Page 68 of The Pakhan’s Unwanted Bride

Sweat beads on his forehead despite the cold temperature in the room. "You're going to kill me either way. Why should I give you anything?"

"Because if you cooperate, I'll make it quick and clean. One bullet, and it's over." I straighten up and cross my arms. "But if you keep playing games with me, I'll let every man in this room have a turn."

The captains along the walls shift slightly, their expressions promising exactly the kind of violence I'm describing. The man looks at each of them in turn, and I can see the moment his resolve starts to crack. "The money was worth it. Do you know how much they paid me? Enough to disappear, start over somewhere new, and live like a king for the rest of my life."

"Except you're not going to live." Gregory's voice is cold. "You're going to die in this warehouse, and no one is ever going to find your body."

The bodyguard's arrogance returns, fueled by desperation and the knowledge that he's already lost. "Then I've got nothing to lose by keeping my mouth shut. At least this way, they won't go after my family."

I study him for a long moment, reading the determination in his eyes and the set of his jaw. He's made his choice. Either way, this interrogation is over. "You're right about one thing. The money was worth it to you. But it cost you everything else."

I pull my gun from the holster at my back, the weight of it familiar and comfortable in my hand. His eyes widen, and his false bravado finally cracks completely. "Wait. Wait, I can give you something⁠—"

"Too late." I raise the gun and fire once, the shot echoing through the small room. The bodyguard's head snaps back, and his body goes limp in the chair. Blood spreads across his expensive shirt, dark and final. I lower the gun and turn to face my captains, making sure every man in this room understands the message. "Betrayal carries one sentence. No exceptions. No second chances. Anyone who sells information about this family, about our operations, about our people, ends up exactly like this. Spread the word."

"Yes, Pakhan." The captains respond in unison, their voices firm.

"Clean this up. Make sure nothing traces back to us." I holster my gun and walk out of the room without looking back at the body. Gregory follows me across the warehouse floor and out into the cold night air.

I pull out my phone and check for messages, finding several updates from the men still searching the Rostova estate. We drive back to the estate in separate vehicles, and by the time I pull through the gates, it's nearly midnight. The house is mostly dark except for a few lights left on in the main hallway and the glow coming from the library windows. I expect Ana to be asleep by now, exhausted from the emotional weight of her father's rescue and recovery, but when I walk through the front door and head toward the stairs, I notice the library door is open and the lights are still on inside.

I change direction and find Ana sitting in one of the leather chairs near the fireplace, still fully dressed in the dark blue sweater and black pants she wore earlier. Her hair is pulled back in a loose braid, and there are shadows under her eyes that suggest she hasn't slept at all. She looks up when I enter, and there's something in her expression that makes me stop just inside the doorway. "You're still awake."

"I couldn't sleep." She stands up and crosses the room toward me, her movements deliberate and her gaze steady. "I needed to talk to you about something my father told me tonight."

The seriousness in her voice puts me on alert immediately. "What did he say?"

"The nightmare I've been having. The one about the corridors and the screaming and the symbol painted in blood." She stops a few feet away from me, her hands clasped together in front of her. "It wasn't a nightmare. It was a memory."

Everything in me goes still. "What do you mean?"

"When I was six years old, I wandered into the older wing of the Rostova estate after hearing raised voices. I found one of my father's uncles lying dead on the floor with that symbol carved into his chest." Her voice is steady, but I can see the tremor in her hands. "My father's cousin rushed in, covered my eyes, and carried me away. My father spent years convincing me it was just a nightmare, that I'd imagined the whole thing, because he wanted to protect me from the truth."

I'm not really surprised her dreams have been true. They were too vivid to be regular dreams. "Your father told you this tonight?"

"He said he believes the murder was the beginning of something much larger. That whoever killed his uncle has been working against the Rostova family for decades, and now they're finally making their move." Ana's voice drops lower. "He thinks the kidnapping and attacks all connect back to that night."

I cross to the desk where I left Ivan's journal earlier and flip through the pages until I find the entry from the year Ana would have been six. The death is recorded as a tragic accident, a fall down the stairs that resulted in fatal injuries, but Ivan has circled the entire entry and filled the margins with questions. Someone deliberately erased the truth from the official family history, and now that truth is coming back to destroy everything.

"This changes everything. If the symbol connects all three incidents, then we're not dealing with random attacks or opportunistic enemies. We're dealing with someone who's been planning this for years."

"That's what my father thinks." Ana moves closer, and I can smell the faint scent of her perfume mixed with the woodsmoke from the fireplace. "He said he's been trying to figure out who was behind it for almost two decades, but every lead went nowhere. Every investigation hit a dead end."

I set the journal down and turn to face her fully, and that's when I notice the way she's looking at me. There's vulnerability in her eyes, but also determination. Fear, yet resolve. "Ana."

She doesn't let me finish. Instead, she closes the distance between us and kisses me, her lips soft and insistent against mine. I start to take control the way I always do, but she pulls back slightly and shakes her head. "No. Not this time."

Before I can respond, she backs me against the desk and deepens the kiss herself, her hands sliding up my chest and into my hair. The reversal catches me off guard, and for a moment I'm too surprised to do anything except let her take the lead. Her body presses against mine with deliberate pressure that makes my cock harden immediately. "Ana, what are you doing?"

"Reminding us both that we're alive." She pulls my jacket off my shoulders and tosses it aside, then starts working on the buttons of my shirt. "That there's more to life than fear and death and symbols carved into dead bodies."

Her fingers are steady as she undoes each button, and when she pushes my shirt open and runs her hands across my bare chest, I have to grip the edge of the desk to keep from grabbing her and flipping our positions. She leans in and kisses my neck, her teeth grazing the sensitive skin just below my ear.

"I want to feel something other than scared. I want to make you feel something other than angry."

Fuck. I let my head fall back as she trails kisses down my throat and across my collarbone, her hands exploring every inch of exposed skin. She unbuckles my belt and unzips my pants, her movements confident despite the slight tremor in her hands. When she wraps her fingers around my cock, I have to bite back a groan. She strokes me slowly, learning what I like, paying attention to every reaction. "Ana."

"Tell me what you want." Her voice is low and husky, and the sound of it nearly undoes me completely.