Page 125 of The Pakhan’s Accidental Bride

"I can, and I did," I say, meeting his gaze without flinching. "Because your life is in danger, and I'm not going to stand by and watch you get killed because you're too stubborn to accept help."

Before Jack can respond, the door to the dining room opens and Kiera walks in. She's wearing a simple pair of jeans and a soft blue sweater, her red hair falling to just before her shoulders. She looks pale, her skin almost translucent in the morning light, and there are dark circles under her eyes that makeup can't quite hide. But she's on her feet, and she's moving under her own power, and that's what matters.

"Good morning," she says, her voice quiet as she takes a seat at the table between Kaleb and Devin. Her brothers immediately shift their attention to her, their anger at me momentarily forgotten in their concern for their sister.

"How are you feeling?" Kaleb asks, reaching over to squeeze her hand.

"I'm fine," she says, offering him a small smile. "The doctor gave me a clean bill of health. Just stress and not eating enough, apparently."

I watch her carefully, noting the way she avoids my gaze and how her hands tremble slightly as she reaches for the coffee pot. She's not fine. Not really. But she's putting on a brave face for her brothers, and I respect that.

She piles food onto her plate. Eggs, bacon, toast, and fruit. More than I've seen her eat in days. But when she picks up her fork, she just pushes the food around, moving it from one side of the plate to the other without actually taking a bite.

"You need to eat," I say, my voice gentler than it was with her brothers.

She looks up at me then, and there's something in her eyes that I can't quite read. Defiance? Fear? Resignation? "I know," she says. "I'm just not very hungry."

"Try anyway," I say. "You fainted last night because you haven't been taking care of yourself. That needs to change."

She holds my gaze for a moment longer, then looks down at her plate and takes a small bite of toast. It's a start.

The conversation around the table picks up again, her brothers asking her questions, making sure she's really okay. Luca sits quietly at the end of the table, observing everything with his usual calm efficiency. He catches my eye and gives a small nod. Everything is under control. For now.

But I can feel the tension in the room, the unspoken questions and fears that hang in the air like smoke. Kiera's brothers want answers. They want to know who's behind the threats, who's trying to kill their sister, and what I'm doing to stop it. And I have to tell them something they're not going to want to hear.

I wait until there's a lull in the conversation, until everyone has had a chance to eat and drink their coffee. Then I set down my cup and look at each of them in turn, making sure I have their full attention.

"There's something you need to know," I say, my voice cutting through the quiet chatter. "About the shooter and who's behind all of this."

Kevin straightens in his chair, his expression wary. "What about them?"

I take a breath, choosing my words carefully. This is going to complicate things, but they deserve to know the truth. "Whoever the shooter is," I say slowly, "he's not of my Mafia world. We need to look elsewhere."

49

KIERA

Isit at the breakfast table, staring unseeing at my plate of food. The scrambled eggs have gone cold, the bacon congealed in its own grease. My fork rests in my hand, but I can't remember the last time I actually used it. The voices around me blur into white noise, distant and meaningless.

Pregnant.

The word echoes in my mind like a bell that won't stop ringing. The doctor said I'm pregnant. Actually pregnant. With Emil's baby.

That's why my stomach has been so upset. That's why I fainted last night. Not stress, not lack of food, and not the terror of someone threatening my brothers. A baby. A tiny human growing inside me right now, at this very moment, while I sit here pretending to eat breakfast.

I'd begged the doctor not to say anything to Emil yet. The words had tumbled out of me in a desperate rush, my hands gripping his arm with enough force to leave marks. "Please," I'd whispered. "Please don't tell him. Not yet. I need to tell him myself. I need time to process this first."

The doctor had looked uncomfortable, his professional ethics warring with his loyalty to the Pakhan. But he'd nodded eventually, agreeing to give me twenty-four hours before he had to report his findings. Twenty-four hours to figure out how to tell Emil that our complicated arrangement has just become infinitely more complicated.

But how am I supposed to do that? How do I even begin that conversation? And more importantly, how do I feel about this news? I don't even know if I'm happy. Terrified, yes. Overwhelmed, absolutely. But happy? I can't sort through the tangle of emotions enough to find that particular thread.

The men continue talking around me, their voices rising and falling in urgent discussion. I catch fragments of conversation, pieces of information that don't quite connect in my distracted mind. Something about the shooter running away when Emil and Luca arrived at the meeting place last night. Something about tire tracks and cigarette butts and evidence that might lead nowhere.

My hand drifts unconsciously to my stomach, then jerks away like I've been burned. I can't do that. I can't give anything away. Not yet. Not until I've figured out what I'm going to say.

"If not from the Mafia, then who in the world was trying to shoot her?"

The question cuts through my fog, and my head snaps up. I blink, trying to focus on the conversation I've been ignoring. Emil is looking at my brothers, his expression grim and thoughtful. Kevin is leaning forward, his elbows on the table, his face pale with worry. Jack has his cop face on, analytical and controlled, but I can see the fear in his eyes. Devin looks like he wants to hit something. Kaleb just looks tired.