40. Emil
EMIL
My expression turns grim as her words hang in the air between us.
"No," I say, my voice flat and final. "There's no way I'm letting you out of this wedding."
Kiera's eyes widen. "You can't just—"
"I can. And I am." I nod to Luca, who moves immediately toward her.
"Don't you dare touch me," she snaps, backing away from him. But Luca is patient and methodical. He approaches her carefully, his movements gentle but purposeful.
"Miss Walker," he says quietly. "Please don't make this difficult."
"Difficult?" Her voice rises. "You're kidnapping me!"
"I'm escorting you to your room," Luca corrects. He reaches for her arm, his grip firm but not painful. "Come on."
"Emil!" She looks at me, her blue eyes blazing with fury and betrayal. "You can't do this!"
I don't respond. I just watch as Luca guides her toward the door.
She digs her heels in, trying to resist. "Let go of me!"
"I'm sorry," Luca says, and he sounds like he means it. But he doesn't release her.
Kiera twists in his grip, trying to break free. When that doesn't work, she switches tactics. "Luca, please. You don't have to do this. You're better than this."
He doesn't answer, just keeps moving her steadily toward the exit.
"Fine!" Her voice turns sharp, dangerous. "When I get out of this room, I'm going to make you regret this. I'll put laxatives in your coffee. I'll short-sheet your bed. I'll tell everyone about that time you—"
"There's nothing you can tell anyone that will make a difference," Luca says calmly. "And you're not getting out until the Pakhan says so."
"I'll find a way. And when I do, you're going to wish you'd listened to me." She's still threatening him as they disappear through the doorway, her voice echoing down the hallway. "I'll put itching powder in your underwear! I'll replace your shampoo with hair removal cream!"
The door closes behind them, muffling her continued threats.
Silence settles over the interrogation room.
I turn my attention back to Arnie. He's stopped squirming now, his one good eye fixed on me with pure terror. The gag is still in his mouth, but I can hear the muffled sounds he's making. Whimpering. Begging.
"Let's try this again," I say, walking toward him. My footsteps echo on the concrete floor. "Did you hire someone to shoot at Kiera?"
He shakes his head frantically, the movement making him wince from his injuries.
I study him for a long moment, the swollen eye, split lip, and the bruises covering his ribs. He's a mess, and part of me takes satisfaction in that.
But another part of me, the part that's been trained to read people for decades, believes him. He's too terrified to lie. Too broken to scheme.
This pathetic piece of shit didn't hire a professional assassin. He doesn't have the connections or the intelligence for that.
Still, the thought of what he did to Kiera makes my blood boil.
My hands curl into fists at my sides. I want to kill him.
The urge is so strong, it's almost overwhelming.
I want to make him suffer the way he made her suffer.
I want to hear him scream and beg and cry.
I want to break every bone in his body, one by one, until there's nothing left but a whimpering mess on the floor.
It would be easy. So fucking easy.
But I can't. Because if I do, Kiera will never forgive me. She'll look at me the way she looked at me just now, with horror and disgust and fear. And I can't stand that look.
So I force myself to step back. To breathe. To think.
"What do we do with him?" Luca asks from the doorway. He's returned from escorting Kiera to her room.
"We can't let him go," I say. "He'll run straight to the police."
"We could make him disappear."
I consider it. It would solve the problem cleanly. No witnesses. No complications.
But Kiera would know. She'd figure it out. And that look would be back in her eyes.
"Keep him here for now," I finally say. "We'll decide later."
Luca nods and leaves to make the arrangements.
I take one last look at Arnie, still tied to the chair, still terrified. Then I walk out of the interrogation room and lock the door behind me.
The rest of the day passes in a blur of business.
I keep Kiera locked in her room. She pounds on the door a few times, demanding to be let out. I ignore it.
Around three in the afternoon, Luca appears in my office doorway.
"We have a problem," he says.
"What kind of problem?"
"One of the casino managers. We think he's been stealing."
I lean back in my chair. "Bring him in."
Twenty minutes later, the man is standing in my office. He's in his forties, balding, with a nervous twitch in his left eye. He's wearing a cheap suit that doesn't fit quite right.
"Do you know why you're here?" I ask.
"No, Pakhan. I swear, I don't know—"
"Don't lie to me." My voice is quiet. Deadly. "We've been watching you. We know about the missing money."
His face goes pale. "I can explain—"
"Save it." I stand up. "Luca, take him downstairs."
The man's eyes widen with panic. "Please, Pakhan. I have a family. I have kids—"
"You should have thought about that before you stole from me."
Luca grabs the man's arm and drags him toward the door. He's crying now, begging, but I don't care.
We take him down to the interrogation room. Arnie is still there, slumped in his chair, barely conscious.
When the casino manager sees him, he starts to hyperventilate.
"Sit," I tell him, gesturing to a second chair that Luca has brought in.
He sits. He doesn't have a choice.
I spend the next hour extracting the truth from him. How much he stole. Where he hid it. Who else was involved.
He resists at first. Tries to deny it. But pain has a way of loosening tongues.
I use my fists. My boots. Whatever's necessary.
And I take pleasure in it.
All the frustration from the past few days, all the anger and confusion and desire, it all pours out of me with each hit. The satisfying crack of bone. The wet sound of flesh splitting. The screams that echo off the concrete walls. It helps. Not much, but a little.
Finally, he breaks and confesses everything. He names others involved and begs for mercy.
I look at Luca and nod.
He pulls his gun from the holster at his hip. The movement is smooth, practiced. He raises it and aims it at the man's forehead.
"Please," the man whispers. "Please, I have—"
The gunshot is deafening in the small room.
The man's head snaps back. Blood and brain matter spray across the wall behind him. His body slumps forward, held in place only by the ropes binding him to the chair.
I look over at Arnie. His one good eye is wide with terror. He's making high-pitched sounds behind the gag, his whole body shaking.
He's also pissed himself.
A moment later, his eyes roll back in his head and he slumps forward, unconscious.
"Pathetic," I mutter.
Luca holsters his gun. "What do you want me to do with them?"
"Clean up the mess. Keep Arnie alive for now."
"And Miss Walker?"
"She stays in her room."
I leave the interrogation room and head upstairs to clean up. There's blood on my shirt and hands. I wash it off in the bathroom attached to my office, watching the water run red down the drain.
When I'm clean, I change into black pants and a light blue shirt. I roll up the sleeves and look at myself in the mirror. I look like what I am. A Pakhan. A killer. A man who does what needs to be done.
I return to my office and sit behind my desk. Luca follows me in a few minutes later.
"She's been quiet," he says. "No more pounding on the door."
"Good."
"What's the plan?"
I lean back in my chair, steepling my fingers. "I've been thinking about that."
"And?"
"I've been too soft with her." The words taste bitter, but they're true. "I've given in to her on too many things. Let her have too much control. And it's only made her bolder."
Luca doesn't respond. He just waits.
"She thinks she can dictate terms to me. She thinks she can call off the wedding whenever she wants. She thinks she has power here."
"She doesn't."
"No. She doesn't." I meet his eyes. "It's time I reminded her of that. It's time I stopped catering to her demands and her tantrums."
"What are you going to do?"
I stand up and walk to the window. The estate grounds stretch out before me, perfectly manicured and controlled. Everything in its place. Everything as it should be.
"It's time I returned to being a Pakhan."