Page 37 of The Pakhan’s Unwanted Bride

Benedikt stands quietly near the window. He's always been steady and reliable, the one constant in my life besides my father. But tonight he seems different. Distracted.

"What was the shooter's position again?" Benedikt asks, leaning over the laptop where Gregory has the footage pulled up.

"Northeast corner, fifth floor." Gregory points to the screen. "He had a clear line of sight to the intersection."

"And the escape route?"

"Service stairs that lead to a back alley. The shooter disappeared into foot traffic within ninety seconds." Gregory looks up. "Professional all the way."

Benedikt nods slowly, his eyes fixed on the screen. "What about surveillance cameras in the area?"

"We're pulling footage now." Samuil joins them at the desk. "But whoever planned this knew where the cameras were. The shooter stayed in blind spots the entire time."

"Smart." Benedikt's voice is quiet, almost thoughtful.

I'm about to say something when my father stands abruptly. "I need to speak with you both." He looks between Samuil and me. "Privately."

Samuil dismisses Gregory and Benedikt with a sharp gesture. They leave without argument, closing the study door behind them. My father waits until their footsteps fade before speaking.

"This wasn't the first attempt on my life." He moves to the window, staring out at the darkened grounds. "I've been hiding a series of accidents for months because I believed someone close to me wanted me dead. The car malfunction I mentioned? The brakes were tampered with. The structural collapse? The support beams had been deliberately weakened. The food poisoning? Traces of arsenic in my system that the doctors dismissed as contamination."

20

SAMUIL

Saturday morning arrives with the kind of clarity that follows violence. The attack on Ivan's motorcade should have thrown everything into chaos, but I refuse to let it. Fear is a weapon, and whoever is behind this wants us paralyzed by it. I won't give them the satisfaction.

Business continues. The wedding preparations move forward. Life in my organization doesn't stop because someone took a shot at my future father-in-law. That's exactly what they want, and I didn't build my empire by giving enemies what they want.

I spend the early morning hours on the phone with my captains, reviewing security protocols and tightening vulnerabilities. Gregory coordinates with Ivan's remaining men to establish new routes and safe houses. Every detail gets scrutinized, every weakness identified and eliminated.

By mid-morning, I've quietly tripled the security around Ana without her knowledge. She doesn't need to know about the additional men watching the estate perimeter or the surveillance upgrades I ordered installed overnight. She doesn't need to know I've assigned two of my best soldiers to shadow her movements even within the property. Protection works best when the person doesn't realize how closely they're being guarded.

I'm reviewing security camera footage in my study when Gregory appears in the doorway. "The princess is in the gardens."

"Alone?" I ask, looking up from the footage.

"Benedikt is with her." Gregory's expression remains neutral. "But she's been out there for over an hour. Thought you should know."

I nod dismissal and he leaves without another word. I should return to the footage, but instead, I find myself walking toward the gardens.

The morning sun cuts through the trees, creating patterns of light and shadow across the stone pathways. I spot Ana near the fountain, sitting on one of the marble benches with a book in her lap. She's wearing a simple dress, pale blue that makes her look younger than twenty-five. Her hair falls loose around her shoulders instead of styled in the elaborate arrangements she usually favors.

Benedikt stands about twenty feet away, his attention focused on the surrounding grounds rather than his charge.

I approach quietly, my footsteps barely audible on the grass. Ana looks up when I'm a few feet away, surprise flickering across her face before she schools her expression into something more neutral.

"Samuil." She closes the book. "I didn't expect to see you out here."

"It's my estate." I gesture to the bench. "May I?"

She shifts slightly, making room. I sit, maintaining a respectful distance between us. The silence stretches for a moment, not uncomfortable but uncertain. We've spent so much time arguing that conversation without conflict feels foreign.

"How are you holding up?" I finally ask.

"I'm fine." The automatic response comes too quickly. Then she sighs. "I'm terrified, actually. My father has always been this unshakeable force in my life. Seeing him frightened was almost worse than hearing about the attack itself."

"He's smart to be frightened." I lean back against the bench, stretching my legs out in front of me. "Fear keeps you cautious and alive. It's the ones who think they're invincible who end up dead."