Page 12 of Marked By the Mob

I press my palms against my eyes, trying to think clearly. Whoever sold me out knew exactly where I’d be and when. They knew the tactical team’s positions. They knew how to cut my communications without raising immediate alarms.

That level of access points to someone high up. Someone with authority and clearance. The thought makes me sick. The FBI was like family to me. I respect the agency and believe in it deeply. The thought of a mole, of someone purposefully sabotaging me makes me furious. But that someone would set me up to be sold to the mafia -- that makes me sick to my stomach.

And then there’s Krystal.

My best friend vanished a year ago, and I’ve spent every day since trying to find her.

The official investigation went cold within weeks, but I couldn’t let it go. I followed every lead, chased every shadow, until I connected her disappearance to the underground bride auction network.

Is she still alive? Did someone buy her the way these men bought me? Is she trapped somewhere, scared and alone, wondering why I haven’t found her yet?

The guilt is crushing. I promised myself I’d bring her home. Instead, I’m locked in a bedroom in a Bratva fortress with no way out and no way to help her.

I stand abruptly, needing to move, needing to do something. I can’t just sit here and wait for whatever comes next. I have to keep testing. Keep looking for weaknesses.

My eyes land on the air vent near the ceiling. It’s small, probably just for climate control, but it’s worth checking. I drag one of the chairs over and climb onto the bed frame, using the headboard for balance as I reach up.

The vent cover is held in place by four screws. I don’t have a screwdriver, but I try prying at the edges with my fingernails anyway. The metal doesn’t budge. I push harder, wedging my fingers into the narrow gap between the cover and the ceiling.

Nothing.

I shift my weight, trying to get better leverage, and that’s when I see it. A small black lens tucked into the corner where the ceiling meets the wall, hidden behind the decorative molding and angled to cover the entire room.

A fucking camera.

Fury swipes through me along with a shiver of unease that courses down my spine. They’ve been watching me this whole time. Every move I made. Every moment I thought I was alone. I shouldn’t be surprised. With all the security at this place, why would I think they wouldn’t be monitoring me?

I freeze on the bed frame, my mind racing. Did they watch me sleep? Probably. Did they see me in the bathroom? The thought of such violation makes my skin crawl.

Then another thought hits me, worse than the first.

Did Rurik watch me before he came outside last night? Did he see me studying the guard rotations, planning my escape route? Is that how he knew exactly where to wait for me?

I stare at the camera lens, my heart pounding. I want to rip it out of the wall. Want to smash it into pieces. But that would be pointless. There are probably others I haven’t found yet.

Instead, I meet the camera’s gaze directly, letting whoever is watching see the fury in my eyes then calmly flip them my middle finger. Take that, motherfuckers!

5

EDUARD

I watch Emma through the monitor in the security room, my arms crossed as I lean against the desk. She’s standing in the center of her room, staring directly at the camera with her middle finger raised. The gesture is defiant, furious, and somehow makes me want to smile despite the situation.

“She found it,” Artur says from his position near the window. He sounds amused.

“Of course she did.” Rurik doesn’t look up from the files spread across his desk. “She’s been testing every weakness since she arrived.”

I shift my attention from the screen to study Emma more carefully. Even through the camera, I can see the intelligence in her eyes, the way she moves with controlled precision. She’s not panicking. She’s planning. Every action she’s taken since we brought her here has been calculated, from her escape attempt last night to the alarm she triggered this morning.

“We need to know who she is,” I say quietly. “This isn’t just some woman caught in the wrong place. She’s obviously trained.”

The auction hadn’t offered any details about her and she didn’t have any personal belongings, such as a purse with an ID inside. I guess the reason for that is whoever buys a woman can invent a new identity for her.

Rurik finally looks up, his pale blue eyes meeting mine. “I know.”

“Then why are we waiting?” Artur pushes away from the window, restless energy radiating from him. “Let’s go talk to her. Find out what we’re dealing with.”

I glance at the monitor again. Emma has lowered her hand and is now pacing the room, her movements tight and controlled. She’s like a caged animal, beautiful and dangerous, and I can’t shake the feeling that we’ve brought something into our home that we don’t fully understand yet.