41. Kiera
KIERA
I've been locked in this room since yesterday, and I'm going crazy.
The walls feel like they're closing in on me. I've paced the length of the bedroom so many times I've probably worn a path in the carpet. I've tried reading and sketching, anything to distract myself from the reality of my situation.
But nothing works.
I have no idea what happened to Arnie. Is he still in that interrogation room, tied to that chair? Is he hurt worse than he was when I saw him? Or is he…
I can't finish that thought.
And I have no idea what's going to happen to me.
The realization hits me hard, making my chest tight with panic. Telling Emil the wedding was off was probably the stupidest thing I could have done. I should have kept my mouth shut and played along, acted compliant, and waited until I was outside the estate.
Then I could have made a run for it.
But no. I had to open my big mouth and challenge him. Now I'm trapped. The door is locked from the outside. There are guards in the hallway. Even if I could get out of this room, where would I go? The estate is massive, surrounded by walls and security. I wouldn't find a way to escape. Not now.
And I do want to escape. The thought consumes me as I sit on the edge of the bed, my hands twisted together in my lap.
The image of Arnie tied to that chair, his face swollen and bloody, won't leave my mind. All I want now is to grab my brothers and disappear. Just vanish somewhere Emil and his organization can't find us. Start over with new names, new lives, new everything.
But that's not likely to happen. My brothers have lives here, jobs, homes, relationships. Kevin has his marketing career. Jack is a cop. Devin has his gym. Kaleb has his teaching position and his husband, Mark.
They wouldn't want to give up their entire lives.
But what choice would they have if they wanted to live?
If Emil decides they're a threat, if his family decides they know too much, what happens then?
Luca's warning echoes in my mind. They could make Jack's death look like an accident in the line of duty.
They have the connections, the power, and the resources. My brothers would be sitting ducks.
The thought makes me feel sick.
I spend the rest of the day in a fog of anxiety and fear. I try to eat the lunch that's brought to my room, but I can barely swallow. The food tastes like ash in my mouth. Finally, around evening time, there's a knock on my door.
"Miss Walker?" Luca's voice comes through the wood. "It's time for dinner."
I hear the lock click, and the door swings open. Luca stands in the hallway, dressed in dark slacks and a gray button-down shirt, his expression neutral.
"The Pakhan is waiting," he says.
I want to refuse and tell him I'm not hungry, that I'd rather stay locked in this room than face Emil right now. But I know that's not really an option.
I stand up, smoothing down the jeans and sweater I've been wearing all day. I haven't bothered to change or fix my hair. What's the point?
Luca escorts me through the hallways of the estate. The walk feels longer than usual, each step heavy with dread. We pass armed guards stationed at various points, their eyes tracking our movement.
When we reach the dining room, I see it's just the three of us. Emil sits at the head of the long table, dressed in black pants and a dark blue shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. Luca takes his position standing near the wall, ever the watchful guardian.
The tension in the air is thick enough to choke on. I sit down in the chair to Emil's right, the same seat I've occupied for other meals. But this time, everything feels different. Wrong.
A plate of food appears in front of me. Roasted chicken, vegetables, and some kind of rice pilaf. It looks delicious, but my stomach turns at the sight of it.
I pick up my fork and slowly push the food around my plate. I manage to take a few small bites, chewing mechanically and forcing myself to swallow.
Emil eats in silence. The only sounds are the quiet clink of silverware against China and the distant hum of the estate around us.
I want to ask about Arnie. The question burns on my tongue. Is he okay? What are you going to do with him? Are you going to kill him? But I'm afraid of the answer. So I stay quiet and pick at my food.
Then I notice his hands. Emil's knuckles are bloody. Not fresh blood, but dried and crusted. The skin is split and swollen, bruised a deep purple. My face drains of color. All the blood rushes from my head, leaving me dizzy and cold. He beat someone recently. Is that Arnie's dried blood on him?
Emil notices my stare. He follows my gaze to his hands and flexes his fingers slightly. "It's not from Arnie," he says, his voice flat. "The idiot is still alive and in the interrogation room for now."
For now. The words hang in the air between us, heavy with implication. "Then who…" I start, but my voice trails off.
"Business," Emil says simply. "Someone who needed to be reminded of their obligations."
I feel sick. "What's going to happen to Arnie?" The question comes out before I can stop it.
Emil sets down his fork and looks at me. His dark eyes are unreadable. "I haven't decided yet."
"Emil…"
"What do you think should happen to him?"
I don't know how to answer that. Part of me wants Arnie to face consequences for what he did. But another part of me, the part that saw him tied to that chair, bloody and terrified, doesn't want to be responsible for whatever Emil decides to do.
"I don't want you to kill him," I say quietly.
Emil doesn't respond. He just picks up his fork and continues eating.
No amount of prodding gets me an answer. I try asking again, but Emil deflects every attempt. He changes the subject smoothly, his expression giving nothing away.
Finally, he shifts the conversation entirely. "We need to discuss the wedding," he says.
My stomach rolls. The small amount of food I've managed to eat threatens to come back up. I don't want to marry Emil. Not after what he did. Not after he broke my trust and took Arnie, beating him bloody. Not after locking me in my room like a prisoner.
It doesn't matter that I have feelings for him. It doesn't matter that my body responds to his touch or that I think about him constantly. I'll figure out a way to tamp those feelings down. I have to.
"The wedding is in two weeks," Emil continues, his tone businesslike. He could be discussing a merger or a real estate deal. "It won't be a big wedding," he says. "That would be a security nightmare with the shooter still on the loose."
The shooter. I'd almost forgotten about that in the chaos of everything else. Someone is trying to kill me, and we still don't know who.
"We'll get married at a small church on the outskirts of town," Emil continues. "It's quiet and private. Easy to secure. The guest list will be limited to immediate family and close associates."
I nod numbly, not trusting myself to speak.
"Your brothers will be there, of course. And your friends, if you want them."
"Okay," I manage to say.
Emil studies me for a moment, his gaze intense. "Which of your brothers do you want to give you away?"
The question catches me off guard. I hadn't thought about it. But my answer is immediate and true. "All of them," I say. "I want all four of my brothers to give me away."
A combination of humor and surprise flickers in Emil's expression. "That can be arranged," he says.
We continue talking about the wedding. Every word feels like a weight pressing down on my chest. Every detail makes the reality of this situation more concrete, more inescapable.
The nausea builds with each passing moment.
My stomach churns, acid rising in my throat.
I try to breathe through it and focus on something else, but it's no use.
Finally, I can't stand it anymore. I push back from the table abruptly, my chair scraping against the floor. Emil looks up, startled.
"Excuse me," I gasp.
Then I run. I make it to the nearest bathroom just in time, dropping to my knees in front of the toilet as everything comes up.