Chapter 25 - Yulia
I rush across the safehouse living room the moment they bring him in, my heart hammering so hard I can barely breathe. Trifon looks pale, tired.
Anton called for back-up when he said he hadn’t heard from Trifon. Since our families went out looking for him? I’ve been worried sick.
When our eyes meet across the room, everything else fades away—my father, my brothers, his brothers, the danger waiting outside.
There’s only him, alive and whole despite everything, and the overwhelming relief that crashes through me like a tidal wave.
“You idiot,” I whisper, throwing my arms around him, careful of his injury. “What were you thinking?”
He stiffens for a split second before his good arm wraps around my waist, pulling me against him so tightly I can feel his heart beating against mine.
“You left,” he says into my hair, voice rough. “I woke up and you were gone.”
I pull back just enough to look at his face, tears blurring my vision. “I didn’t leave you. I went to fix things.”
Confusion flashes across his features as he takes in the room—my father and brothers standing awkwardly near the door, his own brothers watching us with expressions ranging from relief to amusement.
“What’s going on?” he asks, eyes narrowing as he looks from me to my family. “Why did they help?”
My father steps forward, his face unreadable except for the tightness around his eyes. “Perhaps we should all sit down. There’s much to discuss.”
Trifon’s arm tightens around me, protective even now. “I’m listening.”
I guide him to the sofa, refusing to let go of his hand.
“I went to see them this morning,” I begin, squeezing his fingers. “To make them understand.”
“Understand what?” Trifon’s voice is cautious, wary.
“Everything,” I say simply. “How you and I—we’re a unit now. Why an alliance with the Zakharovs would be suicide.”
My father clears his throat, uncomfortable with this open discussion of family business in front of others. But I don’t care anymore. I’m done with secrets and hidden agendas.
“Our daughter presented a... compelling case,” Father says, each word carefully measured. “For why our families are stronger together than apart.”
Trifon looks at me, surprise evident in his eyes. “You convinced them to help me?”
“She did more than that,” Damien says, stepping forward. “She made us see what we’ve been blind to for years.”
The memory of this morning floods back to me—the way I stormed into their safehouse, the shock on their faces when they saw me, pregnant and furious and finally, finally done being the good, quiet daughter.
I’d planned what to say for hours as I sat by Trifon’s bedside watching him sleep. Every argument, every point, every piece of evidence I needed to present. By the time I walked into their house, I was armed with more than just emotion—I had a strategy.
“I told them what you’ve built,” I explain to Trifon. “Not just the power or the money, but the loyalty. How your men would die for you without question. How you protected me, gave me the clinic, defended me to them even when I wasn’t there to hear it.”
Trifon’s eyes never leave mine, intense and searching.
“I told them about Yuri and Irina,” I continue. “How you take care of your people, not just your family. How you remember names and children, how you build relationships that last decades.”
“She said we were fools to consider the Zakharovs over the Yuris,” Arman adds, a grudging respect in his voice. “That Anton Zakharov would use us and discard us the moment we stopped being useful.”
“Which is exactly what he tried to do today,” Ilya says. “When we refused his latest offer, he threatened to come after Yulia.”
Trifon goes rigid beside me, his jaw clenching. “He what?”
“He didn’t know she was with us,” Father says, his face hardening. “He thought she was still with you.”
“So when we got word from your brother that you were heading straight into a trap,” Damien continues, “we decided to believe what Yulia had told us about you.”
Valentin steps forward, nodding to Trifon. “I called them after you hung up on me. Figured we might need the extra guns.”
I turn to Trifon, my voice softening. “I told them that you were the only one who ever saw me as strong and capable. That you might have started this as a business arrangement, but you’ve protected me in ways they never did.”
My father shifts uncomfortably, but doesn’t contradict me.
He can’t.
Not after I laid out the truth so plainly this morning—how they kept me in the dark about their business, how they underestimated me, how they were ready to trade me away to cement an alliance.
“And what was their response?” Trifon asks, his thumb tracing circles on the back of my hand.
My father steps forward again, shoulders straight. “My daughter is... formidable when she chooses to be. She presented arguments we could not refute.”
“About?” Trifon presses.
“About your operation being more stable,” Father says. “About your family’s history of honoring alliances across generations. About the fact that the Zakharovs have betrayed every partner they’ve ever had.”
“She brought files,” Damien adds, almost grudgingly impressed. “Reports. Numbers. Things we didn’t even know she had access to.”
I feel Trifon’s surprised gaze on me. “You did research?”
“I’ve been paying attention,” I say simply. “The clinic gave me access to your men, their stories, and their loyalty. I listened. I learned.”
“And then there’s the matter of the child,” Father continues, his voice softening slightly as his eyes drop to my stomach. “My grandchild. The future of both our families.”
“She made us see that whatever happened between you two at the beginning,” Ilya says, “you’ve become something else to each other now.”
I feel heat rise in my cheeks. This part of the conversation had been... difficult. Explaining to my father and brothers that I’d fallen in love with the man who had forced me into marriage. That, despite everything, Trifon had shown me more true protection than they ever had.
“I also made it clear,” I add, my voice strengthening, “that I would never forgive them if they allied with the men who tried to kill you. That I would choose you and our child over them without hesitation.”
Trifon’s breath catches. I can see the question in his eyes, the disbelief, the hope. I nod slightly, confirming what he’s afraid to ask.
“So,” Father says, straightening his jacket, “it seems we have a common enemy in the Zakharovs. And a common interest in protecting my daughter and grandchild.”
“An alliance,” Trifon says slowly, eyes still on me.
“A formal one,” Father agrees. “Stronger than what the Zakharovs offered. Your family protects ours, ours protects yours. United against common threats.”
“And sealed by more than just paper,” Damien adds, nodding toward me and Trifon. “By blood. By family.”
The word hangs in the air between us all. Family. Something worth fighting for.
“We’ll need to move quickly,” Leonid says. “The Zakharovs won’t take today’s failure lightly.”
“We’ll coordinate security,” Valentin agrees.
“And we’ll formally announce the alliance,” Father says. “Let everyone know where we stand.”
I watch as the men—my family, Trifon’s family—begin to discuss the next steps.
But Trifon isn’t participating. His eyes are still on me, filled with questions I know he won’t ask here.
“You need to rest,” I say quietly to him. “Let’s get you home.”
He nods, allowing me to help him stand. To the others, he says, “We’ll continue this tomorrow.”
No one argues. They’ve all seen the exhaustion in his face. And perhaps they see something else too—the way we lean into each other.
***
The drive home is quiet, my hand still in his. By the time we reach the house, evening has fallen, soft and velvet around us. I help him upstairs to his bedroom, the familiar path now feeling like it’s mine too.
Once inside, I guide him to sit on the edge of the bed while I fetch his medicines and force him to gulp.
“You convinced them,” he says finally. “And you somehow changed their minds.”
“I had to.”
“Why?”
I meet his gaze directly, knowing that this is the moment everything changes. “You know why,” I whisper, suddenly shy.
His hand catches mine, stilling it against his chest. “I need to hear you say it.”
My heart pounds so hard I can feel it in my throat. The moment stretches between us, fragile and infinite.
“Because I love you,” I whisper. “Because I couldn’t bear to lose you.”
His eyes close briefly, like he’s absorbing this moment into a mental snapshot. When they open again, they’re bright with an emotion I’ve never seen there before.
“Say it again,” he demands softly.
“I love you,” I repeat, stronger this time. “I don’t know when it happened. I don’t know how. But somewhere between hating you and saving you, I fell in love with you.”
He pulls me closer, until I’m standing between his knees, his hand cupping my face with a gentleness that belies his strength.
“I thought you’d left,” he admits, voice rough. “When I woke up and you were gone. I thought you’d chosen them.”
I shake my head. “I chose you long before today. I just needed to make them understand why.”
His thumb traces my cheekbone, feather-light. “I’ve never said these words to anyone,” he says. “I don’t know if I can say them right.”
“Try,” I whisper.
He takes a deep breath, eyes never leaving mine. “I love you, Yulia. Not because you’re carrying my child. Not because you saved my life. Because you’re you—stubborn and fierce and brilliant. Because you see me, the real me, and you’re still here.”
The words hit me like a lightning strike to the chest. Not soft. Not sweet. Devastating.
I can barely breathe.
My pulse roars in my ears, a frantic, stuttering rhythm that has nothing to do with fear and everything to do with him. With how long I’ve wanted to hear those words. With how I didn’t let myself hope—and now, suddenly, I can’t not hope.
“Say it again,” I whisper, my voice trembling.