Page 110 of Marked By the Mob

I should have laughed in his face. Should have told him he was out of his mind. But instead, I’d just stood there, my heart pounding, while something warm and dangerous unfurled in my chest.

They want to marry me. Not because I’m useful or because I’m FBI or because I can help unite their families. They wantme. The stubborn, broken, pregnant woman who walked into their lives in chains and refused to bow.

Pregnant.

My hand moves automatically to my stomach, pressing against the flat surface beneath my sweater. The baby is real, growing inside me right now, and I still haven’t told them. Haven’t found the words to explain that one of them is going to be a father and I don’t even know which one.

What happens when they find out? Will they still want this marriage? Will they be happy about the baby or see it as a complication they didn’t sign up for? Will they fight over who the father is, or will they somehow share that too?

The questions spiral through my mind, unanswered and terrifying.

A car engine cuts through my thoughts, and I look up to see a black sedan pulling into the parking lot. My pulse quickens as the vehicle stops near the entrance to the field. The driver’s door opens, and Victor Langford steps out.

He looks exactly the way I remember. Tall and distinguished with that silver-streaked hair and commanding presence that makes people trust him instinctively. He’s wearing a dark suit, perfectly tailored, with an American flag pin on his lapel. Everything about him screams credibility and authority.

Everything about him is a lie.

I watch him cross the field toward me, his movements unhurried and confident. His trained eyes scan the area, taking in the empty bleachers, the surrounding buildings, and the tree line beyond the fence. I know he’s looking for threats, for backup, for any sign this is a trap.

He’ll find them. Eduard, Artur, and Rurik refused to let me meet Langford alone, and this was the best compromise we could reach. They’re positioned in three different locations around the field, close enough to intervene if things go wrong but far enough away that Langford might not immediately spot them.

Except Langford is too good not to notice. I see the moment his gaze catches on something near the equipment shed. His jawtightens almost imperceptibly, but he doesn’t break stride. He knows he’s being watched and he’s choosing to proceed anyway.

That tells me everything I need to know about how confident he is in his ability to control this situation.

He reaches the bleachers and stops at the bottom, looking up at me with those warm brown eyes that used to make me feel safe. “Emma. It’s good to see you.”

The casual greeting makes rage flare hot in my chest, but I force it down. I need him calm and talking, not defensive.

“Victor,” I say, keeping my voice neutral.

He climbs the bleachers slowly, his movements deliberate as he checks under the benches, running his hands along the metal supports. Looking for recording devices. I watch him work, my heart pounding, praying he doesn’t find the microphones Eduard’s team planted.

When he reaches my row, he gestures to the space beside me. “May I?”

I nod, not trusting my voice.

Langford sits down, close enough that I can smell his cologne. The familiar scent makes my stomach turn. He reaches toward me, and I tense automatically.

“I need to check,” he says quietly. “You understand.”

I stand and let him pat me down, his hands professional and efficient as they check for wires, weapons, or recording devices. He finds nothing because I’m not wearing any. The wire is hidden in the collar of my jacket, so small and sophisticated that his sweep misses it completely.

Eduard’s tech team really is exceptional. I wish we’d had this kind of equipment in the FBI.

Satisfied, Langford steps back and gestures for me to sit again. I do, my entire body tense as he settles beside me.

For a long moment, neither of us speak. We just sit there on the bleachers of my old high school, two people who used to trust each other completely now separated by betrayal so deep it feels like a physical wound.

“I’m glad you reached out,” Langford says finally, his voice warm and concerned. “When you disappeared, I feared the worst.”

The lie is so smooth, so practiced, that if I didn’t know better, I’d believe him. “Did you?”

His expression shifts to something that might be genuine regret if I didn’t know what he’d done. “Of course. You were one of my best agents, Emma. Losing you was devastating.”

“Devastating enough to declare me dead and close my case within days?” The words come out sharper than I intend.

Langford’s jaw tightens, but his voice stays calm. “The evidence suggested you’d been killed. We had no leads, no witnesses, and no body. Keeping the case open would have been a waste of resources.”