Page 8 of Forced to Marry the Russian Pakhan
“You always talk to strangers like this? Tell them off?”
“Only the ones who cause a scene and scare half the ER,” I fire back, ignoring the pull tightening between us. The burn of his gaze. The way the night feels heavy with more than just exhaustion.
He pushes off the pillar, the space between us shrinking by a step. Not close enough to invade, but enough that my pulse jumps. His voice stays quiet, but there’s that edge again. “You handled yourself well back there,” his voice is like a caress. “Dr. Yulia.”
God. I want to tell him off. Want to remind him that I wouldn’t have had to handle myself if he remembered his basic civic sense.
Instead, my spine stiffens. “How do you know my name?”
He taps a finger toward my badge, completely unbothered. “You’re wearing it. Not great for maintaining mystery,Yulia.”
The way my name rolls off his tongue—familiar, low, accented just enough to make my stomach twist—it shouldn’t rattle me, but it does.
“You always make it a habit to stare at women’s chests?” I shoot back, ignoring the flush crawling up my neck.
His eyes gleam, amused. “Only when there’s information worth reading.” His gaze sweeps over me again, slower this time, voice dipping. “You look like you’ve been on your feet for a whole day. You must be running on fumes.”
This—this switch from explosive rage to disarming charm—it’s practiced. Weaponized. Men like him know how to play both sides of the coin. Dangerous temper when they want to terrify you, smirking charisma when they want to pull you in close.
“Your brother’s stable, which means I get to be home soon, so don’t worry about me,” I try to regain some professional ground before the boundaries get too frazzled. “The nurse told you?”
“She did. Thank you.”
I blink. That’s... not what I was expecting. He’s being…polite?
“Well, then…maybe you should take him home,” I take a step back.
He laughs softly, shaking his head. “Do I intimidate you, Doctor?”
I roll my eyes and stare at him incredulously, nearly shrieking now. “Youdon’t intimidate me. I’ve faced downsurgeons who make grown men cry, and despite your efforts to bully everyone in the hospital tonight, your tactics, I’m afraid, fall flat on me!”
I cross my arms and am prepared to give him a piece of my mind when he breaks into a grin.
“You’re feisty, you know that? For someone so small.”
Okay. Now I’m thoroughly offended at being called small. This man—he truly has no fucking filter, does he? The best thing to do would be to extract myself from this conversation before I dock him in the eye.
“Look here, Mr—”
“Trifon Yuri,” he offers with a charming smile.
“Whatever.” I stand straighter. Your brother’s going to need follow-up care. Make sure he takes his antibiotics and comes back to have the wound checked in three days.”
“Are you changing the subject, Doctor?” He looks amused.
“I’m doing my job,” I counter. “And if you’d let us do our jobs earlier instead of causing a scene,” I snap, “maybe someone would have mustered up the courage to give you the discharge instructions. People in there? They’re trying to find a scapegoat to come talk to you, you know?”
Trifon’s grin deepens. “You always this difficult?”
“You act like a jerk, people treat you like one,” I shoot back, arms still crossed, pulse thrumming annoyingly fast. “And before you ask—no, I don’t care how charming you think you are.”
His eyes glint, like I’ve just handed him the perfect challenge. “Charming?” He steps in slightly, not close enough totouch, but close enough that I feel the heat rolling off him. “I haven’t even started trying yet.”
God, the audacity. I tilt my head, about to deliver a world-class shutdown, when movement over his shoulder freezes the words in my throat.
Three men. Dark jackets. Fast, coordinated strides cutting across the edge of the lot.
My brain reacts faster than my mouth.
