Page 88 of Claimed By the Pakhan

“It masks the sound of them hyping themselves up.”

Chloe’s terrible sex life is even more reason for me to feel depressed. Emil truly is a diamond in the rough.

“I hate to say it, but ninety-nine percent of the men in this city are only invested in themselves. My advice to you—keep the wedding ring on and never take it off. And if Emil you happen to cross paths with Emil again, take it as a sign from the universe.”

“Another sign from the universe is me texting him.”

“Give yourself some time first.” Chloe reaches across the table, squeezing my hand. “After the past couple of years, you owe it to yourself to explore new opportunities. Perhaps you should give your boss a call. Who knows, your desk might still be waiting for you.”

“Maybe, but after Alexander hired the company to investigate Emil’s Bratva, I think I need a career change.”

“And what will you do?”

I tap my lip, deep in thought. Numbers have always been my strength. They make the world feel safer. Opening math homework at 2 a.m. when I was struggling to sleep always made everything feel okay, like there was light at the end of a never ending tunnel.

The banging downstairs, the tears falling down my mother’s face; by switching on my brain, I could tune everything out.

But tuning out was a coping mechanism, and I’m done counting numbers and facts as a way to survive. I want to live. And Emil is the only one who can help me do that.

I rise from the table, slinging my jacket over my shoulder.

Chloe looks up at me. “Where are you going?”

“To the hospital to make some birthing plan arrangements. Emil won’t be able to resist me when he finds out I’m going into labor.”

EPILOGUE

EMIL

Emptiness lives insideof me like a disease, following me around.

My misery for Fia’s happiness is a very small price to pay. I lived my prime when she was just a child, building an empire when she was learning how to walk. We all bid our time, and Fia is like a flower in bloom, just coming into her prime. I must step aside and let her live.

Three and a half months later, I’m still struggling to see the light at the end of the tunnel. Spring is here, my garden blooming with wild daffodils. They’re vibrant yellow, as bright as the sun, but I stopped seeing the world in color when we ended things.

We agreed to keep the wedding rings on, but that was more for my sake. I’ll take this ring to the grave. My love for Fia will continue even after my body has perished, living on through times and generations.

I stride through the docks aimlessly, the sun beating down. The weight bearing down on my chest feels impossible today as we turn over a new week. Monday mornings are grueling at the bestof times, but today is a real killer, since Fia is due to give birth in a few days.

I come to a halt by the water, peering out at sea. A balmy breeze blows through the atmosphere. For the most part, things here are in working order. The Kuzmins like to jump the fences and do their worst, but they’re easy enough to slaughter.

I squat, leaning over the edge to clean my knife, washing away the blood.

The attack has done its rounds in the underground communities of Seattle. People are more inclined to do business after seeing how unbreakable we are as Bratva. The cash is always nice to touch, soothing a small part of me who will always remember what it felt like to come from nothing, but money never makes me feel victorious.

Real victories only last for a short period of time, and as I look out at sea, watching a cargo ship sail closer to shore, I feel grateful that I experienced love, as opposed to never feeling it at all.

My phone buzzes with a call from an unknown number. I stare at the screen, deciding if I have the energy to discuss business with a new client. Between overseeing operations at the docks, killing Kuzmin boys and reminiscing on the past, I barely have time to make deals with new customers.

I decline the call, slotting the device back into my breast pocket when the ringing begins again—same number.

I accept, bringing the device to my ear. “Am I speaking to Mr. Volkov?”

“Speaking.”

“Sir, your wife has gone into labor with the twins. Please come to the hospital.”

My heart clenches, everything hurts. Fuck.