Page 102 of Marked By the Mob

“Evidence that I’ve uncovered connections between the auction network and federal defense contracts.” I’m making this up as I go, but the pieces are falling into place. “Something big enough that he’ll want to contain it personally instead of sending someone else.”

“And when he shows up?” Artur asks.

“We record everything. Get him to admit what he did and why. Then we release it to every media outlet and law enforcement agency simultaneously. Make it impossible for him to bury.”

The three men exchange glances, that silent communication I’ve come to recognize. They’re weighing the risks, considering angles I haven’t thought of yet.

“It’s dangerous,” Eduard says finally. “If Langford suspects you’re setting him up, he’ll come prepared. Armed backup, contingency plans, maybe even a kill order.”

“I know.” My chest tightens, but I force myself to stay steady. “But it’s the only way to make sure he actually pays for what he’s done.”

Rurik turns from the window, his pale blue eyes locked on mine. “We’ll need time to plan this properly.”

“How long?” I ask.

“A week. Maybe less if we move fast.”

Relief floods through me, warm and unexpected. They’re going to help me. Despite the danger and complications, they’re going to help me bring down the man who destroyed my life.

“Thank you,” I say quietly.

Artur stands and moves closer, his hand finding my waist. “Don’t thank us yet, sweetheart. This could still go to hell.”

Eduard joins us, his gray eyes warm despite the seriousness of the conversation. “We’ll make it work. We’ll get you the confession you need.”

I lean into their warmth, taking comfort in their presence. For the first time in weeks, I feel like maybe, just maybe, this nightmare has an end.

Rurik’s phone vibrates against the table, the sound sharp in the quiet room. He picks it up, his expression shifting from calm to cold fury in the space of a heartbeat.

“What is it?” Eduard asks immediately.

Rurik’s jaw tightens as he reads the message, his knuckles going white around the phone. When he looks up, his pale blue eyes are ice.

“Volkov just made his move,” he says, his voice deadly quiet. “He’s put a hit out on Emma and Krystal.”

43

ARTUR

I check my watch for the third time in as many minutes, my fingers drumming against the polished mahogany bar in the main hall. Seven-thirty. The captains and senior members from all three families will start arriving in half an hour and Emma still hasn’t come downstairs.

My stomach twists with an unfamiliar tension that has nothing to do with the political minefield we’re about to navigate tonight. I’ve faced down rival bosses, negotiated deals worth millions, and walked into situations where one wrong word could start a war. But waiting for Emma to appear in front of our combined families makes my pulse race in a way that feels dangerously close to fear.

This meeting could make or break everything we’ve been building. Years of careful planning, secret coordination between the three of us, and the slow reconstruction of what our fathers tried to create before they died. Tonight, we make it official. Tonight, we introduce Emma as our woman and announce the formal unification of the Novikov, Lenkov, and Balabanov families.

And if it goes wrong, we could be looking at internal rebellion or worse.

Rurik stands near the tall windows overlooking the front drive, his pale blue eyes focused on the security team’s movements as they position themselves around the estate. He’s wearing a dark suit that makes his broad shoulders look even more imposing, his jaw tight with the kind of controlled tension I recognize from high-stakes negotiations.

Eduard leans against the opposite wall, his gray eyes thoughtful as he reviews something on his phone. Probably the seating arrangements we spent two hours arguing over yesterday. Who sits where matters in this type of meeting, and putting the wrong captains next to each other could create friction we don’t need tonight.

“She’ll be fine,” Eduard says without looking up, like he can read my thoughts.

“I know.” I pour myself a vodka I don’t really want and down it in one swallow. The burn helps, barely.

The truth is, I’m not worried about Emma’s ability to handle herself. I’ve seen her face down Volkov without flinching, watched her stand up to all three of us when she thought we were wrong, and witnessed her navigate dangerous situations without batting an eye. She’s strong, smart, and fearless, all qualities I admire in her.

But tonight is different. Tonight she’s not just Emma Moore, FBI agent turned captive turned…whatever the fuck we are to each other now. Tonight, she’s being presented as our wife to men who’ve spent their entire lives in the Bratva. Men who believewomen should be decorative and obedient, who view strength in a woman as a threat rather than an asset.