Page 105 of Marked By the Mob

Of course, the voting was ceremonial. If more had voted against Emma, we would have ignored it.

As the captains begin filing out, several stop to speak with Rurik, Eduard, and me. A few even nod respectfully to Emma, acknowledging her presence if not quite accepting her yet.

I’m talking with one of the younger captains about shipping routes when I notice Emma swaying slightly in her chair. Her face has gone pale, and she’s gripping the edge of the table like it’s the only thing keeping her upright.

“Emma?” I move toward her immediately, my hand finding her shoulder.

She doesn’t respond. Her gray-green eyes are unfocused, her breathing shallow.

“Emma,” I say again, louder this time.

Eduard and Rurik are beside me in seconds, their expressions shifting from professional composure to alarm.

Emma’s eyes roll back and she starts to collapse.

44

EMMA

I sit on the edge of the bathtub, staring at the plastic stick in my trembling hand. Two pink lines. Clear, unmistakable, and absolutely terrifying.

I’m pregnant.

The word echoes in my mind, foreign and impossible. I’ve taken three tests this morning, each one showing the same result. My period is two weeks late, my breasts have been tender for days, and the nausea that hit me last night wasn’t from stress or bad food.

I’m fucking pregnant.

My hands shake as I set the test on the bathroom counter beside the other two. The evidence lines up in a neat row, condemning me with their identical pink lines. I press my palms against my eyes, trying to breathe through the panic clawing at my chest.

Thiscan’tbe happening.

I’ve never given much thought to having children. My job was too dangerous and my life too unpredictable. The idea of a familyalways felt like something distant and theoretical, something other women planned for while I chased traffickers and built cases. I was good at my job. I wasmeantfor that life.

Now I’m sitting in a bathroom in a Bratva estate, staring at positive pregnancy tests, and I don’t even know who the father is.

The thought makes bile rise in my throat. Rurik, Eduard, or Artur. One of them put this baby inside me and I have no way of knowing which one. We’ve been together so many times, in so many ways, that the timeline blurs together. There’s no clear answer, no way to point at one night and saythat’s when it happened.

My hand moves to my stomach automatically, pressing against the flat surface beneath my sweater. There’s nothing to feel yet, no visible sign of the life growing inside me. But it’s there. Real and undeniable.

What the hell am I going to do?

I can’t raise a child in this world. I can’t bring a baby into a life surrounded by violence, criminal operations, and constant danger. The men I’ve fallen for are Bratva bosses who execute people in courtyards and negotiate with traffickers. They’re not safe. This life isn’t safe.

But the alternative is just as impossible. I can’t go back to the FBI. I’m officially dead and revealing I’m alive would put a target on my back from both Langford and Volkov. Of course, Langford must realize I’m alive and that’s the reason he’d sent that note, trying to trade me for trade commissions. Still, I’d be running for the rest of my life, dragging a child through that nightmare.

Tears burn behind my eyes, but I force them back. I don’t have time to fall apart. I need to think and plan. I need to figure out what comes next.

First, I need to tell them. Rurik, Eduard, and Artur deserve to know. But the thought of that conversation makes my stomach twist with anxiety. How do I tell three men that one of them is going to be a father when I can’t even tell them which one?

And what if they don’t want this? What if they see a baby as a liability instead of a blessing? What if they decide I’m more trouble than I’m worth now that I come with complications they didn’t sign up for?

I stand on shaky legs and splash cold water on my face, trying to pull myself together. My reflection in the mirror looks pale and frightened, with dark circles under my eyes from too little sleep. I look like hell, which matches how I feel.

I need to get through breakfast first. Then I’ll figure out the rest.

The dining room is quiet when I arrive and only Krystal is seated at the table with coffee and toast. She looks up when I enter, her hazel eyes warm with concern.

“Morning,” she says softly. “You okay? You look pale.”