Page 75 of The Pakhan’s Accidental Bride

"Enough."

She rolls her eyes but doesn't push. We stop at the bar and I order us drinks. Whiskey for me, wine for her. We sit at a private table in the corner where I can see the entire floor, and we talk.

She asks questions about the business, about how the casino operates, and I answer honestly. I tell her about the security measures, the cameras, and how we track every dollar that comes in and goes out. Most women would pretend to understand or lose interest halfway through. Kiera leans forward, her elbows on the table, genuinely engaged.

She's smart. She picks up on things quickly and asks follow-up questions that show she's really listening. And she's not afraid of me. At least she's less afraid of me, and she isn't looking at me like I'm a monster. She looks at me like I'm just a man, and it's refreshing in a way I didn't expect. When she laughs at one of my dry observations about a drunk gambler at the blackjack table, the sound is unguarded and real and my body reacts to the sound.

"So you're telling me people lose their entire paychecks in here?" she asks, watching a man at the slots feed another bill into the machine.

"Every night."

"That's depressing."

"That's business."

She studies me for a moment. "Do you ever feel guilty about it?"

The question catches me off guard. No one asks me that. No one cares enough to ask. "No," I say, and it's the truth. "They choose to be here. I provide the service. What they do with it is their decision."

She doesn't look satisfied with the answer, but she doesn't push. Instead, she takes a sip of her wine and watches the casino floor with new understanding.

We have dinner in the private dining room upstairs. The food is excellent, the wine is better, and Kiera relaxes as the evening goes on. She tells me about her job in fashion, about the designers she admires and her dream of creating her own line someday. I find myself actually listening instead of just waiting for her to finish talking. She has ambition. She has dreams that have nothing to do with me or my world, and I respect that.

She laughs at my dry comment about one of the captains and his terrible taste in suits. The sound is so genuine, so unguarded, that it makes my chest tighten. This is what I want. This ease between us. This connection. Not the forced politeness of business associates or the calculated flirtation of women trying to secure their position. Just… this. Her. Relaxed and real, looking at me like I'm someone worth knowing.

"You're staring," she says.

"Yes."

"Why?"

I consider lying, but I don't. "Because you're beautiful when you're not angry at me." I grin. "But you're enchanting when you are angry, too."

She flushes, and I watch the color rise in her cheeks with satisfaction. She's not used to compliments, I realize. Her ex-boyfriend was a fool.

After dinner, I take her to the back offices. It's the same routine as the horse races. I want her to see how the money is counted, how the debts are tracked, and how everything is accounted for down to the last cent. I want her to understand that my world isn't just violence and intimidation. It's also meticulous, organized, and controlled.

The office manager is waiting for us, a stack of ledgers and reports spread across the desk. He straightens when we walk in, his expression respectful but nervous. He's never seen me bring a woman back here before. No one has.

"Pakhan," he says. "Everything is ready for your review."

I nod and move to the desk, Kiera standing beside me. I'm hyperaware of her presence, the warmth of her body near mine, the subtle scent of her perfume mixing with the sterile smell of the office. I start going through the numbers, checking the totals against the reports, and at first, everything looks fine.

Then I see it.

A discrepancy. Small, but there. The kind of thing most people would miss if they weren't looking closely. Five thousand dollars. Not enough to trigger immediate alarm, but enough to be noticeable if you know what you're looking for.

I flip back through the previous week's reports, my jaw tightening. There it is again. Another five thousand. And the week before that. Same amount. Same pattern.

"What is it?" Kiera asks, noticing the shift in my demeanor.

"Nothing," I say, but it's not nothing. I continue flipping through the ledgers, my mind already calculating. If this has been happening for a month, that's twenty thousand. Two months, forty thousand. Three months, sixty thousand.

I flip back further, my eyes scanning the numbers with new intensity. The pattern becomes clearer the more I look. Consistent withdrawals, always the same amount, always logged as miscellaneous expenses. Someone is being careful. Someone knows how to hide money in plain sight.

"Emil?" Kiera's voice pulls me back. She's watching me with concern. "Are you okay?"

"Fine," I say, but my mind is already elsewhere. Someone on my staff is stealing from me. Someone I trusted enough to manage the back office operations. The realization sits heavily in my chest, mixing with anger, betrayal, and the need for retribution.