Page 112 of Marked By the Mob

RURIK

I hear everything through the earpiece. Every word Langford speaks, every explanation he tries to justify, and Emma’s voice cutting through his bullshit with cold precision. The recording device hidden in her jacket is working perfectly, capturing every damning admission.

When the FBI agent steps forward and places handcuffs on Langford’s wrists, satisfaction floods through me. The bastard finally got what he deserved.

Eduard, Artur, and I move from our position across the street, crossing toward the park where Emma stands with her former mentor in restraints. More federal agents appear from unmarked vehicles, their movements efficient and coordinated. They must have been monitoring the situation, waiting for the right moment to move in.

Langford stands perfectly still as an agent reads him his rights, his expression blank. No anger. No fear. Just a slight frown, like this is a minor inconvenience rather than the end of his career and freedom.

The lack of reaction pisses me off more than anything else could. This man betrayed Emma, sold her to traffickers, and tried to have her killed. And he’s standing there like he’s above it all, like he doesn’t owe her a single fucking word.

I step closer, my hands curling into fists at my sides. “Don’t you have anything to say to Emma?”

Langford’s dark eyes shift to me, assessing. Then his gaze moves to Emma. For a brief moment, something softens in his expression. Regret, maybe. Or pain. But it’s gone so quickly I almost think I imagined it, replaced by that same blank composure.

He doesn’t speak. Doesn’t apologize. Doesn’t even acknowledge what he’s done to her.

The agents lead him away toward one of the waiting vehicles. Emma watches him go, her gray-green eyes tracking his movement across the park. A single tear traces down her cheek, catching the afternoon light.

I want to go to her, pull her against me, and tell her she’s better off without that bastard in her life. But I hold back, giving her space to process what just happened. Eduard and Artur flank me, their expressions hard as we watch the man who destroyed Emma’s trust disappear into the back of an FBI vehicle.

The lead agent approaches Emma, a woman in her forties with sharp eyes and a no-nonsense demeanor. They speak quietly for several minutes, Emma nodding occasionally as she answers questions. Finally, the agent hands Emma a business card and walks away.

Emma turns to face us, her shoulders squared despite the exhaustion written across her face. “It’s done.”

“Yeah,” I say quietly. “It is.”

We return to the estate in silence, the SUV moving through city streets as evening settles over the skyline. Emma sits between Eduard and me in the back seat, her hands folded in her lap. Artur drives, his dark eyes checking the rearview mirror frequently to make sure we’re not being followed.

No one speaks. There’s nothing to say that would make this easier.

By the time we pull through the estate gates, darkness has fallen completely. The main house glows with warm light, and I can see guards moving through their patrol routes.

Inside, Emma heads straight for the bedroom we share. I follow her upstairs while Eduard and Artur give us space, their footsteps fading toward the study.

Emma stands near the window, her arms wrapped around herself as she stares out at the gardens below. The moonlight catches her dark hair, making it shine, and I can see the tension in her shoulders, the way she’s holding herself together through sheer force of will.

I cross the room and stop behind her, close enough that she can feel my presence but not touching. “You did the right thing.”

“I know.” Her voice is tight. “But it doesn’t feel right.”

“It will. Eventually.”

She turns to face me, the pain in her gray-green eyes making my chest ache. “He was like family, Rurik. He was all I had left after my parents died. And he sold me out like I meant nothing.”

I pull her against me, my arms wrapping around her as she finally lets herself break. Her tears soak through my shirt and I hold her tighter, one hand sliding into her hair while the other presses against the small of her back.

“You have us now,” I murmur against her temple. “You’re not alone.”

She clings to me, her fingers fisting in my shirt as she cries. I let her, knowing she needs this release after weeks of holding everything inside.

Eventually, her breathing steadies. She pulls back slightly, wiping at her eyes with the back of her hand. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize.” I cup her face in my hands, my thumbs brushing away the remaining tears. “You’re allowed to grieve what you lost.”

Eduard and Artur appear in the doorway, their expressions soft with concern. They move into the room without speaking, surrounding Emma with their presence.

“We’ve got you, sweetheart,” Artur says quietly, his hand finding her waist.