4. Emil
EMIL
The knock on my office door is hesitant. Three soft raps, like whoever's on the other side is afraid I'll bite their hand off if they knock too hard.
Smart.
"Come in," I say without looking up from the contract I'm reviewing. Some bullshit about shipping routes that needs my signature.
The door opens slowly. One of my counselors steps inside, and I can smell the nervousness on him before he even speaks.
He's a thin man, mid-fifties, with graying hair and wire-rimmed glasses that make him look more like an accountant than someone who helps run a criminal empire.
Which, I suppose, is exactly what he is.
He's carrying a newspaper tucked under one arm.
I set down my pen and lean back in my chair, watching him. He shifts his weight from foot to foot, clearly uncomfortable. Good. People should be uncomfortable around me. It keeps them honest.
"Pakhan," he says, his voice carefully neutral, "I apologize for the interruption."
"Then why are you interrupting?" I keep my tone mild, but there's steel underneath. He hears it. His Adam's apple bobs as he swallows.
"There's something you should see." He steps forward, moving carefully like he's approaching a sleeping bear. When he reaches my desk, he sets the newspaper down and takes a quick step back, putting distance between us.
I glance down at the paper. The headline jumps out immediately, bold and impossible to miss.
Emil Nikitin and Kiera Walker are Pleased to Announce their Engagement.
Below it, there's a photo from Saturday night. Grainy, taken from a distance, but clear enough. My hand is on Kiera's lower back, her body pressed against mine. The angle catches her profile, the curve of her throat, the way her dark hair falls over one shoulder.
She looks fucking beautiful.
From his chair by the fireplace, Luca chuckles.
It's a low, amused sound that fills the silence.
He's got his legs stretched out, completely relaxed, a glass of whiskey in his hand even though it's barely past ten in the morning.
He's been here since I arrived, keeping me company while I worked through the morning's paperwork.
"Something funny?" the counselor asks, his voice tight.
"Very," Luca says, taking a slow sip of his drink. His dark eyes gleam with mirth. "You should see your face right now."
The counselor's jaw tightens, but he doesn't respond. He knows better than to snap at Luca. My Sovietnik might seem easygoing, but he's just as dangerous as I am. More so, in some ways, because people underestimate him.
I pick up the newspaper, scanning my handiwork.
The announcement is exactly as I dictated it to my contact at the paper Sunday morning.
Short, formal, with just enough detail to make it legitimate.
The photo is perfect too. One of my men took it Saturday night, right after Kiera claimed me on the dance floor.
I'd given the order before we even left the club.
Strategic. Calculated. Public.
Now she can't back out. Now the council can't interfere. The engagement is real because I've made it real, and everyone in this city knows it.
Perfect.
"I assume the council has seen this," I say, setting the paper back down.
"Yes, Pakhan." The counselor clears his throat. "They're… concerned."
I let the silence stretch, watching him squirm. He's trying so hard to be diplomatic, to phrase his words carefully so he doesn't offend me. It's almost amusing.
"Concerned," I repeat, my voice flat.
"They simply wish to understand the situation." He's choosing every word like he's walking through a minefield. "To ensure that this arrangement serves the organization's interests. To offer their support and guidance."
"Their support." I lean forward slightly, resting my forearms on the desk. The counselor takes an involuntary step back. "Tell me something. How long has the council been pushing me to marry?"
"I… several months, Pakhan."
"You wanted me married. Now I'm engaged. This should be good news."
"Of course, Pakhan. Of course it is." He's practically tripping over his words now. "The council is pleased that you've chosen to marry. They simply wish to be involved in the process. To meet the young woman, to ensure she understands what being your wife entails, to—"
"To control the situation." I cut him off, my voice going cold.
The counselor goes pale. "Pakhan, I didn't mean to suggest—"
"I know exactly what you meant to suggest." I stand slowly, and he actually flinches. "The council wanted me to choose a wife. I've chosen. That should be the end of the discussion."
"Yes, Pakhan. Absolutely." He's nodding rapidly now, eager to agree, to placate. "I'll inform the council that you have the situation well in hand."
"You do that." I sit back down, picking up my pen. A clear dismissal. "And remind them that I'm Pakhan. Not them. My decisions don't require their approval."
"Of course. Thank you for your time." He practically backs out of the room, bowing slightly as he goes. The door closes behind him with a soft click.
Luca's chuckle turns into a full laugh. "Christ, Emil. I thought he was going to piss himself."
"He should be grateful I didn't make him." I return my attention to the contract, but I'm not really reading it anymore.
"You enjoyed that," Luca observes.
"I enjoy reminding people of their place." I sign the contract with a flourish and toss it into my outbox. "The council has been getting too comfortable lately. Too bold. They need to remember who's in charge."
"Fair enough." Luca swirls his whiskey, watching the amber liquid catch the light. "So. You want to tell me what you're actually doing?"
I glance at him. "Getting married. Isn't that obvious?"
"Bullshit." He sets his glass down on the side table. "I've known you since we were kids. You don't do anything without a reason. You sure as hell don't announce an engagement to a woman you just met unless you've got an angle."
Smart bastard. This is why Luca is my sovietnik, why he's the only person I trust completely. He sees through my bullshit every time.
I stand and move to the window, looking out over the city. "The council wanted me married. They weren't going to stop pushing. Every week, another potential bride, another negotiation."
"So you saw an opportunity and took it."
"She gave me exactly what I needed." I turn back to face him. "A fiancée who isn't connected to any of the families. Who doesn't come with political baggage or expectations. Someone I can control."
"Can you?" Luca's expression turns thoughtful. "Control her, I mean. She didn't exactly seem like the obedient type."
No. She fucking didn't. That's part of what made her so appealing. The way she'd grabbed me without hesitation, the desperation mixed with determination in her green eyes. She'd been scared, but she hadn't let it paralyze her. She'd acted.
I respect that.
And Christ, the way she'd looked in that dress.
The fabric had hugged every curve, showing off her tits and the dip of her waist and that perfect ass.
When I'd pulled her against me on the dance floor, I'd felt every inch of her, soft and warm and responsive.
My cock had gotten hard immediately, pressing against her stomach, and she'd felt it.
I'd seen the awareness in her eyes, the flush that had spread across her cheeks.
She'd wanted me too. I'd tasted it in her kiss.
"Are you seriously considering marrying a woman you barely know?" Luca asks.
"I know enough." I move back to my desk but don't sit. "She's smart. Brave. And she needs protection from whoever that asshole was at the club."
The memory of that man approaching Kiera, the way she'd tensed, and the fear that had flashed across her face, it makes something dark and violent stir in my chest. "She was terrified of him."
"So you're playing hero?" Luca's tone is skeptical.
"I'm solving a problem." I lean against the desk, crossing my arms. "The council wants me married. She needs protection. It's practical."
"And the fact that she's gorgeous? That's just a bonus?"
"It'll be in name only," I say. "A business arrangement. She plays the role of my wife in public, attends events, and keeps the council satisfied. In return, I'll pay her well. Very well."
"Assuming she agrees." Luca picks up his whiskey again. "You haven't actually asked her yet, have you?"
"Not yet."
"She might say no."
"She won't." I'm certain of it. I saw the fear in her eyes when that man approached her.
Whatever history she has with him, it's bad enough that she'll take any escape I offer.
And even if she tries to refuse, the announcement is already public.
She's locked in whether she likes it or not.
"I'll make sure the terms are generous enough that refusing would be stupid. "
"And if she still says no?"
Then I'll find another way to convince her. I remember the way she'd kissed me back, the little sound she'd made when I'd deepened it. The way her body had melted against mine. There's attraction there, on both sides. I can use that if I need to.
But I don't say that to Luca. Instead, I shrug. "She'll say yes."
Luca shakes his head, but he's smiling. "You're a cold bastard."
"It's why I'm Pakhan." I pull the newspaper closer, studying the photo again. Kiera's face is turned toward me, her lips slightly parted. She looks surprised. Caught off guard. She has no idea I'd already decided to keep her before we even left the dance floor.
"I need to approach this carefully. She can't feel trapped or she'll bolt."
"Careful? You?" Luca's eyebrows rise. "Who are you and what have you done with Emil Nikitin?"
"Fuck off." But there's no heat in it. He's right. Careful isn't usually my style. I identify what I want and I take it. But something about Kiera makes me want to slow down, to do this right.
Maybe it's because she doesn't know who I am. She looked at me like I was just a man. Not a Pakhan. Not a killer. Just someone who could help her.
I want to keep that look in her eyes a little longer.
“But first," I say, "find out everything you can about the man who showed up Saturday night at the club. The one bothering Kiera."