Page 23 of Marked By the Mob

The monitor shows the hallway outside her room, and my heart gives a loud thump.

The door is standing open.

Not just unlocked. Open. Wide enough that I can see into the room beyond, though the angle doesn’t show me much. And the guards who should be stationed there are nowhere in sight.

“Fuck.”

Then I remember that Artur took her to the training room. Maybe he’d left her there when the alarm went off. I switch to the monitor that covers the training room and an icy chills works its way down my spine.

“Shit.” She’s not there either. The word comes out sharp and harsh as I’m already moving, my hand going to my radio. “Rurik, Artur, we have a problem. Emma’s room is unsecured. Door’s open, guards are missing. She’s not in the training room either.”

The response is immediate. “On our way.”

I’m running now, taking the stairs two at a time as I head toward the east wing. My mind races through possibilities. Did she escape during the confusion? Did someone take her? Did the guards abandon their posts?

None of the options are good.

I round the corner into the east wing corridor and see exactly what the camera showed me. The door to Emma’s room stands open, the interior dark except for the faint glow of moonlight through the windows. No guards. No Emma. No sign of struggle.

Just an empty doorway and the sinking certainty that everything just got a lot more complicated.

10

EMMA

The alarm tears through the estate like a living thing, loud and relentless. I press my back against the bedroom wall, my heart hammering as I listen to the chaos erupting in the hallway outside. Boots thunder past my door. Voices shout in Russian, sharp and urgent. Radios crackle with static and rapid-fire updates I can’t fully understand.

Was it a raid? Had the FBI found me? My heart jolts with the thought. My guys could be out there right now, working their way in to rescue me. I grin at the thought then frown. What if Rurik or Artur or Eduard get hurt? I shouldn’t care. I really shouldn’t, but the thought of one or all of them bleeding or dead makes my heart drop to my toes. I need to see what’s going on.

Or maybe it’s an attack from another Bratva family. But wouldn’t there be gunshots already? The FBI would come in quietly, but the mafia would come in with guns blazing. Either way, this is the opportunity I’ve been waiting for. It’s probably my best chance for escape.

I move to the door and press my ear against the wood, straining to hear past the wailing alarm. The guards who were stationed outside are gone. I can tell by the absence of their low conversation and the shuffle of their boots as they shifted positions. They’ve probably been pulled away to deal with whatever emergency is unfolding.

My hand closes around the door handle. I expect resistance, expect the electronic lock to hold firm like it has every other time I’ve tested it. But when I twist, the mechanism gives way with a soft click.

The door swings open.

For a heartbeat I just stand there, staring at the empty hallway beyond. The alarm must have triggered some kind of system-wide unlock, a failsafe designed to prevent people from being trapped during an emergency. The irony isn’t lost on me. Their security protocols just gave me exactly what I need.

I slip into the corridor and move quickly, keeping close to the wall. The alarm continues its relentless wail, covering the sound of my footsteps against the marble floor. Ahead of me, more guards rush past the intersection, their weapons drawn as they head toward the outer grounds. None of them look in my direction.

I count to three, then dart across the open space and into the shadows on the opposite side. My pulse pounds in my ears, but my hands are steady. Years of training kick in automatically. Stay low. Move fast. Don’t hesitate.

The hallway branches in two directions. I choose left, away from the main staircase where most of the guards seem to be converging. The alarm is slightly quieter here, muffled bydistance and the thick walls of the estate. I can hear radios crackling somewhere behind me, voices reporting updates about the perimeter sweep.

The fragments of conversation confirm what I suspected. Something triggered the motion sensors along the property boundary. Whether it’s an actual threat or a false alarm doesn’t matter. What matters is that every guard in this place is focused on the exterior, leaving the interior vulnerable.

I move deeper into the house, following corridors I’ve only glimpsed through doorways during my brief time here. Everything is expensive and cold, all marble and dark wood.

As I round another corner, voices echo ahead. Male voices, speaking in low, controlled tones that cut through the alarm’s wail. I freeze, pressing myself against the wall as I strain to identify them.

Rurik. I’d recognize that deep, measured voice anywhere. And Artur’s sharper tone, edged with frustration. Eduard’s calmer presence balancing between them.

They’re close. Too close.

I glance around frantically and spot a side corridor branching off to my right. It’s narrower than the main hallway, dimly lit, and looks like it leads away from the central part of the house. I duck into it just as footsteps approach the intersection behind me.

“It’s confirmed it was an animal,” Eduard says, his voice carrying clearly now. “A fox squeezed through damaged fencing near the drainage culvert.”