Page 109 of Marked By the Mob

Emma’s expression shifts from fury to confusion. “What?”

Rurik turns the ledger so we can all see the entries written in our fathers’ handwriting. “Women involved were daughters of allied houses who agreed to arranged marriages. They weren’t auctioned. They were presented as part of formal alliance ceremonies. The families negotiated terms, dowries, and protections. It was strategic, but it was also consensual.”

I lean closer, reading the passages Rurik’s pointing to. The entries describe elaborate ceremonies, negotiations between families, and agreements that bound houses together through marriage. It’s all there, documented in careful detail.

“Over time,” Rurik continues, his jaw tight, “outsiders began offering money for participation. A few families saw an opportunity to profit. The ritual turned into the bride auction we know now. Women who weren’t part of Bratva families startedappearing. Consent became optional. It became trafficking dressed up as tradition.”

Artur moves to stand beside the table, his dark eyes scanning the pages. “Our fathers disagreed about how to handle it.”

“They wanted to dismantle it completely?” Emma asks, her voice softer now.

“Some did,” Rurik says. “Others wanted to restore it to what it used to be. Control it, regulate it, make sure only willing participants were involved. The disagreement created a rift between our fathers.”

I feel something cold settle in my stomach as I read further. “That’s what really started their feud.”

Rurik nods once. “The auction became a symbol of everything wrong between them. They couldn’t agree on whether to destroy it or reform it. The conflict escalated until it cost them their lives.”

Emma’s hands tremble slightly as she reaches for the ledger, her fingers brushing the pages our fathers touched decades ago. “So the auction killed them.”

“Indirectly,” I say quietly. “But yes.”

Krystal steps closer, her delicate frame tense. “Can it be stopped now? With Volkov weakened and the three families united?”

“Maybe,” Artur says, his voice thoughtful. “But it could take years. We’d have to convince every family involved to walk away from a profitable operation. We’d have to offer alternatives, create new alliances, and probably eliminate anyone who refused to cooperate.”

Emma looks up from the ledger, her gray-green eyes meeting mine. “Then start.”

The determination in her voice makes my chest tighten. She’s not asking. She’s demanding we take action, consequences be damned.

And fuck if I don’t admire her for it.

An idea forms in my mind, crazy and impulsive and probably the stupidest thing I’ve thought of in years. But once it’s there, I can’t shake it. The pieces fit together too perfectly.

I open my mouth before I can change my mind or think better of it.

“We can restore it to what it used to be,” I say, the words tumbling out faster than I can stop them. “Make it about alliances again instead of trafficking. Show the other families that the tradition can exist without exploitation.”

Rurik’s pale blue eyes narrow. “How?”

My heart pounds against my ribs as I look at Emma, standing there in her jeans and sweater with fury and hope written across her beautiful face. “The first ceremony would be Emma marrying the three of us.”

46

EMMA

The bleachers are cold beneath me, the metal biting through my jeans as I sit alone on the third row. My old high school football field stretches out in front of me, empty and silent in the late afternoon light. No practice today. No students. Just me and the ghosts of a life that feels like it belonged to someone else entirely.

I chose this location deliberately. Neutral ground that means something to me but nothing to Langford. A place where I can control the variables, where the open space makes it harder for him to bring backup without being seen. Where the acoustics will carry his voice perfectly to the hidden microphones Eduard’s tech team planted in the bleachers, under the benches, and even in the light posts surrounding the field.

My hands shake slightly, and I press them against my thighs to hide the tremor. I’m nervous as hell, which pisses me off because I shouldn’t be. I’ve faced down armed suspects, walked into gang territories alone, and survived being sold at a fucking auction. But sitting here waiting for the man who was like a father to me,the man who betrayed me in the worst possible way, makes my stomach twist with anxiety and rage.

I force myself to breathe slowly, evenly. In through my nose, out through my mouth. The way they taught us at Quantico to manage stress during high-pressure situations.

Except this isn’t just high-pressure. This is personal.

My mind keeps circling back to yesterday, to Eduard’s announcement that still has my head spinning.The first ceremony would be Emma marrying the three of us.The words echo in my memory, impossible and terrifying and somehow not as crazy as they should be.

Marriage. To all three of them. The first bride ceremony restored to what it used to be, alliances sealed through willing participation instead of trafficking and exploitation.