Page 97 of Sexting the Single Pakhan

She exhales shakily, shoulders curling inward. “I just… I wish I could live a free life like everyone else my age. I wish my parents were still alive, I’m sure things would have been different. I’ve been fighting my uncle for years, trying to avoid this arranged marriage. But in our world, at twenty-three, I’m already overdue. And then he found out I like women…”

Her voice cracks. “He called me a faggot. Said I was defective. That I needed to be fixed. You know how it is in our world.”

I do. Too well.

I groan low in my throat, rubbing a hand over my jaw. “People are still hung up on that shit in this day and age. It’s pathetic. You should be allowed to love whoever the fuck you want.”

She glances toward the corner table where her bodyguards sit. Her eyes flick back to me, glistening.

“He’s going to have me killed if I don’t marry you,” she says, voice barely audible. “He told me himself. If I don’t go through with this, I’m dead weight.”

Tears shimmer in her eyes, but she’s holding them back. I lean back slightly, exhaling through my nose. “I’m not going to let that happen.”

Her gaze snaps to mine, hope flickering there.

“You just have to go along with the plan we discussed earlier. Do as I say, and soon this will be over,” I continue, “We play the part until I can dismantle Marco from the inside. You and your girlfriend can disappear, start over. I’ll make sure of it.”

She nods slowly, swallowing hard. Her fingers twist the napkin tighter. “Okay.”

I glance at her guards again. “Don’t act suspicious,” I say quietly. “One wrong move and Marco smells it. You can’t tell anyone about this, do you understand?”

She looks down at her hands, then back up at me. “I’m sorry. For dragging you into this.”

“You have nothing to be sorry for.” My voice hardens just a fraction. “This is on him. Not you.”

She gives me a small, tremulous smile. “Thank you.”

One week later.

I’m sitting in my office, the late afternoon light slanting through the floor-to-ceiling windows and cutting sharp shadows across the desk. Igor is sprawled in the leather chair opposite me, tie loosened, sleeves rolled up, looking every bit the man who just watched a long con finally pay off.

He shakes his head, a slow grin spreading. “Your plan panned out exactly like you said it would.”

I lean back, arms crossed over my chest. “I told you it would.”

We just finished the meeting with the Albanians. And Marco wasn’t at the table. Lisa came through. With her help, we were able to get access to her uncle’s private files and pull the documents that proved he’d been skimming their cut for years.

The Albanians don’t forgive that kind of betrayal. They cut ties with Marco on the spot. His territory, his routes, now mine.

Igor exhales, rubbing a hand over his jaw. “I’m glad it worked. So…” He leans forward, elbows on his knees, eyes searching mine. “That means you’re patching things up with Laurel now?”

My hand is already reaching for my phone, and I open the tracker app. The little dot blinks: she’s at St. Luke’s Hospital.

My pulse kicks hard.

Igor’s voice fades to background noise. “Leonid?”

I’m already on my feet, phone pressed to my ear, calling Sergei.

He picks up on the first ring. “Boss.”

“Why is Laurel at the hospital?”

Sergei hesitates just a fraction. “I don’t know, sir. She went in about twenty minutes ago. No visible distress, though.”

“Twenty fucking minutes and I’m just now hearing it!”

“I’m sorry, boss—”