Page 116 of Marked By the Mob

This had been her plan all along, I realize. She set this up because Krystal wants to help these women, and Emma wanted to give her best friend a purpose.

The pieces click together with sudden clarity. The conversations over the past two weeks about what to do with the women once the auction was shut down. Eduard mentioning funding for an underground network to help trafficked victims. Krystal’s quiet determination to turn her trauma into something useful.

Emma orchestrated all of it. She saw what Krystal needed before Krystal fully understood it herself, and she made it happen.

I’m pleased that it’s not just talk. The three of us may be into a lot of dangerous and illegal things, but harming women has never been one of them. This feels right. Like we’re actually doing something good instead of just protecting our own interests. I can’t believe how good it feels to do something legal and not criminal. The pride and satisfaction as I look at the women brings a warmth to my heart that I usually only feel around Emma.

Emma’s gray-green eyes find mine across the room, and something passes between us. Understanding, maybe. Or pride. She knows I see what she’s done, and she’s waiting to see if I approve.

I nod once, and her smile widens slightly.

Krystal continues speaking to the group, explaining that they’ll each be given private rooms, medical attention if needed, and time to rest before any decisions need to be made about their futures. Some women start crying, the relief finally breaking through their fear. Others remain silent, still processing.

One of the younger women, maybe twenty-two with red hair and freckles, raises her hand tentatively. “What happens after? Where do we go?”

Krystal’s expression softens. “That’s up to you. Some of you might have families you want to return to. Others might need new identities and fresh starts. We’re going to help with whatever you need. There’s no pressure, no timeline. You take as long as you need to heal.”

“And the men who took us?” another woman asks, her voice hard with anger. “What happens to them?”

“They’re being dealt with,” I say, my voice cutting through the room.

Every head turns toward me. Some women flinch at my size and presence. Others just stare, trying to figure out if I’m a threat.

“The auction network has been dismantled,” I continue, keeping my tone calm and controlled. “The organizers are either dead or in federal custody. The buyers who participated are being hunted down. You won’t see any of them again.”

It’s mostly true. The FBI has the main organizers, and we’ve been systematically eliminating the buyers who tried to run. Volkov is still out there somewhere, but he’s been quiet since we destroyed his empire. Probably hiding in whatever hole he crawled into after losing everything.

The red-haired woman nods slowly, some of the tension leaving her shoulders. “Thank you.”

I don’t know how to respond to that. I’m not used to being thanked for my business, so I just nod and step back, letting Krystal take over again.

Emma moves to stand beside me, her hand finding mine. Her fingers are warm and steady, and I squeeze gently.

“This was a good idea,” I murmur, low enough that only she can hear.

“Krystal needed this,” Emma says quietly. “She needed to turn what happened to her into something that helps others. And these women need someone who understands what they’ve been through.”

“You’re funding this operation?”

“Eduard is. With your approval.” She looks up at me, her gray-green eyes searching my face. “Is that okay?”

I think about the money we spend on weapons, bribes, and operations that serve no purpose beyond profit. Funding a network to help trafficked women feels like a better use of resources than half the shit we usually invest in.

“It’s more than okay,” I say.

Emma’s smile is genuine, reaching her eyes, and I feel a tug at my heart. She’s beautiful like this, passionate about something that matters.

I lean down and press a kiss to her temple, breathing in the clean scent of her shampoo. “You’re incredible, you know that?”

“I’m just doing what needs to be done.”

“That’s what makes you incredible.”

Krystal has the women organized now, staff members guiding small groups toward the guest wing where rooms have been prepared. The atmosphere in the main room has shifted from terrified to cautiously hopeful. It’s not perfect, but it’s progress.

One woman remains seated on the couch near the fireplace, her hands folded in her lap. She’s older than the others, maybe mid-thirties, with dark hair pulled back in a severe bun. Her posture is rigid, controlled, like she’s forcing herself to stay calm through sheer willpower.

Emma notices her too and crosses the room, settling into the chair across from the woman. “Hi. I’m Emma.”