Page 27 of Marked By the Mob

It’s massive, easily three times the size of the room I’ve been staying in. But what catches my attention isn’t the expensive furniture or the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the grounds. It’s the bed.

The thing is enormous, dominating the center of the space like some kind of statement. It has to be custom-made because I’ve never seen anything that size in my life. The frame is dark wood, solid and imposing, with a headboard that reaches nearly to theceiling. The mattress looks thick and comfortable, covered in dark gray linens. It’s clearly designed for multiple people.

A hide-a-bed couch sits along one wall, its leather surface worn in a way that suggests frequent use. Near the window, a deep leather recliner faces outward, positioned to catch the morning light. The room is lived in, comfortable in a way that speaks to years of shared routine.

“You’ll stay here tonight,” Rurik says, his tone leaving no room for argument. “Since you can’t be trusted to remain where you’re told, you’ll remain where we can keep an eye on you.”

I turn to face him, my jaw tight. “You can’t be serious.”

“Completely serious.” His pale blue eyes hold mine without wavering. “You proved tonight that locked doors and posted guards aren’t enough. So we adapt.”

“By making me sleep in your bedroom?” The words come out sharper than I intend, edged with disbelief and something that might be panic.

“By making sure you don’t disappear again,” Eduard says quietly from behind me. His voice is calm, reasonable, like this is a perfectly logical solution to a simple problem.

Artur moves past us and drops into the recliner with casual ease, stretching his long legs out in front of him. “Could be worse, sweetheart. At least the accommodations are comfortable.”

“Don’t call me that,” I snap automatically, but my heart isn’t in it. I’m too busy trying to process what’s happening.

They’re going to sleep. Here. With me in the room.All night.

The implications crash over me like a wave. No privacy. No opportunity to plan. No chance to search for weaknesses or test security measures. Just hours of forced proximity with three men who already make me salivate whenever they’re near. Who I already spend way too much time thinking about.

Rurik moves to the far side of the massive bed and begins unbuttoning his shirt with methodical precision. The fabric slides off his shoulders, revealing the broad, muscled chest I remember too well from our encounter against the wall. Scars mark his skin, pale lines that tell stories of violence and survival.

I force myself to look away, but my gaze lands on Eduard instead. He’s pulling off his own shirt, his movements relaxed and unhurried. His body is leaner than Rurik’s but no less powerful, all controlled strength and easy confidence.

Heat crawls up my neck. This is insane. This entire situation is completely insane.

“Where exactly am I supposed to sleep?” I ask, hating how my voice wavers slightly.

“Wherever you’re comfortable,” Rurik says, settling onto the right side of the bed. He lies on his back, one arm behind his head, completely at ease. “The bed is large enough for all of us. Or you can take the couch.”

Eduard claims the left side, leaving a significant space between them. The unspoken invitation is clear. They’re offering me the middle. The thought sends something hot and dangerous through my chest.

“I’ll take the couch,” I say quickly.

Artur laughs from the recliner. “Suit yourself. But that thing’s not as comfortable as it looks.”

I ignore him and move to the hide-a-bed, testing the cushions with one hand. He’s right. The leather is worn, and the padding beneath feels thin. It’ll be like sleeping on a slightly padded board. But it’s better than the alternative.

Better than lying between them in that massive bed, feeling the heat of their bodies, breathing in their scent, and knowing that one wrong move could lead to much more than sleep. My pulse quickens at the thought and my core clenches with anticipation.

Damn it, I can’t afford this crazy attraction to my captors. It would be bad enough if I were only attracted to one of them, but all three? I’m sick, that’s all there is to it.

I sit on the edge of the couch and pull off my boots, setting them carefully on the floor. My hands are shaking slightly, and I curl them into fists to hide it. The room feels too warm, too small despite its size. The air is thick with tension and…yep, and lust.

The lights dim as Eduard reaches for a control panel near the bed. Soft illumination remains, just enough to see by, casting shadows across the walls. Outside the windows, the estate grounds are dark except for the regular sweep of security lights.

I lie down on the couch and stare at the ceiling, my body rigid. Every sound seems amplified in the quiet. The rustle of sheets as Rurik shifts position. Eduard’s steady breathing as he settles in. Artur adjusting in the recliner, the leather creaking softly under his weight.

Minutes pass. Then an hour. Maybe more. I don’t sleep.Can’tsleep. My mind races through everything that’s happened, everything I’ve learned, and everything I still need to figure out.

Someone inside the FBI betrayed me. The thought circles endlessly, sharp and painful. Someone I trusted, someone I worked with, sold me out to the very criminals I was investigating. They knew where I’d be. They knew when. They cut my communications and made sure backup never arrived.

Was it Hayes? He opposed the operation from the start, arguing it was too risky. But opposition doesn’t equal betrayal. He could have been genuinely concerned for my safety.

Marcus Cole had access to all the digital surveillance and communications. He’s brilliant with tech but nervous under pressure. Could someone have gotten to him? Threatened him? Paid him enough to compromise everything?