Page 48 of The Pakhan's Sold Bride

“I guess every business needs to trust their employees.”

“Some more than others. Given the delicate nature of what I do…”

She knits her brows as she glances at me.

“Come, I’ll show you the quality checking area.”

We pass three guys carrying heavy rifles.

“Oh my gosh,” Lara whispers.

“It’s the truck’s security team.”

“What got delivered?” she asks, her eyes still locked on the weapons.

“I’ll show you.”

As we walk through the warehouse, I chat about how we cover the supply network for the whole of San Francisco. That I run several warehouses just like this one to keep up with demand, and our products come in from Mexico, sometimes even further away.

I hope that with everything I say, she is slowly piecing things together, especially with the number of guards she’s seen as we move deeper into the warehouse.

Lara is tense, her senses heightened, and a permanent scowl on her face.

“Here we go. Quality checking.” I gesture for her to walk ahead of me into another section of the warehouse.

She gasps when she walks inside, standing dead still for a moment as large, tightly packed bags of white powder move along a conveyer belt with people checking each package as they drift past.

“Is that…” She can’t seem to find the word, but I imagine she’s seen enough movies to know what it is. Lara turns towards me, her eyes flaring. “Are you a—a drug dealer?” she whispers, terrified that someone might hear her.

“It’s one of the products I move,” I nod, watching her closely.

She says nothing, almost as though she’s waiting for me to reassure her that this isn’t real.

“Lara, it’s more than that.”

“What do you mean more?” she blurts out.

“I’m not just—I’m—" I close my eyes for a moment. This is harder than I thought. I don’t want to see that disappointment in her eyes.Just tell her, Nestor.“I am part of the Russian mafia. But not just any part—I am the most powerful leader in this city. I own this city.”

Her silence is deafening.

I don’t know whether I should give her a moment to process it or try to explain more to her. She’s glaring at me with fire in her eyes and her fists clenched at her sides.

After what feels like an eternity, I say her name.

“Lara.”

“Take me home. Right now. I can’t believe you brought me here. How dare you put me in this position. You didn’tthink that maybe I might not want to see all of this? How am I supposed to take this? Why would you do this to me? I don’t want to be involved in your illegal, crazy, whatever the hell this is.”

She’s furious. I get the sense that it’s more fear than anything else. Fear of the unknown. Terrified of the things happening around her that she doesn’t understand.

“Lara, just take a second, take a deep breath. We can finish the tour, and I can show you that it’s not as bad as you think it—"

“No. I don’t want to finish the tour, Nestor. I’m done here. I want to go home. Please.” Her eyes are glittering with tears, and her chest is heaving up and down. She’s panicking.

I reach out to touch her arm to try and reassure her, but she steps away, moving quickly out of reach.

“Take me home, Nestor,” she hisses.

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