Page 6 of The Pakhan’s Unwanted Bride

The first captain, a man who's been with me for twelve years, leans forward. "The southern territory needs reinforcement. Volkov's crew is getting bold, testing boundaries they shouldn't be testing."

"Handle it." My voice is flat, final. "I don't give a fuck how. Just make sure they understand the message. Anyone who crosses our lines bleeds for it."

"Understood, Boss."

The second captain brings up a shipment issue. Customs is being difficult, asking questions they have no business asking. Someone's been paid off by a competitor, trying to slow down our operations and cost us money.

"Find out who took the bribe money," I say, my jaw tight. "And make an example."

The third captain nods, making notes on his tablet. These men know how I work. I don't tolerate incompetence, and I sure as hell don't tolerate betrayal. The Bratva isn't a democracy. It's a hierarchy built on respect, fear, and absolute loyalty. Anyone who forgets that learns the hard way, and the lesson usually ends with blood or a bullet.

We're wrapping up the final details when my phone rings. The sound cuts through the conversation, sharp and intrusive. I glance at the screen. Unknown number. My first instinct is to ignore it. I don't answer calls from numbers I don't recognize. But something makes me pause, makes me pick it up.

"Yes." My tone is clipped, impatient.

"Samuil Galkin." The voice on the other end is female, young, and far too pleased with herself. "I hope I'm not interrupting anything important."

I recognize her immediately. Princess Anastasia Rostova. The spoiled little girl who approached me at the gala last night, expecting me to fall at her feet like every other pathetic bastard in that ballroom. I lean back in my chair, and the three captains exchange glances. They know better than to speak when I'm on a call.

"How did you get this number?" I keep my voice neutral, controlled.

"I have my ways." She sounds amused, like this is all some kind of game.

"This is a private line." I gesture sharply to the captains, a motion that tells them to get the fuck out. They stand immediately, gathering their things and filing out of the office without a word. The door closes behind them with a soft click, and I'm alone with this irritating woman on the other end of the line.

"I know it's private," she says, and I can hear the smile in her voice. "That's why it took me three phone calls to get it. If you intend to ignore me, Samuil, I'll just keep finding ways to contact you. I'm very persistent when I want something."

"What do you want, Princess?" I don't bother hiding my annoyance.

"I want to understand why you dismissed me last night." Her tone is light, playful, but there's something underneath it. Real curiosity, not the fake interest most women show when they're trying to get into my bed or my bank account. "You're the first man who's ever treated me like I was ordinary. I find that fascinating."

"You are ordinary." The words come out harsher than I intend, but I don't take them back. "You're a spoiled girl who's been handed everything on a silver platter."

There's a pause on the other end, and I expect her to hang up. Most women would. But she doesn't.

"You're right," she says, and the admission surprises me. "I've been given everything. But that doesn't mean I'm not intelligent."

"And what's your point?"

"My point is that you're different. You're not like the other men I know. They all want something from me, or they want to use me to get to my father. But you don't want anything. You looked at me last night like I was invisible. Like I didn't matter."

"You don't matter." I stand and walk to the window, my phone pressed to my ear. The city sprawls below me, millions of lights in the darkness.

"Then why did you answer the phone?" Her voice is soft now, almost teasing. "You could have ignored it. But you didn't."

"Because I didn't know it was you," I respond coldly. What the fuck am I still doing on this phone call? I should hang up, but for some stupid reason, I'm intrigued.

"What do you really want from me, Anastasia?" I ask again, my patience wearing thin.

"I want to know what drives you. What makes a man like you tick. What you care about beyond power and territory."

"I don't care about anything beyond power and territory." The lie comes easily.

"I don't believe you." She sounds certain, confident in a way that irritates me more than it should. "I think you care about more than you let on. I think you're disciplined and controlled because you have to be, not because you want to be. I think there's something underneath all that armor you wear."

"You don't know a goddamn thing about me."

"But I would like to." Her tone is all silky smooth and inviting.