Page 30 of The Pakhan’s Unwanted Bride

"My mother writes that she hopes I'll marry for love, not duty." Ana's smile is sad and knowing. "She says the Bratva world is hard enough without being trapped in a loveless marriage. That she was lucky to find my father, to have those years with him even if they were cut short."

"Your father loved her very much." The words come out before I can stop them. "Everyone knew it. Still know it."

"Yes." Ana folds the letter carefully, reverently, like it might disintegrate if she's not gentle enough. "And now he's forcing me into an engagement with a man who can barely stand to be in the same room with me. I wonder what she'd think of that."

The accusation stings because it's partially true. I didn't want this engagement, and I've made no secret of my resentment. But sitting here watching her cry over words written by a mother she'll never know, I realize something has shifted between us.

"I'm sorry." The apology surprises us both. "About your mother. About all of this."

Ana studies me for a long moment, her green eyes searching my face. "Are you really? Or are you just saying what you think I want to hear?"

"I don't say things I don't mean." I hold her gaze, letting her see the truth in my words. "Your mother's death was a tragedy. And this engagement is complicated as hell. Both things can be true."

She nods slowly, wiping at her eyes again. I stand, needing distance before this conversation gets too uncomfortable. "You should get some rest. It's late."

"Samuil." She stops me before I reach the door. "The letter says one more thing. My mother writes that the strongest marriages are built between people who challenge each other. Who refuse to let the other hide or pretend or settle for less than they deserve." She pauses, her eyes locked on mine. "She says those marriages are rare, but they're worth fighting for."

I don't respond because there's nothing safe to say. Instead, I leave her there surrounded by her family's history and her mother's words. A lump settles in my gut. Kissing her was bad enough, but that was about lust. It's a physical attraction and a bodily need. But now, seeing her like this and talking to her about her mother—we just bonded, and I don't like it. It makes everything that much more difficult.

Thursday morning arrives too early. I'm at one of my compounds by seven, needing the familiar routine of training and discipline to clear my head after last night. The main training floor is already busy when I arrive. Two dozen men are running through combat drills, their movements sharp and coordinated. The sound of fists hitting heavy bags echoes through the space, mixing with shouted instructions and the occasional grunt of pain when someone lands a particularly solid hit.

Gregory is in the center of it all, wearing black tactical pants and a fitted gray shirt that shows the muscle he's built over the years. He's demonstrating a disarming technique to a group of the newer guys, his movements fluid and precise. When he spots me, he nods acknowledgment but doesn't break his focus.

I watch him work, remembering the terrified twelve-year-old I pulled from a wrecked car eight years ago. His parents had been killed instantly, victims of a territorial dispute that had nothing to do with them and everything to do with the violence that defines our world. He'd been small then, all sharp angles and haunted eyes, looking at me like I might be another monster come to finish what the accident started.

Instead, I took him home. I paid for his education and trained him in everything I know about survival in this life. He became the closest thing to a son I'll ever have, and somewhere along the way, I started assuming he'd inherit everything I've built. Not the Galkin name or the ancient sword locked in my private chamber, but the organization itself. The power and territory and respect I've earned through decades of calculated violence and strategic alliances.

The thought leaves me uncomfortable now. A wedding is imminent. A wife who carries royal blood and comes with her own complications. What does that mean for Gregory's future?

"Boss." Gregory appears beside me, slightly out of breath from the training session. "Didn't expect you this early."

"Couldn't sleep." I gesture toward the new guys. "They're improving."

"Some faster than others." He grabs a towel from a nearby bench, wiping sweat from his face.

We watch the training in comfortable silence for a few minutes. This is familiar territory, safe ground where we both know the rules and expectations. But the unspoken tension from our last conversation about the engagement still hangs between us.

"How's Princess Anastasia settling in?" Gregory's tone is carefully neutral.

"She's there." I keep my expression blank. "Making herself at home, whether I want her to or not."

"That must be difficult for you." Something flickers across his face too quickly for me to read. "Having your space invaded like that."

"It's temporary." The words sound hollow even to my own ears. "Once the wedding is done and the alliance is secured, things will settle into a routine."

Gregory nods but doesn't look convinced. "If you say so."

I want to ask what he's thinking, what's really bothering him about this engagement, but the moment passes when one of the trainers calls for his attention. He excuses himself and returns to the floor, leaving me alone with thoughts I'd rather not have.

By early afternoon, I'm back at the estate. I pull through the gate expecting the usual quiet that comes with midweek, but there's an unfamiliar black SUV parked in the circular drive. Expensive, well-maintained, with tinted windows that scream professional security.

I'm out of my car and heading for the front entrance when the SUV's door opens. A man steps out, tall and broad-shouldered, wearing a dark suit that's tailored well enough to hide the weapons I know he's carrying. His face is hard, all sharp angles and cold eyes.

Benedikt. Ana's longtime bodyguard from the Rostova estate.

"Pakhan Galkin." He inclines his head respectfully, but his eyes contradict the polite gesture. "Ivan Rostova sent me with additional belongings for Princess Anastasia. He also sent me to stay on as extra protection during the transition. "

Translation—Ivan doesn't trust me to keep his daughter safe, so he's planted one of his own men in my home. The insult is clear even if it's wrapped in diplomatic language.