Page 96 of The Pakhan’s Unwanted Bride

I can't answer. I can't speak. I can only stare at the words carved into my family's most sacred heirloom.

49

ANA

The color drains from Samuil's face as he stares at the sword in his hands. His jaw clenches tight, the muscles working beneath his skin, and his knuckles turn white where he grips the ancient hilt. Whatever he's reading has shaken him to his core, and that terrifies me more than anything else could. Samuil doesn't shake easily.

"What is it?" I move closer, trying to see what has captured his attention so completely. My father steps forward as well, his expression shifting from curiosity to concern. "Samuil, what does the inscription say?"

He doesn't respond immediately. His dark eyes scan the faded letters again, as if hoping he misread them the first time. The silence stretches between us, heavy and suffocating, until finally, he turns the sword so we can both see the ancient script carved into the metal.

"When the Guardian falls, another shall rise," he reads slowly, his voice rough and strained. "Trust neither blood nor oath alone."

The words settle over us like a shroud. I lean closer, squinting at the worn inscription that has somehow remained hidden for generations. The letters are small and deliberately placed in a location that would be covered by the wielder's grip, invisible unless someone were specifically looking for them.

"I've never heard those words before," my father says quietly, his face pale. He reaches out and traces the inscription with one finger, his hand trembling slightly. "Not in any of the family records. Not in any of the journals or histories passed down through the Rostova line."

Samuil shakes his head slowly, his expression dark and troubled. "My father never mentioned it. Neither did my grandfather. Every Pakhan who held this sword should have seen these words, but no one ever spoke of them. No one ever warned me."

If the inscription has been deliberately hidden or ignored throughout generations, then the conspiracy we're facing reaches back further than any of us realized. This is something ancient and deeply rooted, something that has been working in the shadows for longer than we can comprehend.

"Trust neither blood nor oath alone," I repeat softly, the words tasting bitter on my tongue. "How many guardians trusted the wrong people? How many believed in blood ties or sworn oaths, only to be betrayed by those closest to them?"

Gregory's betrayal comes to my mind. This warning seems to speak exactly to what we're facing right now.

My father's expression grows grim. "Too many, I suspect. The pattern of deaths in our family, the accidents and misfortunes that plagued the Rostova line for generations, they all make sense now. The guardians were compromised from within. Someone close to them, someone they trusted implicitly, may have been working against them."

"The secret society," Samuil says as he carefully returns the sword to its velvet bed and closes the hidden compartment. His movements are precise and controlled, but I can see the tension radiating through his entire body. The tattoos covering his arms seem darker somehow, the ink standing out starkly against his skin as his muscles flex beneath the surface. "This warning makes it sound like generations of Galkins had traitors joining the society, too."

A sharp knock on the office door interrupts us. Samuil's hand moves instinctively toward the gun at his waist, his body shifting into a defensive stance. The knock comes again, more insistent this time.

Samuil jerks his head toward the door and we follow him to it. He opens the door, and we all step outside while he closes it firmly and locks it. No one has permission to be in this room, and apparently, he doesn't want his men even getting a glimpse inside, either.

One of the captains stands there, his expression serious. "Pakhan, I have news about Gregory," the captain says without preamble. "We found out that he joined the organization willingly. He sought them out months ago and has earned a position of trust within the society."

The words hang in the air like poison. I watch Samuil's face carefully, searching for any reaction, any crack in his carefully maintained control. But there's nothing. His expression remains perfectly neutral, his dark eyes giving away nothing of what he must be feeling inside.

"How long has he been passing information?" Samuil's voice is steady, almost conversational, as if he's discussing routine business matters rather than the betrayal of the man he raised as a son.

"At least six months, possibly longer," the captain replies. "Every time we got close to finding something, the trail would go cold. He was feeding them everything they needed to stay one step ahead."

My father mutters a curse in Russian, his hands clenching into fists. But Samuil remains perfectly still, absorbing the information without any visible reaction, except for the small tic in his jaw.

"Fuck," Samuil says quietly. "Keep watching, and let me know of anything else you find out."

The captain nods respectfully and turns to leave. Samuil stands perfectly still. His jaw is clenched so tight, I'm afraid he might crack a tooth, and the muscles in his shoulders are rigid with tension.

"Samuil," I say softly, moving to stand beside him. I place my hand gently on his arm, feeling the heat of his skin through the fabric of his shirt. "This isn't your fault. Gregory made his own choices. He chose to betray you, to betray everything you gave him. That's on him, not you."

He turns to look at me finally, and I see the pain in his dark eyes, the grief he's trying so hard to hide. This man who commands respect through fear and power, who has built an empire through discipline and control, is breaking inside over the loss of someone he considered family.

"Remember, you don't have to deal with this alone," I tell him firmly, squeezing his hand.

Something shifts in his expression, a softening around the edges of his pain. He pulls me close, wrapping his arms around me and pressing his face into my hair. I hold him tightly, offering what comfort I can, knowing that words aren't enough but hoping my presence is.

My father clears his throat gently. "I'll give you two some privacy."

"That's not necessary," Samuil says, pulling slightly away from me. "I think we need to go back to Gregory's room and see if there's anything we might have missed."