"Let them try." The words come out cold and lethal. "I'd rather face my enemies head-on than keep looking over my shoulder."
Danil grins, the expression transforming his scarred face. "There's the Pakhan I know. When do you want to do this?"
"Next week. Saturday night. That gives us time to prepare security, vet the guest list, and set up surveillance." I pull out my phone, already making notes. "I want cameras everywhere. Audio recording in every room. And I want our most trusted men watching for anything unusual."
"What about Lena?" The question makes me pause. "She'll be expected to attend as your fiancée. That puts her in the line of fire."
My jaw tightens. The thought of Lena exposed to potential threats makes something primal roar to life in my chest. But keeping her locked away while I host a party would raise questions I can't afford.
"She'll be there." I meet his eyes. "But she stays close to me. Always. And I want two of our best on her at all times when I can't be."
"Done." He stands, stretching with an audible crack. "I'll start making arrangements. This is going to be expensive."
"I don't care about the cost." I move back to the window. "I care about finding out who dares to put a hit on me."
After Danil leaves, I head to the private dining room. It's become routine over the past two mornings. Lena joins me for breakfast, and we eat in careful silence, both of us pretending this is normal.
She's already seated when I arrive, her blonde hair catching the morning light. She's wearing one of the new outfits from our shopping trip, dark jeans that hug her curves and a soft sweater that makes her eyes look even darker. My gaze travels down her body before I can stop myself, noting the way the sweater clings to her full breasts.
"Morning," I say, taking the seat across from her.
"Morning." Her voice is quiet, and when I look closer, I notice how pale she is. Dark circles shadow her eyes, and she's pushing food around her plate instead of eating.
"You're not eating." I gesture to her untouched eggs and toast.
"Not very hungry." She takes a sip of water, and I notice the slight tremor in her hand.
Concern tightens my chest. "Are you feeling all right?"
"Fine." But she won't meet my eyes. "Just tired."
We eat in silence, or rather, I eat while she continues to rearrange her breakfast. I watch her over the rim of my coffee cup, cataloging the small signs of distress. The slight sheen of sweat on her forehead despite the cool room. The way her fingers grip the edge of the table like she needs the anchor.
"Lena." I set down my fork. "Talk to me."
"There's nothing to talk about." She stands abruptly, her chair scraping against the floor. "I just need some air. Excuse me."
She's gone before I can respond, practically running from the room. I stare at her abandoned plate, unease settling in my gut like a stone.
The afternoon finds me in my office, reviewing financial reports that should have my full attention but don't. My mind keeps circling back to Lena. To the way she looked this morning. To the fact that she refused lunch when the staff tried to bring her a tray.
Something is wrong.
I grab a plate from the kitchen, loading it with lunch leftovers, some roast beef, roasted carrots, mashed potatoes, and fruit.
I knock once before entering. She's curled up on the window seat, staring out at the grounds, and she doesn't turn when I come in.
"I brought you food." I set the tray on the small table near her. "You need to eat something."
"I told you, I'm not hungry." But her eyes drift to the tray, and I watch her face go from pale to green.
She bolts for the bathroom.
I follow, finding her on her knees in front of the toilet, retching violently. Without thinking, I kneel beside her, gathering her hair back from her face. She's shaking, her whole body trembling with the effort.
When she finally stops, she slumps back against the wall, her eyes closed. I grab a washcloth, run it under cold water, and press it to her forehead.
"Thank you," she whispers.