Page 87 of The Pakhan’s Accidental Bride

Kiera's expression softens slightly. "So you created a system to keep yourself accountable."

"Yes." I sit on the edge of her bed, suddenly tired. "The council is made up of senior members of the organization. Men who've proven their loyalty and wisdom over decades. They advise me on major decisions. They hear complaints from family members who might be afraid to come directly to me."

"Even complaints about you?"

"Especially complaints about me." I meet her gaze. "If I'm making a mistake, if I'm letting personal feelings cloud my judgment, they're supposed to call me on it. They're supposed to protect the organization, even from me if necessary."

She moves closer, her blue eyes studying my face. "That's actually pretty smart."

"It's necessary." I reach out and take her hand, pulling her to stand between my legs. "But it also means they have significant power. They can't forbid me from marrying you. I'm still the Pakhan, and my word is final. But they can make things difficult. They can refuse to support the marriage publicly. They can create problems within the organization."

"And my brothers?"

My jaw tightens. "If they decide you're unsuitable, if they think you're a liability, they'll pressure me to take action. Against you. Against your family. They'll argue that your brothers, especially Jack, are too dangerous to leave alive."

Fear flashes across her face. "So this meeting tomorrow night…"

"Is crucial." I pull her closer, my hands settling on her hips. "They need to see that you're strong. That you understand our world and can handle it, and that you're worthy of being the Pakhan’s wife."

"No pressure or anything," she mutters.

Despite everything, I smile. "You'll be fine. You've already proven you can hold your own. The way you handled those women in the living room, and how you stood up to your brothers at dinner tonight, for example. You have the strength they're looking for."

"I don't feel strong right now." Her voice is quiet. "I feel trapped."

"I know." The admission costs me something. "But you're not alone in this. I'll be there. And despite what you might think, I'm not trying to control you. I'm trying to protect you."

She looks down at me, her expression conflicted. Then, slowly, she reaches up and touches my face. Her fingers trace the line of my jaw and the scruff of my beard.

"You're a complicated man, Emil Nikitin."

"I'm a dangerous man," I correct. "Don't forget that."

"I haven't." Her thumb brushes across my lower lip. "I saw what you did to that man in the interrogation room. I know what you're capable of."

"And yet you're still here."

"And yet I'm still here," she echoes.

The air between us shifts. Charges. I can see the moment she makes her decision, the way her eyes darken with desire.

"Stand up," she says.

I raise an eyebrow. "Giving orders now?"

"Yes." Her voice is firm. "Stand up."

Intrigued, I do as she asks. She immediately pushes me back toward the bed, her hands on my chest. I let her guide me, curious to see where this is going.

"Sit," she commands.

I sit on the edge of the bed, looking up at her. She's standing between my legs again, but this time she's the one in control. The shift in dynamic is unexpected and arousing as hell.

"Take off your shirt," she says.

I pull my shirt over my head, tossing it aside. Her eyes roam over my chest, taking in the tattoos, muscles, and scars from a lifetime of violence. She reaches out and traces one of the scars, a long line across my ribs from a knife fight years ago.

"Does it hurt?" she asks.