Page 15 of Marked By the Mob

“What do you want me to say?” I cross my arms. “That I’m sorry? That I made a mistake? I’m not, and I didn’t.”

“You infiltrated a criminal auction,” Rurik says, his voice dangerously quiet. “You put yourself in a position where you could have been killed or worse. For what? A case?”

“For justice.” The word comes out sharper than I intend. “For the women who disappear into your world and never come out.”

Eduard shifts his weight, his expression thoughtful. “Our world?”

“The Bratva.” I look at each of them in turn. “You’re all pakhans, aren’t you? Leaders of your families. Which means you profit from the same networks that run these auctions.”

“We don’t run the auctions,” Artur says, his dark eyes flashing with anger.

“No?” I take a step forward, my fear buried beneath a surge of righteous fury. “Then what exactly do you do? You control territories, don’t you? Run protection rackets? Smuggling operations? How many of those shipments contain women being trafficked across borders?”

“Watch your fucking mouth,” Artur growls, moving toward me.

Rurik holds up a hand, stopping him. “Our operations are legitimate businesses.”

“Legitimate.” I laugh bitterly. “Is that what you tell yourselves? That the blood money you launder through nightclubs and construction companies is somehow clean because you don’t personally chain women to beds?”

“You don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about,” Artur snaps.

“Don’t I?” My heart pounds, but I can’t stop now. “Tell me, how many of your associates deal in human trafficking? How many times have you looked the other way when shipments came through your ports? When girls disappeared from your clubs?”

Eduard’s jaw tightens, but he doesn’t speak.

“We have rules,” Rurik says coldly. “Lines we don’t cross.”

“Rules.” The word tastes like ash. “You have rules while women are sold like cattle. How noble.”

“You have no idea what we’ve done to stop,” Eduard starts, but I cut him off.

“I don’t care what you think you’ve done. You’re still part of the machine. You still profit from the suffering.” I look at each of them, letting them see the determination in my eyes. “And I’mgoing to escape. Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow. But I will get out of here, and when I do, I’m bringing every federal agent I can find back with me. I’m going to dismantle everything you’ve built. Every business, every operation, every connection. I’m going to burn your entire world to the ground.”

The silence that follows is deafening.

Then Artur moves, closing the distance between us in two strides. His hand wraps around my throat, not squeezing, just holding me in place as he leans down until we’re eye to eye. “You think you’re the first person to threaten us, little fed? You think we got where we are by letting people destroy what’s ours?”

I should be terrified. I can feel the barely leashed violence in him, the way his fingers twitch against my skin. But I refuse to look away. “Do it. Kill me. It’ll only prove my point.”

“Artur.” Eduard’s voice cuts through the tension. “Let her go.”

For a long moment, Artur doesn’t move. Then he releases me with a sound of disgust and steps back. He storms out, slamming the door behind him. Rurik watches me for another moment, his expression unreadable, then follows without a word.

Eduard remains, studying me with those intense dark eyes. The silence stretches between us, heavy with everything unsaid.

Finally, he speaks. “You should rest.”

Then he’s gone too, and I’m alone with my racing heart and the certainty that I’ve just made everything infinitely more complicated.

Hours pass. The light outside the window fades to darkness. I sit on the bed, my mind spinning through scenarios, escape routes,ways to get a message out. Every plan falls apart before it fully forms.

The lock clicks.

I tense, expecting Artur’s anger or Rurik’s cold fury. Instead, Eduard steps inside, closing the door quietly behind him. He’s changed clothes, wearing dark jeans and a fitted black shirt that emphasizes his broad shoulders. His hair is slightly damp, like he’s recently showered.

“I thought you might be hungry.” He sets a tray on the dresser. The smell of food makes my stomach clench with sudden hunger, but I don’t move.

He pulls the chair away from the desk and sits, his posture relaxed but alert. “I’m not here to fight with you, Emma.”