Page 67 of The Pakhan’s Unwanted Bride

"I'm counting on it." I turn and walk away before I do something stupid like kiss him in front of half his security team.

The rest of the afternoon passes in a blur of meetings and arrangements as I help coordinate the integration of two very different households under one roof. By the time evening arrives, I'm exhausted but satisfied that things are finally running smoothly. Both sides have agreed to the new protocols, and the tension that filled the estate this morning has eased considerably.

I'm heading back to the master bedroom when one of my father's attendants finds me in the hallway. "Princess, your father is asking for you. He says it's important."

"Is something wrong?" Alarm spikes through me. "Is he in pain?"

"No, Princess. He simply wishes to speak with you privately."

I follow the attendant back to my father's suite, my mind racing through possibilities. When I enter the room, my father is sitting up in bed looking more alert than he has all day. The physicians and other attendants are conspicuously absent.

"Close the door, Ana." My father's voice is quiet but firm. "And lock it."

My heart starts to pound as I do what he asks, then turn to face him. "Papa, what's wrong?"

"Nothing is wrong." He gestures for me to sit in the chair beside his bed. "But there's something I need to tell you. Something I've hidden from you since you were a little girl."

The air in the room suddenly feels too thick. I sink into the chair, my hands gripping the armrests. "What do you mean?"

My father looks at me with determination and what might be a gleam of anxiety in his expression. "I could have died."

"Papa, don't say that."

"Let me finish, Ana." I snap my mouth shut so he can continue. "I could have died. Makes a man think about getting his priorities straight. There's something I've been keeping from you since you were a little girl and I need to tell you now in case… well, you just need to know."

34

SAMUIL

The compound warehouse sits on the industrial edge of the city, surrounded by chain-link fencing and security cameras that feed directly to my private monitors. I pull through the gate just after eight in the evening, the sky already dark overhead and the air carrying the sharp bite of approaching winter. Gregory's car is already parked near the main entrance, along with three other vehicles belonging to my captains. The warehouse itself is a massive concrete structure that officially stores legitimate shipping containers but serves a far more useful purpose when situations like this arise.

Gregory meets me immediately, his expression grim and his shoulders tense in a way that tells me this situation is worse than I expected. He's wearing dark jeans and a black jacket, his hair slightly disheveled like he's been running his hands through it. "We got him trying to board a flight to Mexico under a false identity," he says of Ivan's attendant who had gone missing at the same time Ivan had. "He had a bag full of cash and a passport that cost him at least twenty grand to acquire."

"Where is he?" I don't waste time with pleasantries or unnecessary questions.

"Back room, tied to a chair and waiting for you." Gregory falls into step beside me as we cross the warehouse floor. "He's been running his mouth since we brought him in, acting like he's got nothing to worry about."

That arrogance is going to cost him everything. I push through the door to the back room and find Ivan's missing man exactly where Gregory said he'd be. The man is bound to a metal chair in the center of the small space, his wrists secured behind his back and his ankles tied to the chair legs. He's got a split lip and a bruise forming along his jaw, evidence that my men weren't gentle during the capture. Three of my captains stand along the walls, their expressions cold and their hands resting near their weapons.

The man looks up when I enter, and I catch the flash of fear in his eyes before he masks it with false bravado. "Pakhan Galkin. I was wondering when you'd show up."

I don't respond immediately. Instead, I circle him slowly, studying him from every angle while he tries to maintain his composure. He's younger than I expected, maybe thirty at most, with the kind of build that comes from regular training but not real combat experience. His clothes are expensive, designer labels that cost more than most soldiers make in a month. "You accepted money to betray Ivan Rostova. To reveal his travel route and schedule to people who wanted him dead."

"I don't know what you're talking about." The denial comes quickly, but his voice quavers.

"Don't insult my intelligence." I stop directly in front of him, close enough that he has to tilt his head back to meet my eyes. "We found the cash. We traced the passport. We know you sold information about Ivan's movements, and that information led directly to the attack that killed three men and nearly killed him."

The bodyguard's jaw tightens. He knows he's caught, knows there's no way out of this room. "I was paid to provide information. That's all. I didn't know what they were planning to do with it."

"Bullshit." Gregory's voice cuts through the room from where he stands near the door. "You knew exactly what they were planning."

The bodyguard's eyes flick to Gregory, then back to me. "Fine. I knew they wanted to hit Ivan's convoy. But I didn't pull the trigger. I didn't kill anyone. I just gave them the route."

"Who hired you?" I keep my voice level and controlled, even though rage is building in my chest. "Give me names."

"I can't do that." He shakes his head, and there's genuine fear in his expression now. "They'll kill me if I talk."

"I'll kill you if you don't." I lean down until we're eye level, making sure he understands exactly how serious I am. "The only question is whether you die quickly or whether you spend the next several hours begging for death while my men take their time. Your choice."