Page 46 of Forced Marriage to the Cruel Bratva Pakhan

“I’m not—”

I am. Tears are streaming down my face despite my attempts to control them.

“This is your fault.”

“What do you mean?”

“You put yourself between me and that gun!” The words come out louder than intended, frustration and fear and relief all tangling together. “You could have been killed, Pavel. The bulletcould have hit something vital, you could have bled out before we got you help.”

Something shifts in his expression. “You were scared? for me?”

“Of course I was scared!” The admission bursts out before I can stop it. “I watched you get shot protecting me. I felt your blood soaking through my hands while we drove here. I’ve been sitting in that hallway for an hour not knowing if you’d be all right.”

I stop, unable to finish the sentence.

Pavel’s grip on my hand tightens slightly. “Serena.”

“Just don’t do it again,” I interrupt, my voice dropping to something quieter, more vulnerable. “Don’t make me watch you almost die. I don’t think I could handle that.”

The confession hangs between us, weighted with implications I’m not ready to examine.

For a long moment, neither of us speaks. Then Pavel’s thumb brushes across my knuckles with unexpected gentleness.

“I can’t promise that,” he says quietly. “If the situation arose again, I’d make the same choice.”

He stops, seeming to struggle with words in a way I’ve never witnessed before.

“You’re important,” he finishes finally. “More important than you realize.”

The statement makes my breath catch.

“Your finger.” He changes the subject, his gaze fixing on the blood-soaked fabric of my torn sweater. “Dr. Belov needs to treat that properly.”

“It can wait.” I don’t move my hand from where he’s holding it. “You’re more important right now.”

“I’m fine,” he insists again, but his eyes are starting to drift closed despite obvious efforts to stay focused. “Just need a few minutes…”

“Rest,” I tell him, my free hand moving almost instinctively to smooth back that errant strand of hair I noticed earlier. This time I don’t stop myself. “I’ll be here when you wake up.”

His eyes open one more time, finding mine with surprising clarity despite the medication pulling him under. “Promise?”

The vulnerability in that single word makes my chest tighten. “I promise.”

He seems satisfied with that answer, his grip on my hand relaxing as sleep finally claims him.

I sit there for a long time, watching him breathe, my hand still tangled with his. The steady rise and fall of his chest is hypnotic, reassuring in ways I desperately need after the terror of the past few hours.

Eventually, Maria returns with Dr. Belov to treat my injuries. They work quietly, cleaning and bandaging the cuts on my shoulder and arm, properly splinting my broken finger. I barely register the pain, my attention focused on Pavel’s sleeping form.

“He’ll be fine,” Belov assures me as he finishes the last bandage. “The wound was clean, and he’s strong. He’ll be back to normal within a few weeks.”

“Thank you.” The words feel inadequate for what this man just did—saving Pavel’s life, ensuring I didn’t lose something I hadn’t realized I valued so deeply until it was almost taken away.

They leave me alone again, and I settle back into the chair beside Pavel’s bed. My hand finds his again, our fingers intertwining with surprising naturalness.

This shouldn’t feel right. Sitting here holding hands with the man who forced me into marriage, who kidnapped me and controlled every aspect of my life for weeks.

It does feel right. Disturbingly, perfectly right.