Page 114 of The Pakhan’s Accidental Bride

"That's what I've heard." The man meets Emil's gaze. "But you know how it is. Rumors and gossip. Hard to know what's true."

I glance at Emil, and understanding dawns. This isn't just a casual game. He's interrogating them, using the relaxed atmosphere to get information and find out what they know about the shooter.

My stomach tightens, but I keep my expression neutral. I don't want to give anything away or let the other players realize I've caught on.

The game continues, and so does the conversation. Emil asks questions, subtle and indirect, weaving them into the flow of talk so smoothly that it almost seems natural. The other men answer, some more forthcoming than others. They mention names, families, and territories. Pieces of a puzzle I don't fully understand.

I win another hand, but the thrill is gone now. I'm too aware of what's happening and conscious of the fact that this isn't just a game.

One of the men, the oldest of the group with silver hair and sharp eyes, sets down his cards and looks directly at Emil. "You want my honest opinion, Pakhan?"

"Always."

"The shooter isn't from any of the families." He says it with certainty, his voice firm. "I've been listening and asking around. And I haven't heard a single hint that it was a hit from any of the families. Plus, the shootings were too sloppy to be Mafia. We don't miss. Not like that."

44

EMIL

The silver-haired man's words echo in my mind long after we leave the card house. If the shooter isn't from any of the families, then who the hell is behind this? The question gnaws at me as Luca drives us back to the estate, Kiera quiet in the seat beside me. She's exhausted, I can tell. The evening wore on her more than she expected, and I can see the fatigue in the way she leans against the window.

When we arrive home, I walk her to her bedroom and watch as she disappears inside without a word. The door closes softly, and I stand there for a moment, my mind already turning to the next steps. If the families aren't involved, then the threat is coming from somewhere else. And that makes it infinitely more dangerous.

I don't sleep well that night. My thoughts keep circling back to the same question. Who wants Kiera dead? By the time morning comes, I've made a decision. If the threat isn't coming from my world, then maybe it's coming from hers.

Wednesday morning arrives with gray skies and a chill in the air. I dress in dark jeans and a black Henley, casual enough not to draw attention but still projecting the authority I carry everywhere I go. Luca meets me in the foyer, his expression questioning.

"We're going out," I tell him. "I need to talk to Kiera's brothers."

He nods, understanding immediately. "Which ones?"

"Devin first. Then Kevin."

The drive to Devin's gym takes about thirty minutes. It's located in a trendy part of the city, sandwiched between a juice bar and a yoga studio. The building itself is modern, all glass and steel with the gym's name emblazoned across the front in bold letters. Through the windows, I can see rows of equipment, people running on treadmills, lifting weights, and moving through their routines with focused determination.

Luca parks the SUV, and we head inside. The air smells like sweat and rubber, the sound of clanging weights and pounding feet filling the space. A young woman at the front desk looks up as we enter, her eyes widening slightly when she sees me. I'm used to that reaction. People can sense danger even when they don't understand what they're looking at.

"I'm here to see Devin Walker," I say.

She hesitates, her gaze flicking to Luca, then back to me. "Is he expecting you?"

"No."

"I'll… I'll go get him." She hurries away, disappearing through a door marked Staff Only.

A few minutes later, Devin emerges. He's wearing athletic shorts and a tank top that shows off his muscular build, and a towel is draped around his neck. When he sees me, surprise flashes across his face, followed quickly by something that looks almost like excitement.

"Emil," he says, walking over with an easy stride. "I wasn't expecting to see you here."

"I thought I'd check out your gym," I say, keeping my tone casual. "Kiera mentioned you own the place."

His face lights up. "Yeah, I do. Opened it about five years ago. It's been my passion project, you know? Health and fitness first. That's what I'm all about." He gestures around the space with obvious pride. "I wanted to create a place where people could come and really transform their lives. Not just physically, but mentally too. Exercise is about so much more than looking good. It's about feeling good, being strong, and taking control of your health."

I nod, letting him talk. Devin is enthusiastic, that much is clear. He loves what he does, and it shows in every word. As he gives me a tour of the facility, pointing out the various equipment and explaining his philosophy on training, I study him carefully. He's genuine, I realize. There's no pretense here, no hidden agenda. He's exactly what he appears to be—a man who cares about helping people get in shape.

"You want to work out while you're here?" he asks, stopping near the free weights section. "I'd love to see what you can do. Maybe even give you some pointers."

I almost smile at that. Pointers. As if I haven't been training my body for combat since I was a teenager. But I don't say that. Instead, I nod. "Sure."