Page 87 of Forced to Marry the Russian Pakhan

The man beside me isn’t just the Pakhan who kidnapped me, who forced a marriage to protect his sister. He’s also the boy who helped elderly neighbors without being asked, who remembers people’s names and children, who defends those he considers his even against their own families.

He’s more complicated than I ever gave him credit for.

As we pull up to the house—our house, I realize with a start, Trifon turns to me. “Better than staying home brooding?”

I smile, the first genuine smile I’ve felt in days. “Much better.”

“Thank god.” He lets out an exaggerated sigh. “I thought you’d be disappointed tonight.”

“Well, not disappointed. But I thought we’d be going on a romantic date,” I let slip before I could think.

“Hey!” he protests, looking offended. “What if that was my idea of a romantic date?”

“Then I’m afraid you shouldn’t tell women you’re romantic,” I tease back.

I chuckle at Trifon’s offended expression, and he gives me a playful glare before turning serious. “Seriously, though. You didn’t mind tonight, did you? Yuri and Irina? They’re like family to me, and I knew you’d been craving food from the homeland. So I thought, why not kill two birds with one stone?”

“No,” I answer, honestly. “Tonight was lovely. Truly. Thank you, Trifon. It’s just what I needed.”

He reaches across the console, his hand finding mine. The touch is light, questioning. I turn my palm up, letting our fingers intertwine.

“For what it’s worth,” he says, voice low, “I meant every word I said to your father yesterday. About you being strong. About you being worth it.”

I look at our joined hands, at this moment of connection that feels more intimate than any we’ve shared before.

“I’m starting to believe you,” I admit.

His thumb traces circles on my wrist. “Good,” he whispers, nodding his head.

Chapter 22 - Trifon

Our hands stay joined across the console, her fingers warm and soft between mine. I can’t stop thinking about how she looked at Yuri and Irina’s table—relaxed, laughing, beautiful. She fit there, in that little piece of my past I’ve never shared with anyone.

And fuck me, it makes me want her even more.

And now all I can think about is how badly I want to pull her closer, to feel her body against mine, to lose myself in her and forget about the fragile nature of what we’re building.

She belongs in my world. The thought hits me like a bullet. Tonight proved it. She handled Yuri and Irina with the same grace she brings to everything. Even to me.

“What are you thinking about?” she asks, her voice soft in the darkness.

“They’ve never met any woman I’ve been with,” I admit. “You’re the first.”

I see her eyes widen. “Really? Why me?”

Because you might be carrying my child. Because you might leave. Because I’m terrified of how much I need you to stay.

But I don’t say any of that.

“Because you’re important,” I say instead. “Mother of my child, aren’t you?”

She bites her lower lip and looks away. “I am.”

A silence falls over us again, and however much I might want to stay here in this moment, she needs to get some rest.

“It’s getting late,” I say. She nods as I move out of the car and walk over to her side to help her out.

When I finally walk her inside, my hand finds the small of her back instinctively. The hour is late, and the house is quiet; the staff have all gone to bed.