Page 110 of The Pakhan’s Accidental Bride

The captains exchange glances. Dmitri, my oldest captain with silver threading through his dark hair, clears his throat. "Pakhan, we've been working every angle. We've questioned everyone who might have a grudge and followed up on every lead."

"And yet the shooter is still out there." I lean forward, my gaze moving from face to face. "Which tells me you're not working hard enough."

Another captain shifts in his seat. He's younger, ambitious, and always eager to prove himself. "We've narrowed down the list of suspects. And there's always the possibility it's someone from outside trying to make a move."

"I don't want possibilities," I say, my voice dropping to a dangerous quiet. "I want names. I want locations. I want the person responsible in front of me so I can deal with them personally."

The room goes even quieter. They all know what "deal with them personally" means. They've seen the results of my personal attention before.

"Double your efforts," I continue, sitting back in my chair. "Put more men on the street. Lean on your informants harder. Offer rewards for information. I don't care what it takes. Find them."

"Yes, Pakhan," they chorus.

"And make it clear to everyone in our organization and beyond that anyone who harms Kiera Walker answers to me directly." I let that sink in for a moment. "No intermediaries. No negotiations. Me."

A captain nods slowly. "That will send a strong message."

"Good. Because I want everyone to understand exactly what happens when someone threatens what's mine." I stand, signaling the meeting is over. "Don't disappoint me."

The captains file out quickly, their faces grim with determination. Or maybe fear. Probably both. Luca remains behind, closing the door after the last man leaves.

"You think they'll find the shooter in time?" he asks.

"They'd better." I move to the window, looking out over the estate grounds. The manicured lawns stretch out in the afternoon sunlight, peaceful and serene. A complete contrast to the violence brewing beneath the surface. "Because if they don't and something happens at the wedding…"

I don't finish the sentence. I don't need to. Luca knows me well enough to understand the implications. He nods and follows me out of the conference room. We walk through the hallways of the estate, past armed guards stationed at regular intervals. The security has been increased since the shooting at the club. I'm not taking any chances.

When I reach Kiera's bedroom, I knock once and then open the door without waiting for a response. It's my house. My rules.

The sight that greets me makes every thought in my head evaporate. Kiera is standing near the bathroom door, fresh from the shower. Her short red hair is damp and tousled, water droplets clinging to the strands. She's wearing nothing but a white towel wrapped around her body, the fabric barely covering her from chest to mid-thigh. Her skin is flushed pink from the hot water, and I can see the curve of her breasts where the towel is tucked in at the top.

My body responds immediately. Heat floods through me, pooling low in my gut. My cock hardens, pressing against my zipper. Every instinct I have screams at me to cross the room, rip that towel away, and throw her onto the bed. My body and mind want me to claim her, mark her, and make her forget about everything except the feel of me inside her.

But then I see her face. She's pale beneath the flush from the shower. Her blue eyes are shadowed with exhaustion, and there's a tightness around her mouth that speaks of lingering nausea. The irritation in her expression is clear as she glares at me.

"Do you ever knock and wait for an answer?" she snaps.

"No." I force myself to stay where I am, my hands clenching into fists at my sides. "How are you feeling?"

"Like I threw up everything I've eaten for the past week." She moves to her dresser and pulls out clothes, keeping the towel wrapped tightly around herself. "What do you want, Emil?"

"I wanted to check on you."

"Well, you've checked. I'm fine. You can go now."

The dismissal in her tone grates on me, but I ignore it. "You're not fine. You were sick last night."

"Wedding planning will do that to a person." She turns her back to me, clutching her clothes to her chest. "Especially when they're being forced into it."

The words hit hard. I knew she was resistant, knew she didn't want this marriage. But hearing her say it so bluntly, seeing the exhaustion and resentment in her face, makes something twist uncomfortably in my chest.

"Kiera…"

"I'm going to Kaleb's house for dinner tonight," she interrupts, her voice firm. "Unless I'm to remain a prisoner here."

The challenge in her words is clear. She's testing me, pushing to see how far my control extends. Part of me wants to forbid it, to keep her here where I can protect her and know she's safe.

But family is everything. I know that better than most. And despite everything, despite the danger and the forced marriage and the violence she's witnessed, I can't deny her the chance to be with her siblings.