Page 120 of Marked By the Mob

The bathroom door opens, and Rurik appears in the mirror behind me. His pale blue eyes meet mine, assessing my state with that intensity he always has. He’s wearing a dark suit that makes his broad shoulders look even more imposing, his jaw tight with barely controlled tension.

“You ready?” His voice is low, controlled.

“No.” The honesty escapes before I can stop it. “But I’m doing it anyway.”

His hands settle on my shoulders, warm and steady through the thin fabric of my dress. “You don’t have to do this. We can leave right now. Disappear before anyone knows we’re gone.”

The offer is tempting. God, it’s so tempting. But I shake my head. “I need to see this through. I need to watch him pay for what he did.”

Rurik’s fingers tighten slightly on my shoulders, then he leans down and presses his lips to the top of my head. “Then we’ll be there. Right behind you.”

The FBI and US Marshals wanted to put me in protective custody until after the trial. They showed up at the estate with official paperwork and stern expressions, explaining that my safety couldn’t be guaranteed otherwise. That Langford had connections who might try to silence me before I could testify.

My men told them to fuck off.

The memory makes my lips curve slightly despite everything. Rurik, Eduard, and Artur stood in the main hall of the estate, arms crossed, expressions cold, and informed the federal agents that I’d be safer with them than in any government safe house. That if anyone tried to touch me, they’d have to go through three Bratva families first.

The agents left without me.

I agreed with my husbands’ assessment. I’m safer here, surrounded by armed guards and men who would die before letting anyone hurt me. The baby kicks again, and I press my hand more firmly against my stomach.

“She’s active today,” I murmur.

Rurik’s hand covers mine, his palm warm against the swell of my belly. “She knows it’s an important day.”

We don’t actually know if the baby is a girl. We decided not to find out, wanting to be surprised. But Rurik insists it’s a daughter, has from the moment I told them I was pregnant. Eduard thinks it’s a boy. Artur doesn’t care either way, as long as the baby is healthy.

I turn in Rurik’s arms and press my face against his chest, breathing in the clean scent of his cologne. “I loved him. I actually loved Langford like he was family.”

“I know.” Rurik’s hand slides into my hair, cradling the back of my head. “That’s what makes this hurt so much.”

Tears burn behind my eyes, but I force them back. I can’t cry. Not now. Not when I need to be strong enough to face Langfordin court and tell the world what he did to me. Besides, I don’t want to reapply my makeup.

Eduard and Artur are waiting downstairs when we descend. Eduard’s gray eyes are serious as he takes in my appearance, his gaze lingering on the swell of my belly before moving to my face. Artur’s usual crooked grin is absent, replaced by something harder.

“You look beautiful,” Eduard says quietly, moving to press a kiss to my temple.

Artur’s hand finds my waist, his fingers splaying possessively across my hip. “And terrifying. Langford’s going to shit himself when he sees you.”

The crude assessment makes me laugh despite everything. “That’s the plan.”

The drive to the courthouse is tense. I sit between Eduard and Rurik in the back of the armored SUV while Artur rides up front with the driver. None of us speaks. But what is there to say that hasn’t already been said?

My hands shake slightly in my lap, and Eduard notices immediately. His fingers thread through mine, squeezing gently. “We’re right there with you.”

I nod, not trusting my voice.

The courthouse is surrounded by media when we arrive. Cameras flash as our convoy pulls up to the secured entrance. I catch glimpses of reporters shouting questions, their voices muffled by the bulletproof glass.

Inside, the building is all marble floors and high ceilings that echo with footsteps and hushed conversations. Federal agentsare everywhere, their expressions ranging from curious to hostile as they watch us move through the corridors. I recognize a few faces from my time at the Bureau, people I worked with before everything went to hell.

They stare at me like I’m a ghost. Which I suppose I am, in a way. Officially dead for months, now resurrected to testify against one of their own.

The courtroom is packed when we enter. FBI agents fill most of the seats, all of them here to witness one of their own go down. Their eyes watch my movement as I walk down the aisle, their gazes lingering on my pregnant belly before shifting to the three men flanking me.

Rurik, Eduard, and Artur take positions in the back row, their presence impossible to ignore. They’re all wearing dark suits that make them look like exactly what they are: dangerous men who don’t belong in the audience area of a federal courtroom. Several other family members are scattered among the seats, their expressions carefully neutral.

The FBI agents keep tossing nervous glances toward the back of the room, clearly uncomfortable with the Bratva presence. I catch one younger agent whispering to his partner, his eyes wide as he takes in my husbands’ cold expressions.