Page 127 of The Pakhan’s Accidental Bride

I spend most of my time in my room, working on the wedding clothes. They're mostly finished now, the designs complete and construction solid. But I keep finding little things to adjust, tiny details to perfect. The embroidery on Emil's jacket could be more intricate. The beading on my dress could use another layer. The hem needs to be exactly the right length.

I know I'm stalling and using the work as a distraction from everything else. From the pregnancy I haven't told Emil about. From the shooter who's still out there somewhere. I still haven't shown Emil what I've created. The clothes hang in my closet, hidden behind other garments, waiting for the right moment. I wonder if he'll be pleased when he sees them. Or if he'll be angry that I took such liberties with something so important. The wedding is supposed to be a statement, a declaration of power and unity. Will my designs live up to that? Or will they fall short?

The questions circle endlessly in my mind, mixing with all the other unanswered questions until I can't tell one worry from another.

I see Emil at meals, but our conversations are stilted and brief. He's busy with his men, coordinating the search for the shooter, managing his businesses, and handling the thousand details that come with being a Pakhan. I'm grateful for the distance. It gives me time to think and process, to figure out what I'm going to say when I finally tell him about the baby.

But the thinking doesn't help. Every time I try to imagine the conversation, my mind goes blank. How do you tell a man you barely know, a man you're being forced to marry, that you're carrying his child? What words could possibly be adequate for that?

The nights are the worst. I lie awake for hours, staring at the ceiling, my hand on my stomach, feeling nothing but knowing something is there. Something growing, changing, becoming. The responsibility of it terrifies me. I'm going to be someone's mother. But what kind of life will my child have living with the Mafia? Will its life constantly be in danger?

One night, sleep proves particularly elusive. I've been tossing and turning for hours, my mind refusing to quiet, my body restless and uncomfortable. Finally, I give up and climb out of bed, padding across the room to the window.

The estate grounds are dark, lit only by strategically placed security lights that cast long shadows across the manicured lawns. I can see the shapes of guards patrolling, their movements precise and professional. Everything looks peaceful. Safe.

My gaze shifts to where three of Emil's men emerge from a side entrance, moving with careful coordination. They're carrying something between them, something long and heavy wrapped in black plastic. A body bag.

My breath catches in my throat. My hand flies to my mouth, pressing hard against my lips to keep from making a sound. I watch as they load the bag into the trunk of a dark sedan, their movements efficient and practiced. Obviously, this isn't the first time they've done this, and it likely won't be the last.

The car pulls away, its taillights disappearing into the darkness beyond the estate gates. The men return inside, and the grounds are quiet again. Peaceful. As if nothing happened.

But I know what I saw. And I have the sickening, terrible feeling that I know who was inside that body bag.

Arnie.

50

EMIL

My estate feels like a damn train station this morning.

I stand at the window of my office, watching the chaos unfold below. Kevin is on the terrace with his phone pressed to his ear, pacing back and forth while he handles some work crisis. Jack is in the gym, working out with two of my guards who look like they're trying not to show how impressed they are by his form. Devin is in the kitchen arguing with my chef about protein ratios and meal prep strategies. And Kaleb is in the library on a video call with Mark, their voices carrying down the hallway.

My estate is massive, but somehow, with Kiera's four brothers staying here, the place feels crowded. Like we're all tripping over each other no matter where we go.

Except for Kiera. She's been staying in her room. A lot. And that bothers me more than I want to admit. I've seen her at meals, of course. She sits quietly, picks at her food, answers questions when asked but doesn't volunteer much. She's withdrawn and distant.

Last night at dinner, she barely touched her plate, just pushed the food around with her fork while her brothers talked and argued around her. When I asked if she was feeling all right, she gave me a tight smile and said she was fine. But I could see the lie in her eyes. Something is wrong. And I need to know what it is.

I leave my office and head upstairs, my footsteps echoing on the marble floors. The hallway leading to her room is quiet, the morning sunlight streaming through the tall windows and casting geometric patterns on the walls. I knock once on her door, then wait.

"Come in," her voice calls out, muffled through the wood.

I open the door and find her sitting on the bed, still in her pajamas, a simple tank top and shorts that show off her legs. Her red hair is messy, like she's been running her hands through it, and there are shadows under her eyes that suggest she didn't sleep well.

"Good morning," I say, keeping my voice gentle.

She looks up at me, and I see something flicker in her blue eyes. Wariness, maybe. Or exhaustion. "Morning."

"I was thinking," I say, leaning against the doorframe. "Last week, I was supposed to take you to look at some properties. Buildings and lots I'm considering for new ventures. We had to postpone because of everything that happened."

She nods slowly, not saying anything.

"I'd like to do that today. If you're interested." I watch her face carefully, looking for any sign of what she's thinking. "Get out of the house for a while. Just you, me, and Luca. Some guards, of course, but we can have some space."

For a moment, I think she's going to refuse. Her expression is guarded, her body language closed off. But then she takes a breath and nods.

"Okay," she says quietly. "Give me twenty minutes to get ready."