Page 97 of Forced to Marry the Russian Pakhan
And I recognize one of them—a thin man with a scar across his temple. He was at the bar, in a corner booth, watching as I spoke to Petrov. Fuck. I was sloppy, distracted by thoughts of Yulia. I thought it was nothing.
But it’s the man who steps forward last that makes my blood run cold.
Anton Zakharov.
The man who started this war was the day he shot at my brother.
“Yuri,” he says, voice smooth as silk and twice as slippery. “What a pleasant surprise.”
“Zakharov,” I nod, keeping my tone neutral. “Taking in the sights?”
He smiles, all teeth and no warmth. “Just checking on a... business opportunity. One you seem intent on interfering with.”
“Business?” I repeat, trying to buy time.
“What would you call it?” He steps closer, and his men tense, ready to move at his signal. “An alliance. A merger. A joining of families.”
“A trap,” I say flatly. “For them, and for you.”
Anton laughs. “Always so dramatic. But no, I think the trap is right here.” He gestures to the alley around us. “You, alone, barely recovered from your injuries. Walking right into our hands.”
I keep my face impassive, mind racing through options. I’m outnumbered, not at full strength, and they’ve blocked both exits from the alley. My gun won’t help against six armed men. And no one knows I’m here except Valentin, who’s probably still pissed that I hung up on him.
“So this is revenge?” I ask, playing for time. “For disrupting your plans with the Fyodorovs?”
“Partly,” Anton admits. “You did steal what was promised to us.”
“Yulia wasn’t a thing to be promised,” I say, anger flaring despite my best efforts to stay calm. “She’s a woman with her own mind.”
“Ah, yes, your wife.” His smile turns cruel. “Tell me, does she know you’re here? Or did she finally come to her senses and leave you?”
The words hit their mark with precision. I try not to react, but something must show on my face because Anton’s smile widens.
“She did, didn’t she? Left you for her family.” He laughs. “Can’t say I blame her. What woman would choose to stay with her kidnapper when she could be free?”
My hands curl into fists at my sides. “You don’t know anything about us.”
“I know enough,” he says. “I know she was meant to cement our alliance with the Fyodorovs before you interfered. Now, we’ve got some trouble, you see. The Fyodorovs say you don’t want them to ally with us.” His smile turns calculating. “But complications can be... removed. And once I have my bride…”
The threat makes me snap. I lunge forward, but two of his men grab my arms, wrenching my injured shoulder. Pain tears through me, white-hot and blinding.
“I’ll kill you,” I snarl, struggling against their grip. “If you touch her, I’ll burn your entire fucking empire to the ground.”
Anton seems amused by my outburst. “You’re not in a position to make threats, Yuri. In fact, you’re not in a position to do much of anything anymore.”
He nods to one of his men, who steps forward with a knife. The blade catches the late afternoon sun, glinting wickedly.
I brace myself for pain, for the cold slide of steel between my ribs. If this is how it ends, at least my last thoughts will be of her. Of the life we could have had.
But the expected blow never comes.
Instead, there’s a shout from the mouth of the alley. Then another. And suddenly, the space is filling with men—my men. Valentin leads the charge, gun drawn, with Leonid, Iosif, and Miron close behind.
And with them, to my complete shock, are the Fyodorovs. Akim at the front, his sons flanking him, all armed.
The Zakharov men release me immediately, backing up as they’re suddenly outnumbered two to one. Anton’s smile falters for the first time.
The numbers aren’t in his favor anymore. With a furious hiss, he signals retreat. The Zakharovs vanish into the dark.
