Page 39 of The Pakhan's Dangerous Secret
"This was mine," she says, kneeling beside one of the beds. "My father built these for me when I was eight. I grew vegetables, herbs, and flowers. Whatever I wanted."
She starts pulling at the weeds, clearing them away from the wood frame. I watch her work, noting the way her ass fills out those jeans, the way her T-shirt rides up slightly to reveal a strip of smooth skin at her lower back. Even covered in dirt and grief, she's fucking beautiful.
"There was a rosebush here," she murmurs, more to herself than to me. "My mother's favorite. My father planted it the year she died."
She digs her fingers into the soil, pulling away more weeds, and then she freezes.
"What is it?" I ask, moving closer.
"There's something here." She digs faster now, her hands moving through the dirt with purpose. "I can feel it."
I kneel beside her and help, pushing aside the loose soil. Within minutes, we've uncovered a metal box, smaller than the one we found at the field but similar in design. It's locked, and my pulse quickens.
"Do you have a key?" I ask.
She sits back on her heels, her hands covered in dirt, and reaches for the necklace she's wearing. I've seen it before but never paid much attention to it. A simple chain with a small charm. She unclasps it and holds it out, and I see the charm is actually a tiny key.
"I've worn this every day since my father gave it to me," she says quietly. "I never knew what it was for."
She inserts the key into the lock, and it turns with a soft click. We both lean forward as she lifts the lid, and my heart pounds with anticipation.
Inside is a scroll, yellowed with age and tied with a red ribbon.
I carefully lift it out and untie the ribbon, unrolling the paper. My eyes scan the contents, and I feel my blood turn to ice. My heart starts hammering so hard and loudly, I briefly wonder if it's going to pound out of my chest.
"Fuck," I breathe.
It's a list of names, addresses, and locations of safehouses belonging to Bratva families scattered across the United States and Russia. Some of the names I recognize. Others areunfamiliar. But what makes my stomach drop is the notation beside each entry.
Dates. Dates when each safehouse was compromised. Dates when families were killed.
"What is it?" Mariya asks, trying to see over my shoulder.
I hand her the scroll, watching as her eyes widen with each line she reads.
"It's a list of Bratva safehouses," I tell her quietly. Some are dead, but there are a few here who are still alive.
19
MARIYA
Istare at my reflection in the mirror and barely recognize the woman looking back at me.
The dress is simple but elegant. White silk that falls to just below my knees, with a modest neckline and cap sleeves. Nothing fancy, nothing that screams "wedding". But it's still a wedding dress, and in less than an hour, I'm going to be wearing it while I marry Andrey Melnikov.
I can't believe I'm actually going through with this.
My hands shake as I smooth down the fabric, and I have to grip the edge of the dresser to steady myself. This isn't how I imagined my wedding day. I always thought I'd marry for love, that I'd be excited and nervous in a good way. That I'd be surrounded by friends and family, celebrating the start of a new life with someone I chose.
Instead, I'm alone in this room, about to marry a man who kidnapped me. A man who thinks my father is a thief and a murderer. A man who's only marrying me because I'm useful to him.
But after finding that list of safehouses buried in my mother's garden, I know I don't have a choice. Whatever my father was involved in, whatever secrets he was keeping, he dragged me into it. Every Bratva member from here to Russia will be after me now. They'll want that list, want whatever information my father hid, and they won't care what they have to do to get it.
I need protection. And right now, Andrey is the only choice I have.
A knock at the door makes me jump. I turn as it opens, and Andrey steps inside. He's wearing a dark suit that fits him perfectly, emphasizing his broad shoulders and lean waist. His black hair is styled, and those blue eyes find mine immediately. For a moment, he just looks at me, and I see something flicker across his face. Appreciation? Desire?
"You look incredible," he says quietly.
