Page 8 of The Pakhan’s Accidental Bride

I glance down at the paper. The headline jumps out immediately, bold and impossible to miss.

Emil Nikitin and Kiera Walker are Pleased to Announce their Engagement.

Below it, there's a photo from Saturday night. Grainy, taken from a distance, but clear enough. My hand is on Kiera's lower back, her body pressed against mine. The angle catches her profile, the curve of her throat, the way her dark hair falls over one shoulder.

She looks fucking beautiful.

From his chair by the fireplace, Luca chuckles. It's a low, amused sound that fills the silence. He's got his legs stretched out, completely relaxed, a glass of whiskey in his hand even though it's barely past ten in the morning. He's been here since I arrived, keeping me company while I worked through the morning's paperwork.

"Something funny?" the counselor asks, his voice tight.

"Very," Luca says, taking a slow sip of his drink. His dark eyes gleam with mirth. "You should see your face right now."

The counselor's jaw tightens, but he doesn't respond. He knows better than to snap at Luca. My Sovietnik might seem easygoing, but he's just as dangerous as I am. More so, in some ways, because people underestimate him.

I pick up the newspaper, scanning my handiwork. The announcement is exactly as I dictated it to my contact at the paper Sunday morning. Short, formal, with just enough detail to make it legitimate. The photo is perfect too. One of my men took it Saturday night, right after Kiera claimed me on the dance floor. I'd given the order before we even left the club.

Strategic. Calculated. Public.

Now she can't back out. Now the council can't interfere. The engagement is real because I've made it real, and everyone in this city knows it.

Perfect.

"I assume the council has seen this," I say, setting the paper back down.

"Yes, Pakhan." The counselor clears his throat. "They're… concerned."

I let the silence stretch, watching him squirm. He's trying so hard to be diplomatic, to phrase his words carefully so he doesn't offend me. It's almost amusing.

"Concerned," I repeat, my voice flat.

"They simply wish to understand the situation." He's choosing every word like he's walking through a minefield. "To ensure that this arrangement serves the organization's interests. To offer their support and guidance."

"Their support." I lean forward slightly, resting my forearms on the desk. The counselor takes an involuntary step back. "Tell me something. How long has the council been pushing me to marry?"

"I… several months, Pakhan."

"You wanted me married. Now I'm engaged. This should be good news."

"Of course, Pakhan. Of course it is." He's practically tripping over his words now. "The council is pleased that you've chosen to marry. They simply wish to be involved in the process. To meet the young woman, to ensure she understands what being your wife entails, to⁠—"

"To control the situation." I cut him off, my voice going cold.

The counselor goes pale. "Pakhan, I didn't mean to suggest⁠—"

"I know exactly what you meant to suggest." I stand slowly, and he actually flinches. "The council wanted me to choose a wife. I've chosen. That should be the end of the discussion."

"Yes, Pakhan. Absolutely." He's nodding rapidly now, eager to agree, to placate. "I'll inform the council that you have the situation well in hand."

"You do that." I sit back down, picking up my pen. A clear dismissal. "And remind them that I'm Pakhan. Not them. My decisions don't require their approval."

"Of course. Thank you for your time." He practically backs out of the room, bowing slightly as he goes. The door closes behind him with a soft click.

Luca's chuckle turns into a full laugh. "Christ, Emil. I thought he was going to piss himself."

"He should be grateful I didn't make him." I return my attention to the contract, but I'm not really reading it anymore.

"You enjoyed that," Luca observes.