Page 84 of The Pakhan’s Unwanted Bride

"Dead ends." He adjusts his glasses, frustration evident in his clipped tone. He's younger than the others, barely thirty, but brilliant with numbers. "The accounts used to pay off the bodyguard were routed through so many shell companies that tracing them back would take months. Whoever set this up knew exactly how to hide their money."

Another captain clears his throat. He's built like a tank, arms covered in tattoos that disappear beneath the rolled sleeves of his gray shirt. "We've been over every inch of the hunting cabin where we found Ivan. No prints, no DNA, nothing useful. They cleaned it professionally."

"So what you're telling me," I say slowly, dangerously, "is that we have nothing."

The captains shift uncomfortably. No one wants to admit failure, but the truth is undeniable.

"We keep looking." I lean forward, my hands flat on the table. "I don't care how long it takes. Someone out there thinks they can target the Rostova family and walk away clean. They're wrong. We find them, and we make an example that'll be remembered for generations."

"With respect, Pakhan." Gregory's voice cuts through the room like a blade. He's sitting at the far end of the table, dressed in a black button-down shirt that makes his expression look even harder. "Maybe the problem isn't our investigation. Maybe the problem is that your priorities have shifted."

The room goes completely silent. Every man at the table freezes, their eyes darting between Gregory and me. No one challenges me publicly. Ever. Especially not Gregory.

"Explain yourself." My voice is deadly calm.

Gregory meets my gaze without flinching. "You've been distracted since the wedding. Half your attention is on your wife instead of on the business. We're chasing our tails because you're not leading like you used to."

The accusation hangs in the air like poison gas. The other captains exchange looks like they want to crawl under the table. One of the younger captains has gone pale. Another's hand has moved instinctively toward his weapon, though he doesn't draw it.

"This meeting is over." I stand abruptly, my chair scraping against the floor. "Everyone out."

The captains scramble to their feet and file out quickly, grateful to escape the confrontation. Gregory remains seated for a moment longer, his expression unreadable, before finally standing and following the others.

I stay in the empty conference room for several minutes after they leave, staring at the closed door. Gregory has never questioned me like that before. Never challenged my authority in front of the others. The boy I raised, the young man I trusted more than anyone, just publicly suggested that I'm failing as Pakhan.

Is he right? Has my marriage to Ana changed me that much?

I shake my head, pushing the doubt away. This isn't about distraction. This is about an enemy who's been planning their moves for years, maybe decades. We're not going to solve it overnight, no matter how focused I am. But Gregory's words have planted a seed of concern, not because I think I'm failing at my duties, but because he would dare to call me out like that. That is not like Gregory at all.

By the time I return to the estate that afternoon, my mood is dark. I find Ana in the sitting room, curled up on the sofa with a book. She's wearing a soft blue dress that brings out her eyes, her hair pulled back in a simple style. She looks up when I enter, and her smile fades when she sees my expression.

"Bad day?" she asks quietly.

"You could say that." I pour myself a drink from the bar cart, the crystal decanter clinking against the glass.

Before Ana can respond, there's a knock at the door. One of the household staff appears. "Pakhan, Benedikt is requesting a private audience with you."

I glance at Ana, who looks as surprised as I feel. "Send him in."

Benedikt enters a moment later, his posture respectful but tense. He's dressed in simple dark pants and a gray shirt, his hands clasped in front of him. The man who once watched me with barely concealed hatred now looks almost humble, which immediately sets my hackles on alert.

"Pakhan." He inclines his head. "Thank you for seeing me."

"What do you want?" I don't bother softening my tone.

"I want to apologize." Benedikt's voice is steady. "For my behavior since you removed me from Princess Anastasia's detail. I've been… struggling with the change. She's been under my protection for years, and letting go of that responsibility has been harder than I expected."

I study him carefully, looking for any sign of deception. "Go on."

"I'd like to ask your permission to prepare a traditional Russian dinner for the family later this week." He glances at Ana, then back to me. "My grandmother taught me to cook when I was young. It's something I've always found… calming. I thought it might be a gesture of goodwill. A way to show my gratitude for your patience with me."

The request catches me off guard. Of all the things I expected Benedikt to say, offering to cook dinner wasn't on the list.

"You're asking to cook for us?" I repeat, making sure I heard correctly.

"Yes, Pakhan. If you'll allow it." There's no challenge in his voice, no hidden agenda that I can detect. Just a man trying to find his place in a situation that's changed dramatically.

I consider refusing. Every instinct tells me to keep Benedikt at arm's length, to never fully trust him. But Ana is watching me with hopeful eyes, and I can see how much she wants this tension to ease.