33. Kiera
KIERA
The fabric store is overwhelming in the best possible way.
Bolts of material line the walls from floor to ceiling in every color imaginable. Silks, satins, lace, tulle, cotton, linen. The textures call to me, begging to be touched and transformed into something beautiful and unique.
Luca stands near the entrance with two guards, all three of them looking distinctly uncomfortable surrounded by so much fabric and femininity. I can't help but smile at their obvious discomfort as I run my fingers over a bolt of ivory silk.
"This one," I tell the shop assistant, a middle-aged woman with kind eyes and a measuring tape draped around her neck. "And I'll need about fifteen yards."
"For a wedding dress?" she asks, her eyes lighting up.
"Yes."
"Oh, how wonderful! Are you working with a designer?"
"I am the designer." The words feel good coming out of my mouth. True. "I'm making my own dress."
Her smile widens. "Even better. Let me get that cut for you."
While she measures and cuts, I move through the store, selecting coordinating lace for the bodice, delicate beading for accents, and the softest tulle I've ever felt for the veil. My design is clear in my mind, and seeing the actual materials makes it feel real in a way the sketch couldn't.
Then I move to the men's section. Emil agreed last night that I could design his wedding outfit, though I'm pretty sure he wasn't really paying attention. He was distracted, distant, with his mind clearly on other things. I doubt he actually knows what he agreed to.
But I'm not going to waste the opportunity.
I select a deep charcoal fabric with the slightest hint of texture, perfect for a suit jacket. Then a crisp white shirt material and a silk for the tie that matches the ivory of my dress. The shop assistant helps me gather everything, her enthusiasm infectious.
"Your fiancé is a lucky man," she says as she rings up my purchases.
I think about Emil. About the violence I witnessed in that interrogation room and how it contrasts with how he holds me in his arms or looks at me with such hunger.
"I'm not sure luck has anything to do with it," I say.
Luca steps forward to pay with Emil's credit card before I can even reach for my wallet. I don't bother arguing. The amount is substantial, and I know Emil can afford it. Besides, he's the one who insisted on this wedding.
The guards carry my packages to the SUV, loading them carefully into the back. I slide into the seat, already thinking about the next step in my construction process.
"Where to now?" Luca asks from the front passenger seat.
"The police station."
Every man in the vehicle goes rigid.
"Miss Walker," Luca says carefully, turning to look at me. "I don't think that's a good idea."
"I need to see my brother."
"Your brother, the cop." His tone makes it clear exactly how terrible an idea he thinks this is. "The one who's been investigating the Pakhan."
"That's why I need to see him." I meet his gaze steadily. "I promised Emil I'd handle it. So I'm handling it."
Luca studies me for a long moment, then pulls out his phone. He has a brief, quiet conversation in Russian that I can't follow. When he hangs up, he nods to the driver.
"The Pakhan says you can go. But we're coming inside with you."
"Fine."
The drive to the police station takes twenty minutes. I spend the time looking out the window, rehearsing what I'm going to say to Jack. How do you convince someone to stop doing their job and to ignore their instincts? To trust that I'm safe when everything they see suggests otherwise?
The station is busy when we arrive. Officers move through the lobby, civilians wait on benches, and the phones ring constantly. Our entrance draws immediate attention. Three large men in expensive suits flanking a young woman tends to do that.
I walk up to the front desk. "I'm here to see Officer Jack Walker."
The desk sergeant looks at me, then at my very obvious security detail, then back at me. "And you are?"
"His sister. Kiera Walker."
He picks up a phone, speaks quietly, then nods. "He'll be right out."
Jack appears two minutes later, his expression shifting from confusion to concern when he sees me. His eyes move to Luca and the guards, and his jaw tightens.
"Kiera. What are you doing here?"
"I need to talk to you. Can we get lunch?"
He hesitates, clearly not thrilled about the armed escort, but finally nods. "There's a diner two blocks from here. We can walk."
"We'll drive," Luca says flatly.
Jack's eyes narrow, but he doesn't argue. We pile back into the SUV, the tension thick enough to cut. The diner is exactly the kind of place Jack would choose. Simple, unpretentious, with vinyl booths and laminated menus.
Luca and the guards take a table near the door, giving us space but maintaining clear sight lines. Jack and I slide into a booth in the back corner, as private as we're going to get.
"What's going on?" Jack asks once we've ordered. "Are you okay?"
"I'm fine." I take a breath. "I know about your investigation."
His face goes carefully blank. "I don't know what you're talking about."
"Jack. Don't lie to me. I know you've been using your credentials to look into Emil. Making inquiries with the FBI, DEA, and the organized crime units."
"How do you…" He stops, his expression darkening. "He told you."
"Does it matter how I found out?" I lean forward, keeping my voice low. "You need to stop."
"Kiera, he's dangerous. You have no idea what you've gotten yourself into."
"I know exactly what I've gotten into." The words taste bitter. "But your investigating him isn't going to change anything. It's just going to get you hurt."
"I'm a cop. It's my job to investigate criminals."
"You're not doing this as a cop, you're doing it as my brother. And you made a deal. You promised not to look into Emil or the family." I reach across the table, grabbing his hand. "Please, Jack. I'm begging you. Stop digging."
"I can't just ignore what he is."
"I'm not asking you to ignore it. I'm asking you to stay out of it. For your own safety." My throat tightens. "If the wrong people find out you're investigating Bratva operations, they won't wait for Emil's permission to act. They'll just eliminate the threat."
Jack's jaw clenches. "So I'm supposed to just let my sister marry a mobster and do nothing?"
"You're supposed to trust that I can handle my own life." The words come out sharper than I intend. "I'm not a kid anymore, Jack. I'm not the little sister you need to protect from everything."
"You'll always be my little sister."
"I know. But you have to let me make my own choices. Even the ones you don't agree with."
Our food arrives, giving us both a moment to collect ourselves. We eat in silence for a while, the weight of the conversation hanging between us.
"He really threatened you?" Jack finally asks. "Said other people would come after me if I kept investigating?"
"He warned me. There's a difference." I push my fries around my plate. "The Bratva has rules and traditions. If you keep digging, eventually, someone will decide you know too much. And Emil won't be able to protect you."
"Why would he want to protect me? I'm investigating him."
"Because you're my brother. And he…" I trail off, not sure how to finish that sentence. Because he what? Cares about me? Wants to keep me happy? I'm not even sure myself.
Jack watches me carefully. "You have feelings for him."
"That's not what this is about."
"Isn't it?" He leans back in the booth. "You're defending him. Protecting him. That's not something you'd do for just anyone."
I don't have an answer for that. Because he's right, and I hate that he's right.
"Will you stop?" I ask quietly. "The investigation. Will you stop?"
He's silent for a long time, his cop instincts clearly warring with his love for me. Finally, he sighs.
"Yeah. I'll stop."
Relief floods through me. "Thank you."
"But if he hurts you, all bets are off. Investigation or no investigation, I'll come after him myself."
"Fair enough."
We finish lunch with lighter conversation, talking about his work and my wedding plans. By the time we leave, some of the tension has eased. He hugs me goodbye in the parking lot, holding on a little longer than usual.
"Be careful," he murmurs against my hair.
"I will."
The drive back to the estate is quiet. Luca doesn't ask what we discussed, and I don't volunteer the information. But I can see the curiosity in his eyes when he glances at me in the rearview mirror.
When we arrive, I head straight for the kitchen. An idea has been forming in my mind all afternoon, wild and probably stupid, but I can't shake it.
The kitchen staff looks up in surprise when I enter. The head chef, a stern-looking woman, wipes her hands on her apron.
"Miss Walker. Can I help you with something?"
"I need you to prepare dinner tonight. Something special. For about a dozen people."
Her eyebrows rise. "The Pakhan didn't mention guests."
"He doesn't know yet. But he will." I pull out my phone. "Can you do it?"
"Of course. What time?"
"Seven o'clock."
She nods and immediately starts barking orders to her staff. I leave them to their work and head upstairs to my room, dialing Kevin's number.
"Kiera? Everything okay?"
"I'm fine. I'm calling to invite you and the guys to dinner tonight. At Emil's estate. Seven o'clock."
Silence. Then, "Are you serious?"
"Completely serious. Bring Mark too. I want all of you here."
"Kiera, I don't think that's a good idea."
"I don't care what you think. I'm inviting you to dinner. Will you come or not?"
Another pause. "Yeah. We'll be there."
I make three more calls, getting similar reactions from Jack, Devin, and Kaleb. But they all agree to come. Whether out of curiosity or concern, I'm not sure. Probably both.
Now I just need to tell Emil.
I find him in his office, bent over paperwork with that intense focus he gets when he's working. He looks up when I knock, and something in his expression softens when he sees me.
"How was the fabric store?"