Page 47 of Forced Marriage to the Cruel Bratva Pakhan

I study his face in the quiet—the strong line of his jaw, the aristocratic nose, the lips that are surprisingly soft despite the hard man they belong to. Even in sleep, there’s controlled power in his features, but the vulnerability underneath is more visible now.

He took a bullet for me.

He did it because in that split second when Kravin’s gun swung toward me, Pavel’s instinct was to protect me. To put himself between me and danger without hesitation or calculation.

My thumb traces circles on the back of his hand, the movement unconscious and soothing. His fingers tighten slightly in response even in sleep, like he’s aware of my presence on some level.

“You’re making this very complicated,” I whisper to his sleeping form. “I’m supposed to hate you. Supposed to be planning escape or finding ways to undermine your control or anything except sitting here terrified at the thought of losing you.”

He doesn’t answer, of course. Just continues breathing steadily, peacefully, alive.

Chapter Eighteen - Pavel

Three days of forced rest have left me restless and irritable. The shoulder wound is healing cleanly—Dr. Belov removed the stitches this morning and cleared me for normal activity—but the mandatory downtime grates against every instinct that demands I be working, coordinating, maintaining control.

Instead, I’ve been confined to the mansion while Mikhail handles operations and my organization continues functioning without my direct oversight.

The indignity of it bothers me more than the injury itself.

I’m reviewing reports in the study when I hear footsteps in the hallway. I’ve come to enjoy the familiar rhythm moving with purpose rather than casual wandering.

Serena’s been avoiding me since we returned from the warehouse, keeping to her room except for meals that she takes in uncomfortable silence.

I assumed she needed time to process the trauma of her abduction.

Apparently, that processing period has ended.

The door opens without a knock. Serena stands in the doorway wearing fitted jeans and a sweater that shouldn’t be as distracting as it is, her hair pulled back to reveal the fading bruises on her face. Her broken finger is splinted and taped, the swelling mostly reduced.

She looks angry.

“We need to talk,” she says, closing the door behind her with deliberate force.

I set down the tablet. “About?”

“About the fact that you almost died for me.” The words come out sharp, accusatory, like my getting shot was a personal offense. “You put yourself between me and that bullet. You could have been killed.”

“I wasn’t.” I stand, moving around the desk toward her. “The wound was clean, no major vessels hit, full recovery expected within two weeks.”

“That’s not the point!” she declares, her voice rising. “You didn’t know it would be a clean shot. You didn’t know you’d survive. You just threw yourself in front of a gun for someone you were forced to marry, someone you’ve spent weeks treating like strategic property—”

“I protected my wife.” The interruption is calm, factual. “That’s what husbands do.”

“This isn’t a real marriage, Pavel. You’ve made that very clear. So why—” She stops, struggling for words. “Why would you risk everything? Your life, your organization, everything you’ve built, for me?”

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

“The thought of that bullet hitting you was unacceptable,” I say quietly, the admission coming easier than it should. “Strategy didn’t factor into the decision. Only keeping you alive.”

She stares at me like I’ve spoken a foreign language. “That doesn’t make sense. I’m leverage. A political connection. You’ve said so yourself that this arrangement is business, nothing more.”

“Yes.” I move closer, watching her pupils dilate as I approach. “That’s what it was supposed to be.”

“Supposed to be,” she repeats, catching the past tense. “And now?”

“Now you’re the woman I think about constantly despite knowing it’s a complication I can’t afford. The woman who’s changed the atmosphere of my home simply by existing in it. The woman I would have burned the entire city down to find when Kravin took you.”

The words emerge with more intensity than intended, weeks of suppressed awareness crystallizing into admission I didn’t plan to make.