Forced to Marry the Russian Pakhan (Yuri Bratva Brides #1)

Chapter 1 - Yulia

It’s been twenty-four hours into my shift, and I’m barely standing. My feet feel like they’ve been crushed by a cement truck, my eyes burn from staring at charts all night, and I’m pretty sure the protein bar I called lunch isn’t going to cut it much longer.

I check my watch. Two more hours until this double shift ends, and I can face-plant into my bed for a measly six hours before I have to do it all over again.

“Dr. Fyodorov!”

I’m halfway to collapsing when Nurse Marcy waves me down at the nurses’ station.

I grin, stepping over. Marcy has been working in this ER since before I was born, and rumor has it she’s scared off more attending physicians than the hospital administration cares to admit.

I’d like to stay in her good books, thank you very much.

“You look like death, sweetie,” she says, passing me a steaming cup of coffee.

I eye it suspiciously. “Is this real coffee or that sludge from the break room?”

“Do I look like I’d give you that garbage? This is from my personal stash. The good stuff,” she gives me a wink. “Take it before you pass out and make paperwork for all of us.”

I don’t argue and reach for the cup with both hands. My feet ache. My spine feels fused to my shoulders, and I haven’t slept in what feels like weeks, but that’s residency at Massachusetts General Hospital for you. “You trying to bribe me, Marcy?”

“Trying to keep you upright,” She gives me a once-over. “When’s the last time you ate something that didn’t come out of a vending machine?”

I take a sip and almost moan as the caffeine hits my bloodstream. “Does a protein bar count?”

“My goodness!” She clutches her chest in horror. “You’re working too hard!”

“That’s literally the job.” I take a sip, scalding my tongue, but the caffeine shock is worth it. “Besides, Weill Cornell prepared me for this. Sleep deprivation was half the curriculum in med school.”

Marcy snorts, shaking her head. “I still can’t believe you left New York for this madness. With your family up there? Must be going nuts with you running around this ER.”

They all think it’s foolish that I moved out here alone.

What they don’t understand is that staying would have been worse.

My family means well, but they’re sheltered in their comfortable life where they’ve never had to understand what real struggle is.

If they had it their way, I would’ve been wrapped up in a bubble.

I stood my ground against their idea of a good life, thank god.

I earned a spot at Weill Cornell and was accepted into emergency medicine at Mass General.

And coming to Boston, doing this on my own—this is the first time I can see myself becoming the person I dreamed of being.

Ever since I was a child, I have wanted nothing more than to help people, and what better way than to reunite loved ones safely with their families?

I lean against the counter. My bones practically sigh with relief at not having to support my weight for a moment longer. “They wanted me in some cushy private clinic back home.” I flash her a monstrous grin. “I chose chaos.”

“Mass General’s not chaos—it’s murder.” Marcy laughs, but her eyes soften. “Still. Great job getting in here. It’s the toughest program in the country, you know?”

“Even if I didn’t, they remind us every day.” I let out a whistle, and Marcy laughs.

“Still, you need to take better care of yourself. Your family’s not here to look after you,” she clicks her tongue.

“That’s precisely why I came to Boston,” I give her a small smile. “If I’d stayed in New York, my mother would be force-feeding me borscht three times a day and my brothers would be running background checks on any man who so much as looked at me.”

Helen chuckles. “How many brothers was it again?”

“Three. All older.” I take another sip of coffee. “They still call me every day, you know. To make sure I haven’t dropped dead.”

“That’s what family does. They worry.”

“Mine doesn’t just worry.” I let out a laugh. “They treat me like an infant, still. You should have seen the tears my mother shed when I was leaving New York. One would think I was flying off to space.”

Marcy pats my hand and chuckles. “I get it. I’m a mom, you know?”

“I know, I know,” I say, giving her a warm smile and squeezing her hand. None of us residents has the guts to tell her, but behind her back, we call her Mother Marcy.

The ER buzzes around us, and Marcy gets called away to file in some urgent tests.

I know this break can’t last much longer before I’m needed too.

Then again, no one said being a first-year resident would be easy.

Besides, I love this life more than anything in the world, even with its chaos and constant demands.

And Weill? It’s just the beginning. I’m aiming for Harvard next.

I’d love to see my parents’ faces when I tell them that.

Right about now? They think I’m failing at life because I don’t have a boyfriend.

I smile at the memory of the last phone call I had with my parents, just before they went off for vacation to Russia.

What they wanted to know, most of all, was just when I planned to get married.

“You’re twenty-eight, you know?” my mother chided me. “For someone who’s a doctor, you must know there’s a biological clock.”

“We’ve got friends with young sons,” my father chimed in. “If you like, we can set you up!”

I couldn’t get off that call fast enough.

The truth is, I love my family. But growing up a Fyodorov means growing up with rules.

My parents came to America with nothing, built everything from the ground up, and then spent their lives making sure we never had to struggle the way they did.

My brothers had freedom. They could take risks, make mistakes.

I wasn’t given the same choice. I was protected, told the world was dangerous, that I wasn’t ready for it.

And when my parents see me making the choices I’m making, they worry. It’s natural, but I plan to prove them wrong about some things.

So I rebelled in the only way I knew how: by excelling. Perfect grades, perfect test scores, and perfect extracurricular activities. I worked my ass off to get into Mass General. All to prove I could make it without my family name opening doors.

Marcy does her thing and comes back to my side, asking if I’d like to join her at the cafeteria for dinner.

“I just—” I start, but am interrupted by the sound of my pager. “Gotta run. Thanks for the coffee, Helen. You’re a lifesaver.”

“That’s your job, not mine,” she calls after me as I rush toward the trauma bay.

I check two patients back-to-back—one with a broken arm, the other with a nasty case of food poisoning. After giving the nurses instructions for X-rays and an IV drip with antibiotics, I find a quiet corner to finish my notes for the day.

And that’s when I hear a loud, commanding, and real rude voice bellow across the ER floor. “I need the best doctor in this hospital. My brother’s badly injured. Get on it NOW!”

He sounds like the kind of man who expects to be obeyed without question. Men like him have a way to make my stubborn streak flare.

I try to focus on my notes, knowing that it would be best if someone else handled him because when I lose patience, it’s not a pretty picture.

“YOU?” he screams. “I wouldn’t even trust you to put a needle in me. Find me someone better!”

“But, Sir,” I hear Dr. Chen, the attendant on duty, speak calmly. “I am in charge tonight. You can trust me. Please, tell me what the problem is.”

“The problem is that you don’t look old enough to even put on a Band-Aid. Get me your superior!”

What the hell? Dr. Chen is one of the brightest attendings we have, straight out of Stanford. I look up from my notes, irritation flaring, and my head snaps to find the source of this disturbance—another entitled VIP losing his mind because the world doesn’t revolve around him.

When I find him, my brain blanks for a second.

Tall. Broad shoulders filling out a black button-down, sleeves rolled, tattoos curling along his forearms. His jaw’s sharp enough to look like god went at him with a hammer.

Black hair swept back from his forehead, dark blue eyes darker than the deep sea, and the kind of face that belongs on the cover of GQ.

My mouth goes dry, and my heart begins to race like a little jackhammer.

Yeah. Trouble if I ever saw one.

Just my luck. This annoying piece of shit had to be hot. Infuriatingly so.

“The chief of surgery isn’t available at the moment,” Dr. Chen explains, maintaining his professional tone. “But I assure you, we have excellent—”

“Get him. From wherever he is!” the man bellows.

The attending is already there, explaining that the chief is unavailable, and the guy looks one second from flipping the entire ER upside down. Unbelievable! Clearly, he thinks he can sail through life with that sorry excuse of a personality.

I see Dr. Chen begin to look nervous, and before this man causes any more trouble and scares off our patients, I decide to step right in.

“Excuse me,” I say, stepping up beside Dr. Chen. “I’m Dr. Fyodorov. What happened to your brother?”

Those intense eyes lock onto mine, and for a second, I forget how to breathe. Up close, he’s even more intimidating, in a dangerous kind of way.

“Gunshot wound,” he says, turning back to look at Dr. Chen before meeting mine again. “Lower abdomen. He’s lost a lot of blood.”

“Let’s get him inside right now. We’ll stabilize him and assess the damage, then call in the surgical team.”

“I told you—” He glowers and tries to argue, but I cut him off.

“First things first,” I interrupt, surprising myself with my boldness. “Your brother needs immediate attention. Let us do our jobs, and while we work, we’ll find the best surgeon available. But standing here arguing is wasting precious time.”

His blue eyes snap to mine, and then, I see it. A flicker of doubt in his eyes, as though he’s now second-guessing his strategy. Excellent. I see an opening and take it.

“If your brother loses blood, which he’s likely to, things can get way more complicated. Let’s get him the first aid treatment he needs, and then figure out the next steps, okay?”

I think I see a flash of begrudging respect in his eyes, but then again, I’m probably imagining it. A guy like that doesn’t easily accept his faults.

“If anything happens to him...” He leaves the threat hanging.

“Nothing’s going to happen to him that we can prevent,” I say firmly. “Now, let’s move.”

He gives a small nod.

Dr. Chen, to the team gathering behind us, says, “Trauma Bay One. I need a gurney outside stat.”

His eyes stay locked on mine even as the trauma bay doors swing shut behind his brother’s gurney. That look? It promises trouble. And for some infuriating reason… my pulse skips like it agrees.