Page 109 of The Pakhan’s Accidental Bride

"Business," Emil says simply. "Someone who needed to be reminded of their obligations."

I feel sick. "What's going to happen to Arnie?" The question comes out before I can stop it.

Emil sets down his fork and looks at me. His dark eyes are unreadable. "I haven't decided yet."

"Emil…"

"What do you think should happen to him?"

I don't know how to answer that. Part of me wants Arnie to face consequences for what he did. But another part of me, the part that saw him tied to that chair, bloody and terrified, doesn't want to be responsible for whatever Emil decides to do.

"I don't want you to kill him," I say quietly.

Emil doesn't respond. He just picks up his fork and continues eating.

No amount of prodding gets me an answer. I try asking again, but Emil deflects every attempt. He changes the subject smoothly, his expression giving nothing away.

Finally, he shifts the conversation entirely. "We need to discuss the wedding," he says.

My stomach rolls. The small amount of food I've managed to eat threatens to come back up. I don't want to marry Emil. Not after what he did. Not after he broke my trust and took Arnie, beating him bloody. Not after locking me in my room like a prisoner.

It doesn't matter that I have feelings for him. It doesn't matter that my body responds to his touch or that I think about him constantly. I'll figure out a way to tamp those feelings down. I have to.

"The wedding is in two weeks," Emil continues, his tone businesslike. He could be discussing a merger or a real estate deal. "It won't be a big wedding," he says. "That would be a security nightmare with the shooter still on the loose."

The shooter. I'd almost forgotten about that in the chaos of everything else. Someone is trying to kill me, and we still don't know who.

"We'll get married at a small church on the outskirts of town," Emil continues. "It's quiet and private. Easy to secure. The guest list will be limited to immediate family and close associates."

I nod numbly, not trusting myself to speak.

"Your brothers will be there, of course. And your friends, if you want them."

"Okay," I manage to say.

Emil studies me for a moment, his gaze intense. "Which of your brothers do you want to give you away?"

The question catches me off guard. I hadn't thought about it. But my answer is immediate and true. "All of them," I say. "I want all four of my brothers to give me away."

A combination of humor and surprise flickers in Emil's expression. "That can be arranged," he says.

We continue talking about the wedding. Every word feels like a weight pressing down on my chest. Every detail makes the reality of this situation more concrete, more inescapable. The nausea builds with each passing moment. My stomach churns, acid rising in my throat. I try to breathe through it and focus on something else, but it's no use.

Finally, I can't stand it anymore. I push back from the table abruptly, my chair scraping against the floor. Emil looks up, startled.

"Excuse me," I gasp.

Then I run. I make it to the nearest bathroom just in time, dropping to my knees in front of the toilet as everything comes up.

42

EMIL

The conference room is silent except for the sound of my fingers drumming against the polished mahogany table. My captains sit around me, their expressions carefully neutral, waiting for me to speak. Luca stands near the door, his arms crossed over his chest, his dark eyes watchful.

I'm done waiting. Done being patient while some faceless shooter takes potshots at my future wife. Done letting this threat hang over us like a sword waiting to drop.

"Two weeks," I say, my voice cutting through the silence like a blade. "I'm getting married in two weeks, and I want this resolved before then."