Page 100 of Marked By the Mob

Volkov nods once. “That’s all I ask. For now.”

The meeting ends shortly after, both of us standing and shaking hands like civilized men instead of criminals negotiating over human lives. But the tension doesn’t ease. If anything, it’s worse now because we both know this truce is temporary at best.

I leave the club and head back to the estate, my mind already working through contingencies. Volkov will honor the agreement as long as it serves his purposes. The moment it doesn’t, he’ll make his move.

We need to be ready.

The drive back feels longer than it should, traffic crawling through the city streets. By the time I pull through the estate gates, evening has settled over the grounds. Lights glow warmin the windows of the main house, and I can see guards moving through their patrol routes with practiced efficiency.

Everything looks normal. Peaceful, even—if you don’t look at the guns the guards are carrying.

I head inside and go straight to the study, expecting to find Emma still buried in research. She doesn’t hear me. She’s concentrating so hard she doesn’t even realize anyone is in the room with her. The laptop is open on the desk, the screen glowing in the dim light. But it’s not financial records or communication logs displayed.

It’s an email.

My blood goes cold as I move closer, reading the message she’s typing. The recipient field shows an address I don’t recognize, but the content is clear enough.

Emma is reaching out to someone. Sending information and communicating with the outside world despite the restrictions we put in place specifically to keep her safe.

Betrayal bites at my neck. We gave her access to FBI systems on the condition that she wouldn’t send outgoing messages. We trusted her to follow that one simple rule because breaking it could alert the mole that she’s still alive.

And she’s doing it anyway. Despite the safety and security messages we had in place. How the hell had she gotten past those anyway?

I stand there in the doorway, watching her fingers move across the keyboard, and feel something crack open in my chest. After everything we’ve shared. After this morning when we told her how we feel. After she promised to stay.

She’s still planning to leave us.

The realization settles over me like ice water, cold and undeniable. Emma Moore is an FBI agent first, and everything else second. Including us.

42

EMMA

I lean back in my chair, staring at the email that just arrived in my inbox. The words blur slightly as exhaustion pulls at my eyes, but I force myself to read Hayes’s response one more time.

Agent Moore,

I was blocked from accessing auction financial data by direct order from Langford’s office three weeks before your operation. The denial came through official channels with classification restrictions I couldn’t override. When I questioned the decision, I was told the information was part of a separate ongoing investigation and access was limited to essential personnel only.

I should have pushed harder. I’m sorry.

Hayes

My hands tremble slightly as I grip the edge of the desk. This is it. The final piece of evidence I’ve been searching for. Hayes tried to investigate the auction network properly and Langford shut him down. Not because there was another investigation. Notbecause of classification protocols. But because Langford was protecting the very network I was trying to dismantle.

The betrayal cuts deeper than I expected, even though I’ve known the truth for days now. Seeing it confirmed in black and white makes it real in a way that photographs and financial records couldn’t. Langford didn’t just sell me out. He actively sabotaged anyone who might have uncovered what he was doing.

“How did you get around the security restrictions?”

The voice behind me makes me jump so hard I nearly knock over my coffee cup. I spin in my chair to find Rurik standing in the doorway, his pale blue eyes locked on the laptop screen. I hadn’t heard him enter. Hadn’t sensed his presence at all, which is terrifying considering how aware I usually am of my surroundings.

My heart hammers against my ribs as I try to calm my breathing. “Jesus Christ, you scared the hell out of me.”

“Answer the question.” His voice is flat, controlled, but I hear the anger underneath. “We put restrictions on outgoing communications for a reason. How did you bypass them?”

“Artur gave me access. With Eduard’s permission.”

Rurik’s jaw tightens, a muscle jumping beneath the skin. For a long moment he just stares at me, and I can see the fury building behind those cold eyes. He’s pissed. Not just at me, but at Artur and Eduard for going behind his back.