Page 42 of The Pakhan’s Unwanted Bride

Samuil answers the phone, his voice immediately shifting into the cold, controlled tone of the Pakhan. "What is it?"

I watch his expression change as he listens. The desire that was there moments ago disappears, replaced by cold determination.

"You're certain?" he asks. A pause.

Another pause, longer this time.

"Keep digging." He disconnects and stands motionless, staring at nothing.

"What's wrong?" I ask.

He turns to look at me, his gaze dropping briefly to my breasts before meeting my eyes. "My men think they identified the rifle used in your father's attack." His voice is carefully neutral. "It was purchased years earlier. By someone connected to the Rostova organization."

The words don't make sense at first. Then they do, and the world tilts slightly.

"What?"

"They couldn't find proof of the exact name." Samuil's jaw clenches. "But someone close to your family is almost certainly involved."

22

SAMUIL

Iwake with Ana's taste still on my lips and the memory of her body pressed against mine burning through my thoughts like a goddamn fever.

Fuck.

I throw off the covers and head straight for the shower, turning the water as cold as I can stand. It does nothing to clear my head. By the time I'm dressed in dark jeans and a black shirt, I'm no closer to controlling the want that's been building since the moment she walked into my estate.

Tomorrow, I marry her and she'll become mine in every legal and traditional sense. I shouldn't be so excited for this. It has nothing to do with feelings and everything to do with being horny. I've never let sex dictate my thoughts, so why am I now?

I need to work and focus on something other Ana and my overeager dick. Thankfully, my phone rings as I'm heading downstairs. I answer with a clipped "Hello."

"We have a situation at the compound," the voice on the other end says. "You need to get here."

Twenty minutes later, I'm standing in the training facility watching two of my most experienced captains glare at each other like they're seconds away from drawing weapons. The tension in the room is thick enough to choke on.

"What the fuck is going on?" I say, my voice cutting through the silence.

The taller one, a man who's been with me for eight years, speaks first. "He's been undermining my authority with the men and questioning my decisions in front of the crew."

"Because your decisions are shit," the other one snaps back. "You're so busy trying to prove you're in charge that you're making tactical errors that could get us killed."

"Enough." I don't raise my voice, but both men go silent immediately. "This rivalry between you has been affecting business for weeks. I'm done with it." I shoot a glare at each one. "And you're done with it."

They both tense, realizing their squabbling might just lead to their death. For a moment, I consider options such as beating them to within an inch of their lives, kicking them out of the family, or even more extreme, putting a bullet in their heads and being done with it. My body thrums with pent-up sexual frustration, and a little blood sport might help ease that.

But then, these men have been with the family for years. They've both been loyal to me, so I don't really want to get rid of them. Especially for stupid shit. It's not like they're stealing from me or some other unforgivable sin.

"Strip down to your waists," I order. "And then get in the ring."

Both men stare at me like I've lost my mind.

"You heard me. You want to settle this? Do it the old way. Bratva rules. No weapons, no killing blows. You fight until one of you can't get up or until I say it's done. Winner gets to keep his position. Loser gets reassigned."

They exchange glances, then start removing their shirts. I watch them climb into the training ring, both moving with the careful awareness of men who know how to hurt each other.

"Samuil."