Page 32 of Bound in Possession

"Yes, Pakhan," Dmitri replies smoothly, gesturing for the heavy guards at the door to drag the two men out.

Once the room clears, I turn to Dmitri, the rage finally burning through my calm exterior. "Where is the security footage of the bike's license plate?"

"Scrubbed or stolen," Dmitri says, bringing up a map of the surrounding district on the main screen. "The plate belongs to a vehicle reported stolen around Fifth Avenue two hours ago. But I tracked the traffic cams. The courier dropped his uniform in an alley three miles away and got into a black sedan. We have a partial on that plate, and it leads straight to a warehouse district near the old port."

I reach to the small of my back, checking the weight of my firearm, before adjusting the cuffs of my suit jacket.

"Get the cars," I tell Dmitri, walking past him toward the exit. "We're going hunting."

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CAMILLA

The soft, ambient hum of the mansion's private lounge does little to soothe the chaotic storm brewing in my chest but sitting across from Nastya helps. On the glass coffee table between us, folders of fabric swatches, floral arrangements, and menu options are scattered, but I haven't really looked at any of them.

"The planner finalized the seating chart for the hall," Nastya says, pulling my attention back as she marks something down on her tablet. "And the caterer confirmed the lobster tail appetizers. Everything is completely on track for Friday, Camilla. You don't have to worry about a single thing."

I let out a soft, heavy breath, leaning back against the velvet cushions of the sofa.

"Thank you, Nastya. Truly. You really don't have to do all of this for me."

Nastya looks up, a warm, genuine smile gracing her lips. "Of course, I do. You're going to be my sister in two days. Besides, if I left the planning entirely to Maksim, the whole ballroom would probably be decorated in bulletproof glass and matte black."

A small laugh slips from my lips at the mental image, but the mention of his name causes the familiar, tight knot of irritation to tighten in my throat. The memory of him barging into the restaurant last night, followed by the terrifying note this morning and his sudden, forceful handling of me, makes my blood simmer all over again.

"He is completely impossible," I sigh, shaking my head as I stare down at a sample of ivory lace. "I appreciate that he wants to keep me safe, but his overbearing attitude is suffocating. He treats me like a prisoner under high-tech house arrest. I can't even breathe without him hovering over my shoulder, checking his watch, or dictating exactly where I can step."

Nastya’s smile fades slightly, replaced by a quiet, serious look. She carefully sets her tablet down on the table, her fingers interlacing in her lap.

"You shouldn't be mad that he's so overbearing, Camilla," she says softly, her voice dropping into a gentle, protective register. "He has a reason for being the way he is."

I blink, catching the sudden shift in her tone. "What reason? Because he's the Pakhan? Because he thinks he owns everything and everyone in New York?"

Nastya locks eyes with me, but she immediately shakes her head, a heavy wall coming down behind her gaze. "I know it’s really hard, but he’s been honed since he was a kid to always be like that. Just... try to understand that his paranoia doesn't come from a place of wanting to cage you. It comes from somewhere much darker."

I open my mouth to press her, the burning curiosity pushing at my lips, but the words die in my throat when I look closer at her face.

For a fleeting second, the curtain drops. I see something deeply haunted swimming in the depths of Nastya's eyes—a shadow of ancient, heavy grief and horrors that a girl her age should never have to carry. She is hiding so many buried emotions beneath her polite, bubbly exterior, a fragile shield masking a history written in blood.

My heart aches for her, a profound wave of empathy washing over me. I know what it's like to be trapped in a world where your emotions are a liability, where you have to learn to smile through the trauma just to survive the night.

Recognizing the silent boundary she has just drawn, I swallow my questions. I reach across the table, gently squeezing her hand, letting her know without words that she doesn't have to carry it alone.

Nastya offers me a tight, grateful smile, pulling a deep breath into her lungs as she blinks the shadows away, and smoothly pulls the conversation back to the safety of silk drapes and wedding cakes.

A few minutes later, her phone begins to chime with a bright, melodic ringtone. She glances down at the screen, her expression shifting back to her usual composed self.

“Oh, I have to take this," she says, standing up from the sofa and smoothing down her skirt. "I have to go, but I’ll see you later, Camilla."

She leans down, pressing a warm kiss to both of my cheeks, and hurries out of the lounge, leaving the heavy oak doors to click shut behind her.

I am left completely alone in the quiet room, the discarded wedding pamphlets suddenly feeling trivial. I lean my head back against the cushions, pondering everything Nastya just told me. He has a reason. A reason darker than just being a ruthless boss. A reason that makes him fiercely protective, paranoid, and desperately intent on keeping me inside a high-tech fortress.

But as much as my mind circles around Maksim’s hidden past, the bloody placard from breakfast flashes vividly in my mind. Viktor is out there, sending gruesome messages to our doorstep, and Maksim is treating me like a liability to be shielded from the truth.

I refuse to sit in the dark while my life hangs in the balance.

If Maksim won't tell me what Viktor is planning, I will find out myself. Deciding that I need to learn more about the man hunting me, I stand up and smooth down my dress. I know exactly where to look.