Chapter 20 - Trifon
I sit alone in my office, back to the fireplace, fists clenched on either side of my chair. The fire crackles behind me, but there’s no warmth in it. Not tonight. Not when the Fyodorovs are about to walk into my house.
My fingers pause over the sonogram I placed on my desk. Six weeks. Barely more than a flicker on the screen. But it’s there—proof of life and a beginning.
My child.
The thought still hits me like a bullet—sudden, sharp, and lodged somewhere I can’t remove. It doesn’t hurt, but it changes everything just like a bullet does.
The Fyodorovs will be here any minute, and for once in my life, I’m not strategizing how to use this information as leverage. This isn’t about business. This is about making things right with Yulia.
She’s upstairs resting now, catching up on her sleep. After what the doctor said last week, I try to make sure she’s not bothered by a thing. She needs to focus on herself and the baby.
I try to control the tension slowly building in my shoulders. I’ve faced down dangerous men before, but my stomach knots at the thought of this meeting.
Not from fear. From guilt.
Using Yulia at the gala to blindside her father had been a calculated move. The perfect move in the game I’ve been playing for decades.
But the look on her face when she realized what I’d done? Never again.
I hear them before I see them, and immediately sit straighter on my chair. Then comes the knock.
“Come in,” I say, standing as I do.
The door opens wider, and they file in—Akim first, as befits his position, followed by his three sons: Damien, Arman, and Ilya.
A thought crosses my mind when I see them. My child will be their blood. I search their faces for a deeper resemblance to Yulia, but all I see is the Russian frost. Yulia’s warmth, her spark—it’s absent in these men who share her blood.
“Yuri.” Akim nods at me.
“Fyodorov,” I return. “Thank you for coming.”
“You’re brave,” Akim says. “Inviting us here after what you pulled at the gala.”
“I’m not brave,” I say. “I’m done pretending this is a game.”
Damien’s gaze sweeps the room, assessing exits, probably. “Not like we had much choice. Your invitation was... insistent.”
“I wanted to ensure your presence,” I say. “What we need to discuss is important.”
“Where is my daughter?” Akim cuts straight to the point. His silver hair catches the light, making him look distinguished rather than old. A man who has aged without softening.
“Resting,” I reply. “Doctor’s orders.”
“Why? Was she sick?” Arman frowns.
I ignore the question, gesturing to the chairs arranged before my desk. “Please, sit.”
They exchange glances, a silent conversation passing between them before they comply. Only when Akim nods do they sit.
I remain standing a moment longer, waiting for them all to get comfortable before they sit.
“I asked you here today because there’s something you need to know,” I begin. “Something that changes the equation between our families.”
“If this is about the marriage, we’ve made our position clear,” Akim says coldly. “It was done without consent, without honor, and we proposed her hand to the—”
“This isn’t about the marriage,” I cut in. “At least, not directly.”
I reach for the sonogram, sliding it across the desk toward Akim. “Yulia is pregnant.”
The silence that follows is absolute. Four pairs of eyes fix on the small, grainy image before lifting to my face.
“That’s impossible,” Ilya says finally, but the certainty in his voice wavers.
“Seven weeks now,” I continue. “We confirmed it when she started bleeding after the gala.” I don’t try to hide the edge that creeps into my voice at the memory of that night. “The stress of that night nearly cost us the child.”
Akim’s face has gone rigid. “I don’t believe this!” he hisses in rage.
“I don’t particularly care what you believe,” I say. “The facts remain the facts. Yulia is carrying my child. Your grandchild,” I add, watching Akim’s jaw tighten. “And I thought you deserved to hear it from me directly.”
“Why?” Damien snaps. “Since when does Trifon Yuri extend professional courtesies?”
This is the moment. The real reason I called them here. I lean forward, meeting Akim’s gaze.
“Because I owe Yulia this,” I say plainly. “I used her as a pawn at the gala, and I won’t do that again to her, or our child.”
Arman barks out a harsh laugh. “You expect us to believe you’ve suddenly developed a conscience?”
“Careful, Arman,” I growl. “From this point forward, Yulia and our child are not leverage. They’re my family. And I protect what’s mine.”
The words come out before I’ve fully processed them, but as soon as they’re spoken, I know they’re true. Yulia is now under my protection, a piece of my family.
“Family?” Akim’s voice drips with contempt. “You forced my daughter into marriage. Isolated her from her real family. And now you’ve what—raped her too?”
My vision narrows, rage boiling up so fast I have to grip the edge of my desk to keep from lunging across it.
“Choose your next words very carefully,” I say, each syllable razor-edged.
“Why? It’s the truth, isn’t it?” Arman chimes in.
“You don’t know anything about Yulia and me,” I growl.
“We know our sister,” Ilya roars. “She would never willingly—”
“What?” I cut in. “Sleep with someone like me? Create a life with someone like me?” I lean forward, keeping my voice dangerously low. “Maybe you don’t know her as well as you think.”
Akim’s face contorts with disgust. “My daughter is a good girl. Innocent and naive. She’s never been strong enough to stand up to men like you.”
And there it is. The truth they’ve been dancing around.
“Not strong enough?” I repeat, a cold laugh escaping me. “Is that what you think of her? That she’s weak?”
“She’s soft,” Damien says, as if explaining something obvious. “She can be taken for a ride by anyone. It’s why we’ve always protected her.”
“Protected her?” The rage in my chest builds, expanding until it threatens to choke me. “By keeping her in the dark about your business? By being ready to marry her off to the Zakharovs, the second it became politically convenient? You call that protection?”
Their silence confirms what I’ve suspected all along. They never valued her as anything more than a bride to be sold off.
“Yulia is stronger than any of you realize,” I say, rising slowly from my chair.
“She performed emergency surgery on my sister with nothing but basic supplies and her bare hands. She runs a clinic that treats the most dangerous men in this city, and they respect her enough to follow her orders without question. She’s saved more lives in the past month than you four have in your entire existence. ”
I’m circling the desk now, moving closer to them with each word.
“She stood up to me—to me when I first brought her here. She’s rebuilt her entire life after you all betrayed her, and she’s done it with more grace and courage than you could comprehend.”
Akim’s face hardens. “You don’t know my daughter.”
“I know her better than you ever have,” I counter. “I’ve seen her at her weakest and her strongest. I’ve watched her save lives and build something of her own from nothing. Can you say the same?”
The four men exchange glances, wariness etched on their faces.
“This changes nothing,” Akim says finally. “Except for the urgency of the situation. If my daughter is pregnant, she needs to come home where she belongs. Where she’ll be taken care of properly.”
“She’s not going anywhere.” I slam a hand on my desk.
“You can’t keep her prisoner forever,” Damien growls.
“Prisoner?” I shake my head. “Have you even asked her what she wants?”
“We know what’s best for her,” Arman insists.
“No,” I say, moving to stand directly in front of Akim’s chair. “You know what’s best for your business. You’ve never once considered what’s best for Yulia.”
Akim rises to meet me, his height nearly matching mine. “Return my daughter to us, Yuri, and perhaps we can avoid unnecessary bloodshed.”
The threat doesn’t faze me. Instead, something shifts inside me—a realization that crystallizes with perfect clarity.
I would go to war for her.
Not for the alliance. Not for the territory. Not even for the child she carries, though that alone would be reason enough.
For her. For Yulia.
Because somewhere between kidnapping her and falling into bed together, between watching her save my sister and building her clinic, between fighting with her and fighting for her, I’ve come to need her in a way I’ve never needed anyone.
“Let me be very clear,” I say crisply. “Yulia stays with me. Our child stays with me. If you want a war over this, I’ll give you one, but ask yourself if you’re prepared for what that means.”
I step back, gesturing toward the door. “You have a choice to make, Fyodorov. Adapt to the new reality, or face the consequences. But either way, your daughter and my child remain under my protection.”
Akim’s face flushes with anger. “This isn’t over.”
“For today, it is,” I reply. “My security will see you out.”
As if on cue, the door opens, and two of my men enter. The message is clear. This meeting has concluded.
The four men rise in anger. Damien looks like he wants to say something more, but Akim places a restraining hand on his arm.
“We’ll be in touch,” Akim threatens.
I watch them leave until the door closes behind them. Only then do I exhale, the tension draining from my shoulders.
That’s when I hear it—a small sound from the hallway outside my second door. The private entrance that connects to the family wing.
I cross the room, yanking open the door to find Yulia standing there, her face pale, her hands gripping the doorframe for support.
She’s supposed to be resting upstairs—doctor’s orders. Instead, she’s here?
“Yulia,” I breathe, concern washing over me. “You shouldn’t be out of bed.”
Her eyes are wide, luminous with unshed tears. “I heard... I heard everything.”
My heart sinks. The meeting was ugly, and the words exchanged were harsh. The last thing I wanted was for her to hear her family’s dismissal of her—their belief that she’s weak and gullible, incapable of making a decision for herself.
“Come here,” I say, guiding her gently into my office and closing the door. “You shouldn’t have had to listen to that.”
To my surprise, she doesn’t pull away from my touch. Instead, she lets me lead her to the couch against the far wall, sitting beside me when I settle her there.
“I’m sorry,” I begin, assuming her tears are from pain at her family’s words. “They had no right to speak about you that way.”
She shakes her head, a strange smile playing at the corners of her mouth despite the tears in her eyes. “No, that’s not—” She breaks off, taking a deep breath. “Is it true? What you said about me?”
Okay, now I’m confused. “Which part?”
“All of it,” she whispers. “That I’m strong. That I’ve built something. That I’m not... weak.”
The vulnerability in her voice tears at me. Has no one ever told her these things before? Has she never heard the truth of her own worth spoken aloud?
“Every word,” I say firmly, cupping her face in my hands, forcing her to meet my gaze. “Yulia, you are the strongest woman I’ve ever known. It’s not even a question.”
A tear slips down her cheek, but her smile grows. “And the other part? About this not being leverage? About us... about us being your family?”
My thumb brushes the tear away. “Also true.”
She studies my face, searching for the lie, the manipulation, the hidden agenda. I let her look. For once in my life, there’s nothing to hide.
“You would really go to war with my family over me?” she asks, her voice small but steady.
“In a heartbeat,” I answer without hesitation.
“Why?”
It’s a simple question with a complicated answer. One, I’m not sure I fully understand myself. But as I look at her, I know there’s only one truth that matters.
“Because you’re worth it,” I say. “And I don’t say that because you carry my child, Yulia. Even if you weren’t, I’ve learned how fascinating, bright, and strong you are as a woman. To make sure you don’t have to dull your light? Hell yeah. I’ll go to war.”
She’s quiet for a long moment, her eyes never leaving mine. Then, slowly, she leans forward and presses her forehead against my chest.
“Thank you,” she whispers.
I wrap my arms around her, careful not to hold too tight, mindful of her condition. “For what?”
She looks up at me, and there’s something new in her eyes—something I’ve never seen directed at me before.
Trust.
“For defending me,” she says. “For seeing me.”
I pull her closer, resting my chin on top of her head. I don’t have the words to express what’s happening inside me. This strange, unfamiliar warmth is spreading through my chest.
So instead, I simply hold her.