darya at the bar, sipping a cocktail. Unlike her sister, she’s opted for understated elegance—a midnight blue gown that falls in soft waves to the floor. Her face lights up when she sees me.

“You made it!” She slides off her stool to embrace me. “How are you holding up in the lion’s den?”

“It’s not so bad,” I admit. “Your brother can be...decent when he wants to be.”

Nadya snorts into her drink. “Decent. That’s a new one.”

“How’s the clinic?” Darya asks, signaling the bartender for another round.

“Busy. Good busy, though.” I smile, warming to the topic. “I had a seven-year-old with a broken arm yesterday who insisted on a pink cast so he could match his sister.”

“Adorable,” Darya says.

“Boring,” Nadya counters, grinning. “Tell us about the gunshot wounds. The knife fights.”

“Patient confidentiality,” I remind her, but I’m smiling too.

There’s something about Trifon’s sisters that puts me at ease every time I meet them. It feels like we’ve always been old friends.

“Speaking of my brother,” Nadya says, glancing over my shoulder, “he hasn’t taken his eyes off you all night.”

I turn slightly, catching Trifon’s gaze across the room. He’s standing with Leonid and another man I don’t recognize, but his attention is fixed squarely on me. Even from this distance, I feel the weight of his stare—hot, possessive, making my skin prickle with awareness.

“That’s... intense,” Darya comments.

“That’s nothing,” Nadya says with a wicked grin. “You should see them when they think no one’s watching.”

My cheeks flush. “Nadya.”

“What? I’m just saying, the ‘forced marriage’ thing seems to be working out quite nicely.” She wiggles her eyebrows suggestively.

“It’s complicated,” I mutter, taking a sip of water to cool my burning face.

The truth is, Nadya’s not wrong. Things with Trifon have shifted so dramatically that I sometimes forget how we started. The man who kidnapped me, who forced me to sign those papers, has become... something else entirely. Something I don’t have a name for yet.

“Men are always complicated,” Darya says wisely. “Especially men like our brother.”

A server passes with a tray of hors d’oeuvres, and the smell hits me like a slap. My stomach lurches, and I swallow hard against the wave of nausea.

“Yulia?” Darya touches my arm. “Are you okay? You just went white as a sheet.”

I take a deep breath. “Just tired.”

The sisters exchange worried looks, and before they take off to Trifon and scare him into taking me home, I change the topic.

“I swear I’m okay. Stop looking at me like that, and let’s have some fun! I’ve missed you both,” I admit, more than I meant to say.

Nadya nudges me. “We’re not going anywhere.”