Page 131 of The Pakhan’s Accidental Bride

"I don't give a shit what you're arresting me for," the man says. "You killed my brother."

"Your brother killed himself when he decided to deal drugs to kids," Jack says, his voice hard. "I just did my job."

The man lunges forward, but Emil's guards are faster. They have him restrained before he can get more than a foot from the chair, their hands firm on his shoulders, pushing him back down.

Jack pulls out his handcuffs, the metal glinting in the harsh overhead light. "You have the right to remain silent," he begins, reciting the Miranda rights as he cuffs the man's wrists behind his back. "Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law."

I watch the whole thing in a daze. This is it. This is the man who tried to kill me. All because he wanted revenge on Jack. Kevin, Devin, and Kaleb move to flank Jack as he hauls the man to his feet. They're going to take him to the police station to officially process him and make sure he faces justice. Real justice, not the kind Emil would deliver in this room.

As they move toward the door, Jack pauses and looks back at Emil. "Thank you," he says quietly, "for letting me handle this."

Emil nods once. "He's yours. Make sure he pays for what he did."

"I will."

Then they're gone, taking the shooter with them. The door closes behind them with a soft click, and suddenly, it's just me and Emil in the interrogation room. The guards have left too, giving us privacy.

I stand there for a moment, staring at the empty chair. It's over. Really over. The threat that's been hanging over us for months is finally gone.

Emil moves to stand beside me, his presence warm and solid. His hand comes to rest on my stomach, his palm covering the small bump that's growing there. "How do you feel?" he asks, his voice gentle.

I take a breath, trying to sort through the tangle of emotions in my chest. Relief. Exhaustion. Fear. Hope. "I don't know," I admit. "It's been so long. I almost forgot what it felt like to not be afraid."

"You're safe now," he says. "You and the baby. I promise."

I look up at him, studying his face. The hard lines have softened over the past two months. He's still dangerous, still capable of terrible violence, but there's something different in his eyes when he looks at me now. Something tender.

"I know," I say quietly.

We stand there for a while, his hand on my stomach, both of us processing what just happened. The interrogation room feels different now, less threatening. Like maybe it's just a room, after all, not a symbol of everything dark and violent in Emil's world.

Finally, Emil speaks. "Now that the shooter has been found," he says, his dark eyes meeting mine, "we can get married."

52

EMIL

The estate is absolute chaos.

Staff members rush past me in the hallway, carrying flower arrangements and boxes of decorations. Someone nearly collides with me while hauling a massive ice sculpture toward the loading dock. The kitchen is in full production mode, preparing food that will be transported to the church reception hall. Voices call out instructions, phones ring constantly, and the energy is frantic.

Today is the day. Our wedding day.

I've been in my office most of the morning, staying out of the way while the staff coordinates the final details. Luca has been managing the security arrangements, ensuring that every entrance to the church is covered, every guest vetted, and every possible threat neutralized. We're not taking any chances.

A soft knock on my office door pulls me from my thoughts. One of the household staff, a young woman, stands in the doorway with a folded piece of paper in her hand.

"Pakhan," she says, her voice slightly breathless. "Miss Walker asked me to give this to you."

I take the note, my gut immediately twisting. Kiera has been holed up in her room all morning, and I haven't seen her since breakfast. I assumed she was getting ready, working with the hair and makeup people I'd hired. But now, with this note in my hand, anxiety spikes through me.

Does she want to call it off? Has she changed her mind?

I unfold the paper and read her handwriting.

Can you come to my room? I need to see you.—K

Short. Simple. Giving nothing away.