Page 117 of Marked By the Mob

The woman’s dark eyes assess Emma carefully. “Irina.”

“Are you okay, Irina? Do you need anything?”

“Information.” Irina’s accent is thick, Eastern European. “I need to know who was supposed to buy me.”

Emma’s expression shifts to something more professional, her FBI training kicking in. “Why?”

“Because I need to know if I’m still in danger.” Irina’s hands clench in her lap. “The auction was interrupted before the bidding finished. My buyer never claimed me. If he’s still out there, if he’s looking for me…”

“We’ll protect you,” Emma says firmly. “No one is going to hurt you here.”

“You don’t understand.” Irina’s voice drops to barely above a whisper. “My buyer was supposed to be Volkov.”

The name hits me like a punch to the gut.

I jerk my attention to Irina, my entire body going rigid. We haven’t heard from or seen Volkov since we took down his business. He’s supposed to be on the run and hiding, licking his wounds in whatever safe house he managed to reach before his enemies closed in.

But if he was bidding on women at the auction, if he was still actively participating in the network we just destroyed, that changes everything.

Emma’s gray-green eyes find mine across the room, and I see the same realization reflected in her face. Volkov isn’t hiding. He’s planning. And whatever he’s planning involves acquiring assets he can use against us.

49

EMMA

I can’t believe I’m getting married today. Tothreemen.

The thought hits me again as I stand in front of the full-length mirror in the bridal suite, and laughter bubbles up from my chest before I can stop it. The sound echoes off the high ceilings of this old building, startling Krystal, who’s adjusting the train of my dress.

“What’s so funny?” she asks, her hazel eyes meeting mine in the mirror.

I press my hand against my mouth, trying to contain the giggles that keep escaping. “I was just remembering when I told them I was pregnant and that we’d be getting married within a month.”

Krystal’s lips curve into a smile. “And?”

“I’ve never seen them so quiet. So surprised.” I shake my head, the memory still vivid. “Rurik just stared at me with his mouth open. Eduard went completely still, like he’d forgotten how to move. And Artur, he actually dropped his glass. Shattered it all over the floor.”

“They recovered quickly enough,” Krystal points out, smoothing the ivory silk of my dress.

“They did.” My hand moves automatically to my stomach, pressing against the small bump that’s just starting to show beneath the empire waist of my gown. “What amazes me most is that none of them care who the father is. Not even a little bit.”

Krystal straightens, her expression thoughtful. “That doesn’t surprise me. They’ve been planning this since they were teenagers, right? Sharing a wife to unite their families?”

“Yeah, but I didn’t expect them to be so calm about sharing children too.” I turn slightly, watching the way the dress moves with me. “They said they always knew any kids would belong to all three of them. That it was part of the plan from the beginning.”

The dress is perfect. Simple and elegant, with long sleeves and a neckline that shows just enough cleavage to be sexy without being inappropriate. The fabric flows over my growing belly, hiding the pregnancy from casual observation while still making me feel beautiful.

I refused to be married in the same building where the bride auctions had been held. The thought of standing in that space, where women had been sold like property, made my stomach turn. Eduard understood immediately and started searching for alternatives.

He found this place three days later.

The building is old, maybe a century or more, with Gothic architecture that makes it look like something out of a fairy tale. High arched ceilings, stained glass windows, and stone walls that have witnessed generations of ceremonies. It’s majestic andslightly intimidating, perfect for bringing back the traditional ceremonies that united families instead of exploiting women.

“You look beautiful,” Krystal says softly, stepping back to admire her work.

I meet her eyes in the mirror. “Thank you. For everything.”

“You don’t have to thank me.” She moves to stand beside me, her bridesmaid dress complementing my ivory gown. “You saved my life, Emma. This is the least I can do.”