Page 6 of Marrying the Pakhan

He reads like a man who’d take the money, sign whatever I put in front of him, and not ask a single question I don’t want to answer. Old enough that no judge blinks at the gap between us. Steady enough that I could picture him standing next to me in a courtroom without either of us falling apart.

Him. This one’s perfect.

3

VIKTOR

My knuckles ache in a way that tells me they’ll ache much worse tomorrow, and I flex my hand once against my thigh as I pull the office door shut behind me.

Yuri won’t be skimming from the till again. He also won’t be walking especially well for a week, and everyone else on staff, doing the same math he was, will get the message without me saying a word.

I don’t enjoy it. I never have, whatever people assume about men in my position. But if I let it slide, every other employee will start stealing too, once they realize nobody’s checking.

The hallway behind the bar smells like bleach and last night’s spilled vodka, and by the time I push through into the noise of the main floor, my shirt’s stuck to my back, and my breath still hasn’t fully caught up with me.

I grab a water bottle from behind the bar without asking because nobody charges the owner.

I crack it open and drink half of it standing there, head down, letting the bass work its way back into something I can tune out, rather than something pressing on my skull.

When I finally straighten up, the room’s the same as it always is on a Thursday. Loud, full, and there’s nothing that needs my attention in the next five minutes.

That’s when Dimitri finds me, tablet in hand, the particular look on his face that means numbers, not trouble.

“You want this now or after you’ve stopped sweating through your shirt?”

“After I’ve stopped sweating.”

Dimitri huffs and slides the tablet into his back pocket. “Fine. Wouldn’t want to ruin the numbers with you dripping on my screen.” He looks me over once, smirking as he does. “You look like you just wrestled a bear back there.”

“Something like that.”

“Comforting, coming from my older brother, the one who’s supposed to be setting a good example.” He says it easy.

I almost smile. This is the version of my night that makes sense, my brother needling me about my shirt, nothing that requires anyone’s knuckles.

Then I look past his shoulder and stop listening entirely.

There’s a woman standing near the edge of the floor who doesn’t belong in this building.

Not because she isn’t beautiful; she is, dark hair pulled back like she left in a hurry, a coat that’s doing a poor job of pretending she’s dressed for a place like this. She doesn’t belong because she’s looking directly at me.

“Viktor.” Dimitri follows my line of sight, and his voice drops. “You know her?”

“No.”

She’s already walking over.

Dimitri steps back half a pace, an old instinct that’s kept him alive as long as it’s kept me alive, and I let him go without a word, because whatever this is, it isn’t a conversation you have in front of an audience I don’t think

“Hi,” she says, stopping a few feet away, close enough that I can see her hands are shaking slightly even though her voice isn’t. “Sorry, I know you’re working. I don’t want to get you in trouble with whoever’s in charge.”

What is she talking about?

“Can I talk to you for a minute?” she asks. “Somewhere a little quieter?”

Every instinct I own says this is either a setup or the strangest night of my year, and possibly both.

I glance at Dimitri, who gives me a look that says he’d very much like an explanation later, and then I nod toward the hallway that leads back past the offices, away from the speakers.