Page 13 of Marked By the Mob

“Let’s get to it,” Rurik says, standing. He closes the file and gestures toward the door. “All three of us.”

We move through the mansion in silence, our footsteps echoing against marble floors. Guards nod as we pass, their expressions carefully neutral. Everyone in this house knows we brought a woman back from the auction. And everyone knows she tried to escape within hours of arriving. Some find it amusing, while others see her attempt as a direct insult to our families.

When we reach the east wing, I signal the guards to unlock the door. They step back immediately, giving us space. I enter first, followed by Artur and then Rurik, who closes the door behind us with a quiet click.

Emma stops pacing and turns to face us. Her gray-green eyes sweep across all three of us, assessing, calculating. She doesn’t look afraid. She looks ready to fight.

“Three against one,” she says, her voice cold. “How brave.”

Artur grins. “We could make it fair if you’d like. One on one. Your choice.”

“I’d choose all three,” she replies without hesitation. “Better odds of taking at least one of you down before the guards intervene.”

The response makes something warm flicker in my chest. She’s not just brave. She’s fearless in a way that’s either incredibly stupid or incredibly well-trained. Her attitude just reinforces my suspicion that she’s trained. By who or what, that remains to be seen.

Rurik moves to stand near the window, his posture relaxed but his attention completely focused on her. “We need to talk.”

“About what?” Emma crosses her arms. “The fact that you bought me like property? The cameras you’ve hidden in my room? Or maybe the part where you’re holding me prisoner?”

“All of it,” I say, keeping my voice calm. “But first, we need to know who you are.”

Her jaw tightens. “None of your business.”

“Everything about you is our business now,” Artur says, his tone light but edged with steel.

“Why did you buy me?” She straightens her shoulders and meets Rurik’s gaze without flinching. “You could have walked away. You could have let someone else take me. But you didn’t. You paid more than anyone else was willing to spend. Why?”

The question hangs in the air between us. I glance at Rurik then at Artur. We haven’t discussed how much to tell her. How much truth she can handle right now.

“We have our reasons,” Rurik says finally.

Emma laughs, bitter and sharp. “That’s not an answer.”

“It’s the one you’re going to get,” I say, drawing another frown from her. “I’m Eduard, by the way, and this is Artur,” I say, nodding my head in Artur’s direction. “I suspect you already know he is Rurik.” My head swings toward Rurik.

An angry red flush brightens her cheeks when she looks at Rurik, but she somehow tamps it down.

Artur steps closer, deliberately invading her space. “You fight like someone with training. Military, maybe. Or law enforcement. You study guard rotations and security systems like you’ve done it before. So tell me, sweetheart, who sent you to that auction?”

“Nobody sent me,” Emma snarls. “And don’t call me sweetheart.”

“Alright,Emma,” I say, stressing her name. “If no one sent you, then how did you end up on the auction block?

I see the moment she snaps. Her hand comes up fast, aiming for Artur’s throat, but he’s already moving. He catches her wrist and twists, forcing her arm behind her back. She doesn’t hesitate. She drives her heel down onto his instep and uses the momentary distraction to break free.

Artur stumbles back, laughing even as he recovers his balance. “There it is.”

Emma doesn’t wait. She lunges at him again, her movements precise and controlled. This isn’t wild flailing. This is trained combat. She goes for vulnerable points with the kind of efficiency that comes from years of practice.

Rurik and I stand back and watch, both of us smiling as Artur blocks her strikes, still grinning like this is the most fun he’s had in weeks. They move across the room in a blur of motion, and I find myself watching with a mixture of concern and admiration. She’s good. Really good.

But Artur is better.

He catches her next punch and uses her momentum to spin her around, pinning her against the wall with his body. Emma struggles, trying to break free, but he holds her firmly without hurting her.

“Let me go,” she hisses, still struggling.

“Not until you calm down,” I say, moving closer. I keep my voice gentle, non-threatening. “We’re not going to hurt you, Emma. But we need answers.”