Page 83 of The Pakhan’s Unwanted Bride

"I won't let anything happen to you." Samuil's voice is firm, absolute. "I promise you that."

I believe him. Despite everything, I believe he will do everything in his power to keep us safe. Being dependent on someone else's protection isn't comfortable, but right now, I'm grateful for it.

We get ready for bed in silence, both of us lost in our own thoughts. I change into a silk nightgown while Samuil strips down to his boxers. The routine is familiar now, and comfortable. There's no awkward shyness or nervousness. When did this become normal? When did sharing a bed with this dangerous, complicated man start to feel like home?

When we finally slide under the covers, Samuil pulls me against him immediately. His body is warm and solid behind mine, one arm wrapped protectively around my waist. His hand rests against my stomach again, a gesture that feels both possessive and tender.

Our lovemaking that night is different from usual. Slower. More deliberate. Each touch carries weight, unspoken acknowledgment that we're no longer just husband and wife. We're going to be parents. The thought is terrifying and exhilarating in equal measure.

Samuil moves over me with careful intensity, his eyes never leaving mine. His hands map my body like he's memorizing every curve. When he enters me, it's with a gentleness that makes my breath catch.

"You're mine." He murmurs against my neck, his voice rough with emotion. "Both of you. Mine to protect. Mine to keep safe."

I can't form words to respond, so I show him with my body instead. My hands grip his shoulders, pulling him closer. My legs wrap around his waist, holding him to me. We move together in perfect rhythm, building toward that sweet, sweet release.

When we finally fall over the edge together, it's with a connection that goes deeper than anything we've shared before. This isn't just sex anymore. For the first time, there's emotion. We don't say the words, but I feel them, nonetheless. Can he feel that I've fallen in love with him? Will he ever feel the same way about me? I feel that he cares for me, but will it ever go beyond into the deeper emotion?

Afterward, we lie tangled together in the darkness. Samuil remains quiet, his arm wrapped protectively around me.

"Get some sleep." He presses a kiss to my temple. "Tomorrow, we'll tell your father. Then I start making arrangements."

"Ready?" Samuil asks the next morning. I'm sitting on the bed pulling on a pair of soft leather boots. I look up to see he's holding a hand out to me. I nod and take his hand, letting him pull me to my feet. Together, we make our way downstairs to where Dad is having breakfast in the dining room. He looks up when we enter, his expression shifting from pleasant to concerned when he sees our serious faces.

"What's wrong?" He sets down his coffee cup immediately. "Has something happened?"

"Nothing's wrong." I move to sit beside him while Samuil remains standing, his presence commanding even in this informal setting. "Actually, something's right. Very right."

I glance at Samuil, who gives me an almost imperceptible nod. Before talking, I look around the dining room to make sure there aren't any eager ears to overhear our conversation. Taking a deep breath, I turn back to my father.

"I'm pregnant."

So much for being subtle.

For a moment, he just stares at me. Then his face transforms, joy, disbelief, wonder all flashing across his features in rapid succession. He lets out a sound that's half laugh, half sob, and pulls me into a crushing embrace.

"A grandchild." His voice breaks on the words. "You're giving me a grandchild."

Tears stream down his face as he holds me, and I find myself crying too. When he finally releases me, he turns to Samuil and embraces him as well. The two men stand there for a long moment, and I can see the emotion on both their faces. This baby represents more than just a new generation. It's hope. It's future. It's proof that despite everything we've been through, life continues.

But the joy gradually gives way to something more serious. Dad pulls back and looks between us, his expression sobering. The reality of our situation settles over the room like a heavy blanket.

"The symbol." Ivan's voice is quiet but firm. "The accidents. The violence. All of it has been targeting the Rostova bloodline. And now you're carrying the next generation."

The room falls silent. None of us want to say what we're all thinking, but the truth hangs in the air between us. This pregnancy has changed everything. The stakes have just become impossibly higher.

I rest my hand over my stomach instinctively, a protective gesture I don't even realize I'm doing. A terrifying realization settles over me like ice water. If someone truly has been trying to kill my father, and possibly me because I'm the last Rostova heir, they may come after me with even greater determination now that I'm carrying the next generation of the Rostova bloodline.

42

SAMUIL

The conference room at the compound is thick with tension when I arrive Wednesday morning. Eight of my captains sit around the long table, their faces grim. Sunlight streams through the high windows, illuminating the dust particles floating in the air and casting harsh shadows across the scarred wood surface. I'm wearing a black suit with no tie, the top button of my shirt undone. The Galkin family ring catches the light as I set my phone on the table.

"Tell me." I don't waste time with pleasantries.

One of my captains speaks first, his weathered face showing the strain of the past week. He's dressed in dark jeans and a leather jacket, looking every bit the enforcer he's been for twenty years. "We've questioned everyone who had access to Ivan's schedule. Nothing concrete. Either they're all clean or someone's very good at covering their tracks."

"The financial trails?" I look to one of my captains, who handles our money operations.