Page 70 of The Pakhan’s Accidental Bride

"Whoever it was, they're a professional," another adds. "They knew how to avoid cameras, how to disappear. We're still looking, but⁠—"

"But you have nothing." I lean forward, ignoring the pain in my ribs. "Someone tried to kill my fiancée. Someone is still out there, planning God knows what. And you're telling me you have nothing?"

"We're doing everything we can," the first captain says carefully.

"Then do more." My voice drops to a dangerous level. "I want every resource we have on this. Every contact, every informant, and every piece of surveillance equipment. Find this person. Now."

"Yes, Pakhan."

They start to file out, but before they reach the door, it opens again. Another captain rushes in. His face is flushed, and he's breathing heavy like he's been running.

"Pakhan," he says urgently. "I was watching Miss Walker's apartment like you ordered."

My entire body tenses. "And?"

"Someone got in. They ransacked the place. I didn't see it happen, but when I checked an hour ago, the door was open and everything inside was destroyed."

29

KIERA

Istare at my phone for a long moment before finally dialing my boss's number. It's Tuesday morning, exactly one week since the honor fight, and I can't put this off any longer.

"Kiera," my boss answers on the second ring. "How are you feeling?"

"Better," I lie. "But I need to take some more time off. For wedding planning."

There's a pause. "Wedding planning? I thought you were sick."

"I was. I am. But I'm also getting married in three weeks, and there's a lot to do." The words taste bitter in my mouth. Three weeks. That's all the time I have left before I become Mrs. Emil Nikitin.

"Oh. Well, congratulations." She sounds genuinely pleased, which makes me feel worse. "Take all the time you need. We'll manage here."

"Thank you. I really appreciate it."

I hang up and toss the phone onto the bed. I can't tell her the real reason I'm not coming back to work. Can't explain that someone tried to kill me, that my apartment was ransacked, and that there are people actively looking for me. I can't say that the only reason I'm still alive is because I'm trapped in a Mafia boss's estate with armed guards at every entrance.

I catch my reflection in the mirror across the room and scowl at my expression. I look almost defeated, which is not even close to the truth. Maybe I can't do anything about the wedding situation, but I'm far from being conquered.

Emil's injuries from the fight with my brothers are almost completely healed. Just a faint yellow bruise under his left eye and a small cut on his cheekbone that's already scabbing over. The man heals like a damn superhero.

The past week has been strange. I've spent most of my time sparring with Luca, learning self-defense techniques that go beyond the basic moves my brothers taught me growing up. Luca's patient but demanding, pushing me until my muscles scream and sweat drips down my back. I'm getting better, faster, and stronger. But I still can't shake the feeling that I'm being trained for a war I never signed up for.

I've had meals with Emil, breakfast and dinner mostly, but he's been so busy, I haven't spent much time with him otherwise. He disappears into his office for hours, takes calls in Russian that I can't understand, and meets with men who all carry guns under their expensive suits.

I'm not sure if that's good or bad. Part of me is relieved to have space, to not feel his intense focus on me every second. But another part, a part I don't want to acknowledge, misses him. Misses the way he looks at me like I'm the only thing in the world that matters.

I'm trying to make the best of this situation. Really, I am. But I'm still pissed that I'm being forced to marry him. Forced. That's the word that keeps echoing in my head. I don't have a choice. If I don't go through with this wedding, my brothers' lives are in danger. Jack especially, with his cop's instincts and his private investigation into Emil's organization.

No matter how good looking Emil is, and God, he is gorgeous. No matter how much money he has, and it's clearly a fortune. No matter how incredible he is in bed, and that's an understatement. I don't want this lifestyle.

I've seen the guys coming and going from the estate all week. Men in dark suits with bulges under their jackets that can only be weapons. They nod respectfully when they see me, call me "Miss Walker" in accented English, but their eyes are cold and calculating. These are dangerous men. Killers, probably. And I'm supposed to be their Pakhan’s wife.

A knock on the door interrupts my spiraling thoughts.

"Miss Walker?" A woman's voice, soft and accented. "The seamstress is here for your fitting."

Right. The wedding dress. Because apparently, I need a custom gown for this forced marriage.