Page 47 of The Pakhan’s Stolen Bride

I’m not afraid of him.

The thought goes through my head like a cold splash of water. I’m not afraid of his guns, his basement, or his angry, quiet threats. I’m afraid of the way my body literally leans into his hand, seeking the heat of his skin like it is the only thing keeping me warm. I’m afraid of what he makes me feel.

"Get dressed." His thumb drags slowly across my bottom lip before he pulls his hand away. "Ekaterina is waiting in the garden."

"Is the warden actually letting me outside today?" I try to keep my voice light, attempting to ignore the sudden, hot rush of blood to my face.

"Only if I’m the one watching." A faint, dry amusement colors his voice as he turns toward the door.

An hour later, the sun is surprisingly warm, a rare, crisp spring day that makes the old brick walls of the garden look almost bright. Ekaterina is kneeling by a bed of yellow primroses, her hands covered in dark, damp soil, her face lit up with a genuine, happy smile.

"Via! Look at these." She holds up a small, blooming pot, gesturing for me to come closer. "Yara says they won't survive the freeze, but they’re actually growing."

I drop to my knees next to her, not caring about the dirt staining my black leggings. "They’re beautiful, Ekaterina. You’re really good at this."

She giggles, her shoulder bumping against mine as she hands me a small metal trowel. "Ilya bought the seeds himself last week. He says we can try tomatoes if the rain stops."

I look up, my hand pausing on the trowel.

Ilya is standing near the stone archway, his hands in his pockets, his broad shoulders relaxed under a simple black sweater. He isn't checking his watch, and he isn't looking at the guards standing near the conservatory. He is just watching us, his face softer than I’ve ever seen it, the hard, tense lines around his mouth smoothed out by the warm sunlight.

He looks... normal. He looks like a man who actually belongs in a sunny garden, not a monster who spends his nights cleaning blood off his boots.

It is a beautiful, quiet sight, and it makes my heart ache with a sudden, sharp pain. For a few hours in this walled garden, we look like a real family. We look like three people who haven't lost their mothers on the same bloody night, who aren't currently preparing to fight a war for a city that wants us dead.

The sunshine is actually working on him. It is cracking the concrete walls he’s built around himself, letting the light in, and it is terrifying because I know how easily light can be snuffed out in this world.

"Via?" Ekaterina’s voice pulls me back, her hand touching my arm. "Are you going to help me dig, or are you just going to stare at my brother all morning?"

"I’m digging." A sudden blush rushes to my cheeks as I press the trowel into the dirt. "And for the record, I was staring at his sweater. It’s remarkably ugly."

Ilya lets out a low, dry laugh from the archway, the sound warm and real in the quiet garden.

I look up, meeting his eyes through the golden light, and I roll my eyes.

Arrogant freaking bastard.

18

ILYA

The coffee in my mug is cold, but I drink it anyway, letting the bitter liquid drag down my throat as I stare at the map of the southern canal.

Across the steel table, Lev is sweating. He’s been talking for ten minutes about the security shifts at the coal terminal, his voice cracking twice under my stare. Usually, this is the part where I tell him he’s an idiot and threaten to send him to the docks to haul crates. I need to do it. I need to feel the cold, hard weight of my own authority again, to remind everyone in this room that the Pakhan doesn't get soft because a pretty girl smiled in his garden.

But every time Lev points to a warehouse on the grid, my mind drags me right back to the yellow primroses.

I keep seeing the dirt on her black leggings. I keep hearing the way her laugh carried over the brick walls, light and completely real, like she forgot for a second that she was living in a fortress surrounded by men with automatic rifles. I hated how much I liked it. I hated the sudden, terrifying realization that I would spend every single dollar in my accounts to keep that look on her face.

"The cargo is secured, Pakhan," Lev says, his hands shaking slightly as he folds his map. "We have three patrols on the secondary gate."

I toss my heavy pen onto the glass table, the plastic casing clattering loudly in the quiet room. "You have two patrols. The third is at the eastern barrier. If I find a single blind spot on that terminal by tomorrow morning, Lev, I’m putting you on the night watch at the scrap yard. Do you understand me?"

He nods quickly, his face pale as he gathers his folders and backs out of the office.

The door clicks shut, leaving me alone with Dmitri. My right-hand man is leaning against the filing cabinet, his arms crossed, his eyes fixed on the empty chair across from me. He has that look on his face, the quiet, knowing scowl that usually means he’s about to say something I don't want to hear.

"You’re being hard on them today," Dmitri says, not moving from the wall. "Even for you."