Page 69 of The Pakhans’ Curvy Prize

"But it's possible."

"It's possible," I agree.

She's quiet for a moment, staring at the floor between us. I can practically see her mind working. When she looks up again, her blue eyes are sharp with understanding.

"That's why Zach got away with everything," she says quietly. "When I tried to report him for stalking and threatening me, the police did nothing. They took my statement and then nothing happened. I thought they just didn't believe me or didn't care. But it wasn't that, was it?"

"Probably not."

"His father made it disappear." Her voice is flat now, emotionless. "The mayor used his connections to protect his son."

"That would be my guess, yes."

"Fuck." The word comes out sharp and bitter. She pushes away from the counter and starts pacing the small kitchen, her movements agitated. "I left my entire life behind because of him. I moved, changed my phone number, and cut off contact with everyone I knew. I thought I was being paranoid, but I was so scared he'd find me again. And the whole time, his father had the resources to track me down whenever he wanted."

I watch her pace, noting the way her hands shake slightly. Her breathing has gotten faster, the rapid breaths making her breasts rise and fall, drawing my attention. She's spiraling, working herself up into panic, and I need to redirect her before she loses control completely.

"Marla," I say, my voice cutting through her rambling thoughts. "Look at me."

She stops pacing and turns to face me. "We don't know for certain that the mayor has been tracking you," I continue. "We don't know if Zach showing up at your cottage was coincidence or if someone told him where to find you. Or even if it was him that left the footprints outside. We don't know if this has anything to do with us or if it's completely separate."

"But you think it's connected." It's not a question.

"I think the timing is suspicious as hell," I admit. "You sleep with three Bratva pakhans during sensitive merger negotiations. A warehouse gets hit the same night we're all distracted at your cottage. And now we find out your ex-boyfriend is the son of a politician we've had in our pocket for years. Yeah, I think it's connected."

"You think I'm working with them." Her voice goes cold. "You think I'm some kind of spy or plant."

"I think you're either incredibly unlucky or you're playing a game none of us have figured out yet."

The words hang in the air between us, harsh and unforgiving. I watch her face carefully, looking for any sign of deception, or guilt, or fear that would confirm my suspicions. But all I see is hurt and anger.

"I'm not working with anyone," she says, her voice shaking with emotion. "I didn't even know who you were when I slept with you. I didn't know about the Bratva or the merger or any of this shit. I was just trying to get research for a fucking book."

"I know."

"Then why are you—" She stops, her eyes narrowing. "You don't believe me."

"I want to believe you," I correct. "But I've survived forty-five years in this world by not taking anything at face value. People lie. They manipulate. They use sex and emotion as weapons. I've seen it happen too many times to count."

"So what now?" she demands. "You're going to keep me locked up here until you decide whether I'm telling the truth?"

"No." I push away from the counter and move closer to her, closing the distance between us. She doesn't back away, which I respect. "Now I'm going to find out everything there is to know about you, Zach, and the mayor. I'm going to trace every connection, follow every lead, and figure out exactly what the fuck is going on."

"And if you decide I'm guilty?"

"Then we'll deal with that when the time comes."

She stares at me for a long moment, her blue eyes searching my face. "I didn't do anything wrong," she says finally, her voice barely above a whisper.

"I hope you're right."

The kitchen falls silent except for the quiet hum of the refrigerator and the distant sound of Russ and Nick talking outside. Marla wraps her arms around herself again, and I notice for the first time how small she looks standing in the middle of her outdated kitchen wearing nothing but an oversized t-shirt. My chest tightens uncomfortably.

I pull out my phone and start typing notes. Names, dates, connections. Everything Marla has told me about Zach and the mayor. Everything we know about the warehouse attack and Arina's involvement. The pieces are there, scattered across the board. I just need to figure out how they fit together.

"What are you doing?" Marla asks.

"Making a list." I don't look up from my phone. "People I need to talk to. Records I need to pull. Surveillance I need to review."