51. Kiera
KIERA
The library has become my favorite room in the estate over the past two months.
It's quiet here, peaceful, with floor-to-ceiling windows that let in natural light and overlook the gardens.
The leather chairs are comfortable, worn in just the right way, and the smell of old books mixed with furniture polish creates an atmosphere that feels almost normal.
Almost like I'm not living in a mansion owned by a Russian Mafia boss.
I sit in one of the wingback chairs near the fireplace, my hand resting unconsciously on my stomach.
I've got a little baby bump now. Not obviously, not to strangers, but enough that my regular clothes are getting tight.
I've started wearing looser shirts and dresses, things that hide the small bump that's steadily growing.
My brothers are scattered around the room.
Kevin sits on the leather sofa, his laptop open on his knees as he works on some marketing campaign.
Devin is sprawling in another chair, scrolling through his phone and occasionally making comments about protein intake and prenatal vitamins.
Jack stands by the window, his cop instincts never quite letting him fully relax even here.
And Kaleb is curled up in the corner chair with a book, though I notice he keeps glancing up at me with concern in his eyes.
It's been two months since I told Emil about the pregnancy and how I didn't want the father to be a murderer.
He'd sat there in that restaurant, frozen, his dark eyes wide with shock.
For a long moment, he didn't say anything.
Didn't move. Just stared at me like I'd spoken in a language he didn't understand.
Then he'd stood up, thrown money on the table, and taken me home.
We didn't talk about Arnie again. We didn't talk about much of anything for days.
But slowly, carefully, we'd started to rebuild.
Emil had been different after that. Gentler.
More patient. He'd focused on making sure I was comfortable, that I had everything I needed, and that the baby was healthy.
He'd hired the best doctors, arranged for regular checkups, and made sure the kitchen staff knew exactly what foods I could and couldn't eat.
And he'd let my brothers go home.
That had been the biggest surprise. After keeping them at the estate for their own protection, he'd finally agreed they could return to their lives.
But the protection hadn't ended. Each of my brothers now has guards assigned to them, discreet, professional men who follow at a distance but are always there.
Even Jack, despite his protests about being a cop who can take care of himself, has a security detail.
Jack had been furious about it at first. He'd argued that having Emil's men following him around made him look dirty, like he was on the take or working with organized crime.
But Emil had been firm. The shooter was still out there, and until they found him, everyone connected to me was at risk.
Jack had eventually given in, though he'd arranged for his cop friends to do drive-bys of all their homes as an extra layer of security.
He couldn't tell them why, of course, couldn't explain that his sister was engaged to a Pakhan and someone was trying to kill her.
But his friends had agreed anyway, because that's what cops do for each other.
"How are you feeling?" Kaleb asks, breaking the comfortable silence. My brothers had all decided to come check on me at the same time.
I look up from where I've been absently rubbing my stomach. "Good. Tired, but good. The morning sickness finally stopped last week."
"Thank God," Devin says without looking up from his phone. "I was getting worried about your nutrient intake."
"Of course you were," I say with a smile.
Kevin closes his laptop and sets it aside. "Have you thought about names yet?"
"It's too early for that," I say, though the truth is I've thought about little else. "We don't even know if it's a boy or a girl yet."
The door to the library opens before anyone can respond, and Emil walks in.
He's wearing dark jeans and a black button-down shirt, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows—his usual casual attire.
His light brown hair is slightly messy, like he's been running his hands through it, and there's an intensity in his dark eyes that makes my stomach clench.
Something's happened.
My brothers all turn to look at him, their bodies tensing. They've gotten better about being around Emil over the past two months, but there's still an underlying wariness. They know what he is. They know what he's capable of. And they'll never fully trust him, no matter how well he treats me.
Emil's gaze sweeps the room, landing on each of my brothers before finally settling on me. "We found him," he says simply.
The words hang in the air for a moment. Then everyone starts talking at once.
"The shooter?" Kevin demands.
"Where?" Jack is already moving away from the window, his cop instincts taking over.
"Is he alive?" Devin asks.
I don't say anything. I just watch Emil, my heart pounding in my chest.
Emil holds up a hand, and the room falls silent. His presence commands attention, demands respect, even from my brothers who hate everything he represents. "He's here. In the interrogation room."
Jack's expression hardens. "How long have you had him?"
"About an hour." Emil's gaze shifts to Jack, and something passes between them. An understanding, maybe. Or a challenge. "We haven't questioned him yet. I thought you might want to handle that."
Jack's eyebrows rise. "You're letting me interrogate him?"
"He's yours," Emil says. "This is your case. Your vendetta." He pauses, and his jaw tightens. "He hates you, Jack. That's why he went after Kiera. Because he wanted to hurt you."
The room goes completely silent. I can hear my own heartbeat, loud and fast in my ears.
"What?" Jack's voice is barely above a whisper.
Emil's expression is grim. "You arrested his younger brother three years ago. Drug charges. The kid was seventeen, tried as an adult, and sent to prison. He got shanked six months into his sentence and died in the infirmary."
Jack's face goes pale. "I remember that case. The kid was dealing fentanyl outside a high school. He had enough product on him to kill half the student body."
"His older brother didn't see it that way," Emil says. "He blamed you for his brother's death and spent the last two years planning his revenge. He was going to kill Kiera to make you suffer the way he suffered."
I feel like I can't breathe. All of this, all the fear and danger and violence, because of something Jack did as part of his job. Because he arrested a drug dealer and that dealer's brother wanted revenge.
"Jesus," Kevin breathes.
Devin looks like he might be sick. Kaleb just stares at Jack, his expression a mixture of shock and sympathy.
Jack's hands curl into fists at his sides. "Where is he?"
"Follow me," Emil says.
We all stand, moving as a group toward the door. My legs feel shaky, and I have to grip the back of the chair for a moment to steady myself. Emil notices immediately. He's at my side in an instant, his hand on my elbow, supporting me without making it obvious.
"You don't have to come," he says quietly, his voice meant only for me.
"Yes, I do," I say. "I need to see him. I need to know it's really over."
He studies my face for a long moment, then nods. "Stay close to me."
We walk through the estate, down the familiar hallways I've come to know over the past months.
The interrogation room is in the basement, tucked away in a corner that most of the staff never sees.
Memories crash down on me. Arnie, tied to a chair, bloody and broken.
Emil standing over him with that cold, empty look in his eyes.
But when Emil opens the door to the interrogation room, the scene is different.
The man sitting in the chair isn't tied up.
He's not bloody or beaten. He's just sitting there, his hands resting on his knees, his expression defiant.
He's younger than I expected, maybe late twenties, with dark hair and a thin face.
There's a hardness in his eyes that speaks of pain and anger and years of resentment.
Two of Emil's guards stand against the wall, their expressions neutral, their hands resting casually near their weapons. But they don't move as we file into the room.
I'm grateful the man isn't bound. Grateful there's no blood, no visible signs of violence. He looks up as we enter, his gaze sweeping over all of us before landing on Jack. His expression twists into something ugly. "You," he spits.
Jack steps forward, his cop persona firmly in place. "I'm Detective Jack Walker. You're under arrest for two counts of attempted murder, stalking, and making terroristic threats."
"I don't give a shit what you're arresting me for," the man says. "You killed my brother."
"Your brother killed himself when he decided to deal drugs to kids," Jack says, his voice hard. "I just did my job."
The man lunges forward, but Emil's guards are faster. They have him restrained before he can get more than a foot from the chair, their hands firm on his shoulders, pushing him back down.
Jack pulls out his handcuffs, the metal glinting in the harsh overhead light. "You have the right to remain silent," he begins, reciting the Miranda rights as he cuffs the man's wrists behind his back. "Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law."
I watch the whole thing in a daze. This is it.
This is the man who tried to kill me. All because he wanted revenge on Jack.
Kevin, Devin, and Kaleb move to flank Jack as he hauls the man to his feet.
They're going to take him to the police station to officially process him and make sure he faces justice.
Real justice, not the kind Emil would deliver in this room.
As they move toward the door, Jack pauses and looks back at Emil. "Thank you," he says quietly, "for letting me handle this."
Emil nods once. "He's yours. Make sure he pays for what he did."
"I will."
Then they're gone, taking the shooter with them. The door closes behind them with a soft click, and suddenly, it's just me and Emil in the interrogation room. The guards have left too, giving us privacy.
I stand there for a moment, staring at the empty chair. It's over. Really over. The threat that's been hanging over us for months is finally gone.
Emil moves to stand beside me, his presence warm and solid. His hand comes to rest on my stomach, his palm covering the small bump that's growing there. "How do you feel?" he asks, his voice gentle.
I take a breath, trying to sort through the tangle of emotions in my chest. Relief. Exhaustion. Fear. Hope. "I don't know," I admit. "It's been so long. I almost forgot what it felt like to not be afraid."
"You're safe now," he says. "You and the baby. I promise."
I look up at him, studying his face. The hard lines have softened over the past two months. He's still dangerous, still capable of terrible violence, but there's something different in his eyes when he looks at me now. Something tender.
"I know," I say quietly.
We stand there for a while, his hand on my stomach, both of us processing what just happened. The interrogation room feels different now, less threatening. Like maybe it's just a room, after all, not a symbol of everything dark and violent in Emil's world.
Finally, Emil speaks. "Now that the shooter has been found," he says, his dark eyes meeting mine, "we can get married."