Page 30 of The Pakhan’s Accidental Bride

"This isn't over," Kevin says, looking past the wall of men to where Emil stands near my kitchen.

"It is for tonight," Emil replies.

The tension in the room is suffocating. I can barely breathe as I watch my brothers struggle with the decision. Finally, Kevin jerks his head toward the door.

"Come on," he mutters.

They file out slowly, each of them shooting me looks that range from worried to furious. Jack is the last to leave, pausing in the doorway to look back at me.

"Call us if you need anything," he says. "Anything at all."

I nod, not trusting my voice. The door closes behind them with a soft click that sounds like a death knell.

For a moment, nobody moves. Then Emil makes a gesture, and most of his men file back outside. I hear them taking up positions around my building, their footsteps heavy on the stairs and sidewalk. Only two remain inside, positioning themselves near the door. Far enough away that they won't hear if we talk quietly, but close enough to intervene if needed.

The reality of the situation crashes over me, and fury burns away my fear.

"How dare you," I hiss, rounding on Emil. "How dare you come into my home and threaten my brothers and take over my life like you have any right to!"

He doesn't flinch, doesn't even blink, just watches me with that infuriating calm.

"I already called in sick to work today," I continue, my voice rising. "How much more time am I going to have to take off because of this mess? How much more of my life are you going to disrupt?"

"As much as necessary to keep you safe," Emil says simply.

"Safe? You're a mobster! You're the opposite of safe!"

"I'm the only thing standing between you, your ex Arnie, and the shooter right now," he counters. "Or did you forget?"

I haven't forgotten. God, I wish I could forget. But that doesn't mean I'm okay with trading one dangerous man for another.

"This is insane," I mutter, running my hands through my short hair. "All of this is completely insane."

I pace across my small living room, very aware of the two silent guards by my door and the man watching me with dark, hungry eyes. Emil hasn't moved from his spot near my kitchen, but I can feel the weight of his attention on me like a physical touch.

"I can't believe you actually want to marry me," I say, stopping to face him. "Why? Why me?"

Emil's gaze travels slowly down my body, and the way he looks at me makes me feel naked. His eyes linger on my breasts, then the curve of my waist, and finally on my hips. When his gaze finally returns to my face, there's heat in his expression that makes my core clench.

"I'm attracted to you," he says, his voice dropping lower. "Very attracted to you."

My breath catches. I should not be turned on right now. I should not be imagining what those large, capable hands would feel like on my skin.

"That's not a reason to get married," I manage.

"I also need a wife," he continues. "My council has been pressuring me to settle down, to provide stability and heirs. You solve that problem."

"Oh, well, I'm so glad I can be useful," I snap, even as part of me is fixating on the word 'heirs' and what that would entail.

Emil's lips quirk in what might be amusement. "And you asked me to marry you."

"That was to get away from Arnie! It wasn't a real proposal!"

He doesn't respond, just keeps watching me with those dark eyes that see too much. I want to scream. I want to throw something. I want to demand he leave and take his armed thugs with him. But I also want to close the distance between us and find out if his lips are as firm as they look.

What is wrong with me? This man is a criminal. A mobster. He kills people, probably. He definitely hurts them. He's dangerous and violent and everything I should be running from. But instead, I'm standing here in my living room, my pulse racing, my skin flushed, wondering what it would feel like to have him touch me.

I pace again, needing to move and do something with the nervous energy coursing through me. My boss is going to be furious if I have to call in sick again tomorrow. I've already used up most of my goodwill at work this year. What am I supposed to tell them? Sorry, can't come in, my fake fiancé, who's actually a Russian Mob boss, has stationed armed guards around my apartment?