Page 60 of The Pakhan’s Stolen Bride

Ilya stands up slowly, his hands resting on his hips as he stares down at me, his chest expanding as he takes a long, slow breath. "The Feds can't freeze an international insurance payout."

"Exactly," I say, a small, sassy smirk spreading across my lips. "It’s a legal settlement backed by a British bank. It’s clean, it’s untraceable, and the Vostok family gets their cargo offset while my father gets his five million without a single wire flag. It takes twelve hours to clear, but it’s completely bulletproof. My father gets to pay his security, and you get to keep your five million in Zurich."

The silence in the study stretches.

Ilya doesn't move. He just stands there, looking down at me as if he’s seeing a completely different person.

Well, it’s his fault for thinking I’m just a useless pretty face to be kept locked up.

"You did this in twenty minutes?" He steps closer, his hand coming up to rest on the back of my chair.

"I told you, I think with my head," I say, my chin lifting as I meet his gaze. "My father might be losing his touch, but he raised a daughter who knows how to survive. If you want to keep this house standing, Ilya, you need to start treating me like a partner, not a secret you’re trying to keep from the neighbors."

He lets out a low, dry laugh, the sound warm and real in the quiet study. He reaches down, his large, rough hand wrapping over mine where it rests on the desk. "You are a very expensive wife, Via."

"And you're a very lucky husband," I reply, my voice softening just a bit as I feel the heat of his palm against my skin.

He leans down, his mouth brushing against my ear, his breath hot and ragged against my neck. "Dmitri is going to be very embarrassed when I tell him a girl in my sweater just broke his entire security ledger."

"He should be," I say, turning my head slightly so my lips are inches from his. "Now tell him to cancel the Zurich wire before I have to hack his phone next."

"I’ll tell him," Ilya murmurs, his hand sliding up to the back of my neck, his fingers tangling in my hair as he pulls me into a slow, deep kiss.

When he pulls back, his eyes are dark, heavy, and completely steady. He looks down at the laptop, then back at me. "The Vostok files are in the third ledger. Let's get the insurance drafts ready."

I slide the keyboard closer, a small smile playing on my lips as he pulls up a chair next to mine.

24

ILYA

The green confirmation bar on the laptop screen is still glowing, casting a pale, clean light across the polished mahogany of my desk.

I’m not looking at the screen anymore. I’m staring at the side of her face. Her hair is falling out of her loose bun, a few messy strands clinging to the damp skin of her neck. She’s leaning back in my leather chair, her small hands resting flat on the armrests, a tiny, self-satisfied smirk playing on her lips. She looks completely at home in my office, as if she didn't just spend the last twenty minutes dismantling a federal treasury block that had my entire captain detail sweating.

She’s magnificent.

It’s not just that she’s beautiful, and it’s not just the way her vanilla scent is slowly pushing the smell of tobacco out of the room. It’s her mind. She stands in the middle of a war zone, looks at a spreadsheet, and finds a backdoor through a British underwriting firm because she actually understands how the Vostok family hides their debt.

I reach out, my large, callused hand wrapping around the back of her leather chair. I spin her slowly until she’s facing me, her knees brushing against my thighs.

"You’re staring again, Kovalevskii." She tilts her head, her hazel eyes bright with that sharp, stubborn spark I’ve come to crave. "Did I put the decimal point in the wrong place, or are you just trying to remember how to breathe?"

I don't pull my hand back. I slide my fingers up to her jaw, my thumb resting over her pulse point. It’s jumping, a fast, light flutter under her skin that tells me her confidence is just a mask for the adrenaline humming in her veins. "You’re a dangerous woman, Via."

"I told you." She doesn't flinch from my touch, her neck curving slightly into my palm. "I grew up in this house. My father might have lost his edge, but he didn't raise an idiot. If you’re going to keep me, you might as well use the brain you paid for."

"I didn't pay for your brain, little bird," I say, my voice dropping into a low, gravelly vibration that sounds thick in the quiet study. "I paid for your name. But right now, I’m starting to think I got the better end of the transaction."

"You did." Her fingers rise to grip my wrist, her touch warm against my skin. "So, what are you going to do about it?"

The physical tension in the room is a constant, buzzing wire, so hot and thick, I can practically feel it humming against my teeth. I don't want to talk about Zurich. I don't want to think about Dmitri, or the Vostok captains, or the rain hitting the glass outside. I just want her. I want to feel her body beneath mine on the very desk where we just spent the last hour plotting a multi-million-dollar fraud. I want to show her exactly what she is to me.

She isn't my captive anymore. She isn't a bargaining chip.

She is my queen.

I stand up, my boots heavy on the rug as I close the small distance between us. I reach down, my hands catching the edges of the heavy black laptop and the stack of folders, and sweep them to the far end of the desk in a single, rough motion. The plastic clatters against the wood, but I don't even look at it.