Page 28 of The Russian Pakhan's Forced Bride
Before I can say anything, one of the others, whom I believe Roman referred to as Mikhail before, snorts.
“Yeah, sure. The shit-disturber is more like it.”
The others chuckle, and the only other woman in the room stands with a practiced smile. At least, that’s how it looks to me.
Her long, dark brown hair sits perfectly over her shoulders while she reaches for my hand next.
“Ignore my brothers. I’m Elena. The normal one. And Roman’s actual favorite.”
At that, Roman’s lip pulls slightly, giving away that she might be onto something.
The others all make their rebuttals, and before long, they’re talking over each other like a normal family would, waving one another’s claims off and teasing one another.
It’s all a bit much at once, but something about it is strangely endearing.
After a moment, Elena sighs and returns her attention to me. “Honestly, they’re all animals. But it’s a pleasure to meet you.”
“It’s nice to meet you as well,” I manage to say despite how hard my heart is racing in my chest. Even if I don’t want to be there.
Elena grins, then guides me by the hand away from Roman, who huffs a quiet breath and moves further into the space behind us.
I blink through my faint surprise as I’m led over to the couch and introduced to the others.
Mikhail, Sergey, Ivan, Nikolai, and Elena...
…and, of course, Roman—their leader.
Trying to remember who is who feels daunting at first, but as they talk and start to show more of their personalities, it gets a little easier to place a name to a face.
With the initial introductions out of the way, they all seem to fall into a natural progression…sliding into casual conversation without missing a beat.
Their presence is overwhelming, yet they seem perfectly at ease with each other. Within themselves, as well.
I hang back while sitting next to Elena on the sofa, holding a glass of whiskey I didn’t ask for, somewhat awkwardly. Part of me wants to disappear into the cushions.
Instead, I mostly spectate—watching and listening. Quietly suffocating.
Well aware that I’m not one of them, and that I’m certainly not built to be as ruthless and effortlessly dangerous as they are, I swallow back the desire to get up and flee. I try not to look as small and insignificant as I feel.
Every once in a while, I catch Roman’s eyes sliding over to me, but I look away. It feels harder than ever to meet his gaze.
As the others talk and joke, I look down at the whiskey and realize I have the perfect distraction right in my grasp.
So I drink.
It burns on the way down, but the next one goes down easier. Followed by the next one.
As his siblings slowly become tipsier, they continue pouring more liquor, and I get even drunker.
By then, their laughter starts to sound contagious. Their conversations sound funnier. The rigidity in my body slips away, along with the crippling anxiety from before.
Elena turns to me with her cheeks vaguely splotched, and she grins while taking my hand again.
“Come, come… I’m tired of being stuck with my brothers.”
Before I can say anything, I’m swept off my feet, and at once, we receive a questioning glance from Roman.
Elena scoffs and chuckles, waving him off. “Relax…we’re going to dance.”
