The Pakhan’s Kidnapped Bride (West Coast Bratva Pakhans #4)

Chapter 1 - Emmanuil

Patience. It’s a concept I am far too familiar with.

It was Tolstoy who said that the most powerful warriors are patience and time.

I’ve endured both. I guess, in the end, they go hand in hand.

And good things come to those who wait.

Like revenge.

And I’ve waited long enough. It’s been five years.

And now Kristopher Ilyin must pay for what he did. Kristopher is the reason I lost the love of my life. He took his sister from me. So now, I will take the thing that means most to him in this world.

He’s a strong, capable, and dangerous rival. A Bratva leader like myself, we’ve never gotten along, despite our territories being fairly close.

I own San Diego.

He owns Phoenix.

It took years of watching him, studying his movements and his habits. The surveillance was done meticulously to ensure that in the end I could exact my revenge by taking away what would do the most damage.

The same thing he did to me.

Footsteps pull my attention towards my office door.

I’ve been staring blankly at my laptop for heaven only knows how long. I’m distracted and on edge today.

“Sir, the girl arrives back at her dorm in San Diego tonight. Her flight left Phoenix this afternoon.” Logan slides his phone into his back pocket as he walks into my home office.

He doesn’t knock, which aggravates me. I’ve spoken to him about this before.

Even if the door is open, I expect him to knock.

A low growl of annoyance rumbles from my chest as I sneer at him, my eyes narrowed.

Logan hesitates and steps back, realizing his oversight.

“Sorry, sir,” he mutters, looking down.

“What time will she be back?” I snap. My stress levels are high. I’ve been planning this for so long now that to finally have the moment arrive is consuming me in ways I didn’t expect. I can’t focus on anything else. I want every detail to be perfect.

Logan walks to my desk and drops a piece of paper next to my laptop. It’s a printout of a conversation between Kristopher and Georgie. I glance at it, but reading his tender words to her churns my stomach.

I used to know what love was. I don’t have it anymore, so why should he? Why should he have this softness, this care, this connection? From the messages back and forth, it isn’t obvious whether or not they are together, but he clearly has deep affection for her.

He clearly wants to keep her safe.

At first, when I was looking into him, trying to find his ultimate weakness, I didn’t pay much attention to the fact that he took care of his sister’s best friend, Georgie; I thought she was under his protection for the sake of his sister.

But it turns out it was a lot more than that. Georgie Thompson is his entire world.

I slam my hand down on the paper and curl my fingers inwards, scrunching it on the surface of the table.

“I don’t want to read this shit. Just answer my question.”

Logan clenches his jaw and nods. “Her plane lands at half past eight tonight. She’ll be back at the dorm by nine thirty.”

“And we’ll be waiting for her,” I mutter under my breath.

“Yes, sir,” Logan replies.

“I want you to double-check everything. Run over the plan with the men, I don’t want any mistakes tonight.”

“I understand, Emmanuil. Everything will be perfect, I assure you. I’m leading the operation myself.”

“Good. Go.” I wave my hand in the air, dismissing Logan, and he turns to leave my office.

Alone again, I lean back in the chair and close my eyes.

It’s been a long time since anything satisfied me.

It’s been a long time since I’ve felt any kind of joy in my life.

I spend time with friends and family. I visit my cousin, Ardalion, in Los Angeles. I drink, eat, laugh, joke, talk—but it all feels like a hollow show. Like I’m acting out my own life, pretending to be myself.

Ever since I lost what meant the most to me in this world, nothing has been the same.

Pushing away from the desk, I stand up and flex my hands, rolling my shoulders to try and push away the building tension that will soon creep up my neck and turn into a headache if I don’t calm down.

I should be excited. It’s finally happening.

But revenge doesn’t bring back the thing you lost; it only provides a small sense of atonement or justice for it being taken away.

But still, I can’t wait to watch Kristopher suffer. And her. She is to blame as well, for what she did to me, for walking away from me. It would be a lot easier to hate her if I didn’t still…. no… There is only hate. I have no room for weakness. No room to reminisce on the past.

I can’t wait to watch Kristopher’s empire crumble around him when he can no longer hold himself together. He deserves every moment of that pain. And Georgie is Anya’s best friend. It will hurt them both if I take her away from them. It’s the perfect revenge. Two birds with one stone.

Glancing at my watch, I note the time. Almost four. There are a few things I need to confirm before my men bring the girl back here.

In fact, I’ll have them take her directly to my lawyer’s office.

The sooner we sign that marriage certificate, the better.

I imagine Kristopher keeps a close eye on Georgie, and he’ll know of her kidnapping relatively quickly after we’ve taken her.

I need everything in place before he can stop it from happening.

It’s only luck that she’s attending university in San Diego. UC San Diego, the university not far from here. I’m not sure why she isn’t in California, somewhere like Stanford, but I don’t particularly care. It makes my life easier that she’s here.

Leaving my office, I head downstairs to the kitchen in search of the housekeeper.

“Mila?” I shout, tilting my head to the side to listen for her response.

“Sir,” she calls out, hurrying towards me.

“Coffee. In the library. You can bring me some food, too.”

“Yes, sir.” She nods and hurries away.

I haven’t eaten yet, and even though my stomach is knotted and I’m not hungry at all, I need strength and focus.

After she left me, the library became a memorial of sorts.

I wasn’t ever interested in books, not until I met Anya.

She had a penchant for rare and vintage books, old sci-fi writers, and dark horror stories, like HG Wells and HP Lovecraft.

I guess it explains why she fell in love with me, if it was ever real.

She was always fascinated by the darkness… .

I never had the heart to get rid of the books we bought together.

I both love and hate this room. For that reason, I hardly ever come in here.

But today is different. There’s significance in what’s happening tonight, and I hope to get closure from it all.

Perhaps after this is over, I can finally have this room torn apart and rebuilt into something that isn’t shadowed by her memory.

I sit on the long blue velvet sofa, splashed with sunlight from the lazy afternoon rays of early May. It’s spring. Anya’s favorite time of year.

There are some days when I wish I’d never met her. I wonder if it was worth the torment I will suffer for the rest of my life. The brief time I had to love her for an eternity of pain.

And then there are other days when I would give my life to spend one more day with her, as it was back then.

Anger spikes in my heart, and I shove the thought of her aside. I don’t like to allow myself to think of her. It’s a dangerous rabbit hole to fall down.

Mila walks in carrying a tray, and I sit up, grateful for the distraction.

“Thank you, Mila,” I say gently, knowing that in my own torment I can sometimes be harsh to those around me. I don’t mean to be. It’s not who I want to be.

I’ve been difficult to be around. I’m aware of it. My temper flares at the slightest thing, and my moods are dark and brooding. I don’t want to be this way, but there’s a lot on my mind, especially lately, and the closer I got to this moment, the worse my anger became.

The coffee mug is hot in my fingers as I take my first sip.

Perfect. Sweet, dark and strong.

My late lunch is the same thing I have most days. Roast chicken, fresh vegetables, and boiled eggs. Boring, perhaps, but what do I care? Protein. It’s what counts. There are very few things that bring me pleasure in this world. I eat to live. Not for fun.

I clean my plate, devouring everything on it because it’s calculated by my chef to fulfill my body’s needs. Planned. Strict. Monotonous.

While I eat, I think about everything that is about to happen.

There are still a few things to finalize, so after lunch I phone Rafael Sanchez, a sleazy lawyer who will make anything happen if you have enough money to offer him—but aren’t they all on the sleazy side? I’ve yet to meet a decent one, one that turned down money in favor of morals.

It’s good for me. I’m not complaining.

“Sanchez, it’s happening tonight. I’ll bring the girl to your office sometime around ten,” I say sternly.

“I’ll be here. I’ve drawn up the blank document. It’s all ready and waiting,” he says with a smile in his voice. He’s making enough money off this, of course, he’ll be smiling.

At nine, I get confirmation from Logan that the men are at the dorm, hiding. Undercover.

At nine fifteen, I get confirmation that the girl has arrived early.

By nine twenty-three, they have her. She put up one hell of a fight, but they managed to silence her with duct tape and get her into the trunk of the car without being seen.

Now, it’s almost ten.

I’m at the lawyer’s office. Waiting.

I hate waiting.

Sanchez is pacing back and forth behind his desk. He keeps looking at his watch as though he has somewhere more important to be.

“Sit the fuck down, Sanchez,” I snarl.

He sits down immediately and mutters, “My wife made lasagna. She hates when I’m late.”

“Buy your wife a new Gucci. She’ll forget all about it,” I say sarcastically.

He presses his lips together and sets his hands on the desk in front of him, silenced.

The door to his office bursts open, and Logan comes in, followed by two other men. The girl thrown over Logan’s shoulder is still fighting, kicking, and moaning against the tape over her mouth.

Logan grunts and drops her onto the sofa in the corner of Sanchez’s office.

“Don’t put her shoes on the leather,” he groans.

I shoot him one warning glance and he shuts up again.

Standing up, I walk towards the sofa and grab the corner of the hood they’d thrown over her face.

The thing is, I know even before I pull it off.

The moment she rolled over the sofa to try and sit up, I saw her body. I’ve explored every inch of that perfection. I’d know her anywhere.

But somehow my brain didn’t want to believe it, and I had to see her face with my own eyes to confirm it.

I toss the hood away and stare in disbelief at Anya.

His sister.

Not Georgie. Not his sister’s best friend.

His sister.

“Anya.” Her name tumbles from my lips, and the knot in my stomach tightens. She glares at me, her eyes wild, her golden-brown hair a mess over her shoulders.

Her cheeks are flushed bright pink.

I lean forward and grab the edge of the tape and pull it slowly from her lips. She scrunches her eyes shut, wincing until it’s off.

“Emmanuil?” she whispers in shock.

“Logan, do you know who this is?” I say darkly.

“Yes, sir—"

Before he can say anything else, I turn and slice a sharp slap across his face.

He growls and raises his hand, but doesn’t retaliate; instead, he steps back.

“Get out,” I snap.

He gestures for the other two guys to follow him and leaves me alone with Anya and the lawyer.

Anya lifts her hands to her lips, rubbing across her face to massage away the sting of the tape. “Emmanuil, what’s going on?”

It’s like seeing a ghost.

My eyes are burning into her.

My heart is wild, churning chaos. Hate her. I remind myself, while my thoughts slip into the past. Hate her. She deserves nothing more.

I push the confusion away. I do hate her. I hate her for what she did to me. I hate her for leaving me and never speaking to me again. I hate how she handled it, how she betrayed me, how she broke me.

I will never give her that power again.

I can’t look at her, but I can’t look away. My insides are churning.

My heart is racing a million miles an hour.

They took the wrong girl.

They brought me the very thing I’ve spent the last five years trying to forget. Her.

My heart tightens, then breaks, shattering all over again, years of suppressed emotions exploding through me as I stand dead still, watching her.

Her beauty has only intensified over the years.

Her long, willowy figure, her slender legs, and narrow waist. Her sharp, pixie-like features. She is perfect. As perfect as the day I last saw her.

My body doesn’t know I’m not allowed to have her anymore, and it’s already flaring with hope, lust, excitement.

But then comes the hurt.

Five years of agony after losing her.

Five years—and not a single word from her.

I force my eyes off her, spinning away towards the lawyer.

“Get those fucking papers ready. Let’s get this over with,” I bark. He jumps, scrambling into action.

This isn’t the plan.

This isn’t the plan.

What are you doing?

I shove the voice of reason aside and lean down to grab Anya’s arm. My fingers wrap tightly around her as I pull her from the sofa.

Her eyes shoot wide when she sees the knife in my hand.

“I don’t want to hurt you, Anya, and I won’t have to as long as you obey me.”

“Emmanuil, please, just tell me what’s going on,” she begs.

I hold the knife beneath her chin, and the darkness swimming through my mind as I stare into her golden-brown eyes is terrifying.

She freezes as the silver blade touches her skin.

“Not a word,” I warn her.

Her eyes shine bright as she stands her ground in silence.

I grab her wrist and slip the knife between the restraints, binding them together. In one swift motion, I cut away the duct tape, and her hands are free.

I can smell her. Her skin. Her scent. The fresh salt of her sweat from fighting against my men when they took her. It’s intoxicating.

I tug her closer to me and lean down, my face inches from hers.

I hear her take in a sharp breath as her lips part.

“Do as you’re told, Anya. This will be over soon.”