32. Emil
EMIL
"He's been using his police credentials to access files," Luca says, standing in front of my desk with a folder in his hands. "He's made inquiries with the FBI, DEA, and local organized crime units. He's asking questions about our operations, our businesses, our associates."
I lean back in my chair, fingers steepled under my chin. "How long has this been going on?"
"Since the honor fight. Maybe before." Luca opens the folder and slides a stack of papers across my desk. "He's been careful, but not careful enough. One of our contacts in the department flagged it."
I scan the documents. Jack Walker has been busy. Too busy. He's violated our agreement, one of the main conditions I set for allowing Kiera's brothers to remain in her life without interference.
"He's putting himself at risk," I say quietly. "If the wrong people find out he's digging into Bratva business, they won't wait for my permission to act."
"I know." Luca's expression is grim. "The council won't tolerate a cop investigating us, Pakhan. Not even if he's your future brother-in-law."
"Fuck." I rub my hand over my face, feeling the weight of this situation pressing down on me. "How much does he know?"
"Enough to be dangerous. Not enough to do real damage yet." Luca pauses. "But if he keeps going, he'll find things that can't be ignored."
I'm about to respond when my office door slams open.
Kiera storms in, her blue eyes blazing with fury. She's still wearing the clothes from dinner, her red hair slightly disheveled like she's been running her hands through it. She looks beautiful and terrifying all at once.
"What are you planning to do about my brother?" she demands, her voice sharp enough to cut glass.
Luca glances at me, and I nod. He steps back, giving us space but remaining in the room. This is Bratva business, and he needs to hear whatever agreement we reach.
"Close the door," I tell her.
"No."
"Kiera. Close the fucking door."
She hesitates, then reaches back and shoves it closed with more force than necessary. The sound echoes through the office.
"Jack better not be harmed," she says, taking a step toward my desk. "I'm warning you right now, Emil. If anything happens to him—"
"Sit down."
"I don't want to sit down. I want to know what you're planning."
I stand, moving around the desk to face her. She doesn't back away, doesn't flinch, just lifts her chin and meets my gaze with that stubborn defiance I see all too often.
"Your brother is investigating me," I say flatly. "Using his police credentials to access confidential files, making inquiries with federal agencies, and asking questions about my business operations."
"So?"
"So he violated our agreement. The condition I set for allowing your family to remain in your life was that they stay out of my business. Jack isn't staying out of it. He's diving in headfirst."
Her jaw tightens. "He's worried about me."
"He's putting himself in danger." I take a step closer, and she holds her ground. "If the wrong people find out a cop is investigating Bratva operations, they won't ask my permission before they act. They'll eliminate the threat."
"Then tell them not to."
"It doesn't work that way, Kiera. I'm the Pakhan, but I'm not a dictator.
There are rules, protocols, and traditions.
If Jack keeps digging, eventually, someone will decide he knows too much and is too great a risk to the family and our operations.
And when that happens, I won't be able to protect him. "
She stares at me, and I can see the fear beneath her anger. "What are you saying?"
"I'm saying something needs to be done about your brother before other members of my family take matters into their own hands."
"No." She shakes her head. "No, you're not touching him."
"Then what do you suggest?" I cross my arms over my chest. "Because doing nothing isn't an option. Not when he's actively investigating us."
"I'll handle it."
"How?"
"I'll talk to him. I'll make him stop."
I study her face, looking for any sign of doubt or uncertainty. All I see is determination. "You think he'll listen to you?"
"He's my brother. He'll listen."
"He's a cop with cop instincts who thinks he's protecting you from a dangerous criminal. That's not something you can just talk him out of."
"I'll make him understand." Her voice is firm, absolute. "I'll make him see that he's putting himself at risk, that he needs to back off. He'll listen to me."
I want to believe her. I want to think she can convince Jack to stop before this situation escalates beyond my control. But I've been in this life long enough to know that good intentions don't always translate to results.
"You have one week," I tell her.
"That's not enough time."
"It's all the time I can give you. If Jack is still investigating after one week, I'll have to take action. For his safety and ours."
"What kind of action?"
"The kind that ensures he stops asking questions." I hold her gaze. "I won't kill him, Kiera. But I will make it clear that continuing down this path will have consequences he won't like."
She swallows hard. "One week."
"One week," I reaffirm. "Whatever you're going to do, do it fast."
She nods once, then turns and walks out of my office without another word. The door closes behind her with a soft click.
Luca waits until her footsteps fade down the hallway before speaking. "You think she can convince him?"
"No." I return to my desk and drop into my chair. "But I'm giving her the chance to try."
"And if she fails?"
"Then we'll handle it my way."
Luca nods and leaves, taking the folder with him. I sit alone in my office, staring at the closed door and thinking about the look on Kiera's face. The fear, determination, and absolute certainty that she could fix this.
I hope she's right. Because if she's not, things are going to get very complicated very quickly.
Hours later, I'm still awake.
I've tried to sleep. Went to my room, stripped down, got into bed. But my mind won't shut off. It keeps circling back to Jack Walker, the investigation, and the ticking clock I've set in motion.
Finally, I give up. I pull on a pair of sweatpants and head downstairs to the kitchen. Maybe food will help. Or at least give me something to do besides stare at the ceiling.
The estate is quiet at this hour. Most of the staff have gone home or retired to their quarters. Only the night security remains, patrolling the grounds and monitoring the cameras.
I push open the kitchen door and stop.
Kiera is standing at the counter with a fork in one hand and a guilty expression on her face. In front of her is a plate with a large slice of chocolate cake, the kind the chef makes for special occasions.
She freezes when she sees me, her eyes going wide. "I was just… I couldn't sleep and I thought…"
I can't help it. I laugh.
The sound surprises both of us. I don't laugh often, and certainly not in the middle of the night when I'm supposed to be dealing with serious Bratva business.
But there's something about catching her sneaking cake like a kid who's been told not to eat dessert before bed that strikes me as genuinely funny.
"Don't let me stop you," I say, moving into the kitchen and heading for the refrigerator.
"I wasn't… I mean, I was, but…" She trails off, then laughs too. "Okay, fine. I was sneaking cake. Are you going to tell on me?"
"To who? The cake police?" I pull out sandwich fixings and set them on the counter. "Besides, I'm doing the same thing."
"You're making a sandwich. That's different."
"Food is food." I start assembling turkey and cheese on bread. "Want one?"
She hesitates, then nods. "Sure. Why not."
We work in comfortable silence for a few minutes. I make two sandwiches while she cuts another slice of cake and puts it on a second plate. Then we sit at the small kitchen table, the one the staff uses for their meals, and eat together.
"I couldn't sleep either," she says after a while. "Too much on my mind."
"Jack?"
"Among other things." She takes a bite of cake, then looks at me. "Do you really think he'll stop if I ask him to?"
I consider lying, but what's the point? "No. But I think you have a better chance of reaching him than I do."
"That's not very reassuring."
"It's honest."
She nods slowly, accepting that. "Tell me something about yourself."
The request catches me off guard. "What?"
"Tell me something about yourself. Something real. Not Pakhan stuff or business stuff. Just… you."
I take a bite of my sandwich, buying time to think. "Why?"
"Because we're getting married in less than a month and I barely know you.
" She sets down her fork. "I know you're powerful and dangerous, and you run a criminal empire.
I know you're good in bed, and you have a nice house, and you like to be in control.
But I don't know anything about you as a person. "
"What do you want to know?"
"I don't know. Anything. What was your childhood like? Do you have siblings? What's your favorite color?" She laughs. "God, I don't even know your favorite color."
"Blue," I say automatically. Then I pause, realizing I've never actually thought about it before. "Dark blue. Like the ocean at night."
"See? That's something." She smiles, and it transforms her face. "My turn. I grew up in a house full of boys after my parents died. Kevin raised me because he was the oldest and he felt responsible. I learned to fight dirty because that was the only way to survive with four brothers."
"That explains a lot."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"You don't back down. Even when you probably should." I finish my sandwich and lean back in my chair. "Most people are afraid of me. You just get angry."
"Should I be afraid of you?"
The question hangs in the air between us. I think about the man I beat in the interrogation room, the cold efficiency with which I handle threats to my organization.
"Probably," I admit. "But I don't want you to be."
"Why not?"
"Because fear isn't what I want from you."
"What do you want from me?"
Everything. The word rises in my throat, but I swallow it back. "I don't know yet."
She studies me for a long moment, those blue eyes seeing more than I'm comfortable with. "I think you do know. You're just not ready to say it."
Maybe she's right. Maybe I do know, somewhere deep down in a part of myself I've spent decades burying. But admitting it feels dangerous in a way that has nothing to do with bullets or betrayal.
"Tell me about your brothers," I say, changing the subject. "What were they like growing up?"
She lets me redirect the conversation, and we spend the next hour talking.
She tells me stories about Kevin's overprotective parenting, Jack's cop instincts that started when he was a kid, Devin's obsession with fitness, and Kaleb's gentle nature.
I tell her about growing up in the Bratva, learning the business from my father, and the violence and loyalty that shaped who I became.
It's easy, talking to her like this. Easier than it should be. She laughs at my dry humor, asks questions that show she's actually listening, and shares pieces of herself without holding back.
By the time we finish eating, the sky outside is starting to lighten with the first hints of dawn.
"I should get some sleep," she says, standing and carrying her plate to the sink. "The fabric shop opens at nine, and I want to be there early."
Staff had told me about her request earlier, and I'd agreed as long as she had a lot of guards with her. "I'll have the driver ready."
"Thank you." She pauses at the kitchen door, looking back at me. "This was nice. Talking like normal people instead of… whatever we usually are."
"Yeah," I agree. "It was."
She smiles and disappears into the hallway. I sit alone in the kitchen, listening to her footsteps fade away, and realize something that makes my chest tighten.
I don't know much about the woman I'm supposed to marry. Her favorite foods, dreams, or the little things that make her laugh. Before tonight, I didn't think it mattered. She was a means to an end, a solution to a problem, a beautiful woman I wanted in my bed.
But now it does matter. Now I want to know everything about her. What makes her happy, what scares her, what she thinks about when she's alone. I want to know her favorite color, childhood memories, and the way she takes her coffee in the morning.
I want to know Kiera. All of her. Not just the defiant woman who challenges me or the passionate lover who comes apart in my arms. I want to know the person underneath all of that.
I want to know what makes Kiera Walker tick.
And that realization terrifies me more than any bullet or blade ever has.