Page 123 of Marked By the Mob

Fuck. Volkov.

I return fire, my shots precise and controlled. One of Volkov’s men drops, a hole in his chest. Eduard takes out another, his aim just as deadly. Rurik moves with lethal efficiency, his gun barking as he advances on the intruders.

Volkov ducks behind the overturned table, still firing. “You think you can just take over this city?” he shouts. “You think there won’t be consequences?”

“You’re the consequence?” I shout back, almost laughing. “You’re a fucking joke, Volkov.”

I move strategically, using the furniture for cover, flanking him. Eduard does the same from the other side. Rurik advances straight down the middle, fearless and brutal.

Volkov’s men are dropping one by one. They’re sloppy, undisciplined. They might have numbers, but we have skill and experience. This is what we do. This is who we are.

I get a clear shot at Volkov and take it. The bullet catches him in the shoulder, spinning him around. He stumbles, his gun clattering to the floor. Rurik’s on him in seconds, his gun pressed to Volkov’s temple.

“Any last words?” Rurik asks, his voice cold.

Volkov spits blood. “Fuck you.”

Rurik pulls the trigger. Volkov’s body crumples to the floor, lifeless.

The room falls silent except for the ringing in my ears. I scan the space, counting bodies. Volkov and four of his men. All dead.

“Clear,” Eduard says, lowering his gun.

I nod, my chest heaving. “Check the perimeter. Make sure there aren’t more.”

Rurik’s already moving toward the hallway where he left Emma. I follow, my heart still racing. I need to see her, need to make sure she’s okay.

But before we reach her, she emerges from the room, her hand pressed to her lower back, her face pale.

“Emma, get back inside,” Rurik says firmly. “We need to make sure there aren’t any more shooters.”

She shakes her head, her breathing labored. “My water broke.”

The words hit me like a freight train. I stare at her, my brain struggling to process. “What?”

“My water broke,” she repeats, her voice strained. “I’m in labor.”

“Fuck,” Eduard mutters, running a hand through his hair.

Rurik’s already at her side, his arm around her waist, supporting her. “How far apart are the contractions?”

“I don’t know,” she says, wincing. “They just started. But my water definitely broke.”

I holster my gun, my mind shifting gears. The threat is neutralized. Now we need to get her to the hospital. “I’ll get the car.”

“I’ll call ahead,” Eduard says, pulling out his phone.

Rurik lifts Emma carefully, cradling her against his chest. She doesn’t protest, which tells me she’s in more pain than she’s letting on.

The drive to the hospital is a blur. I’m behind the wheel, pushing the speed limit, weaving through traffic. Eduard’s in the passenger seat, still on the phone, making sure everything’s ready for us. Rurik’s in the back with Emma, holding her hand, murmuring reassurances.

She curses through a contraction, her grip on Rurik’s hand tightening. “This fucking hurts.”

“I know,” he says softly. “We’re almost there.”

We screech into the hospital parking lot, and I’m out of the car before it’s fully stopped. A team of nurses is waiting with a wheelchair and they help Emma into it. We follow them inside, refusing to leave her side.

The labor goes quickly. Faster than I expected. The nurses try to object to all three of us being in the delivery room, citing hospital policy, but Emma shuts that down immediately.