Page 38 of Marked By the Mob

“Maybe later,” Emma says without looking at him, and I have to bite back a laugh.

She sets the weapon down and turns to face the guards, her expression calm. “Anyone else want to question my training?”

No one speaks.

As we leave the range, one of the captains who handles our Baltic shipping connections approaches Artur. He’s older, maybe sixty, with a weathered face and hands that have seen decades of hard work.

“The shipment from Klaipeda is confirmed for Thursday,” he says in heavily accented English. “Baltic Logistics is handling the transport.”

Emma freezes.

The change is subtle, but I catch it. The way her shoulders stiffen and her breathing shifts. The way her eyes go distant for just a fraction of a second before she forces her expression back to neutral.

But it’s too late. I saw it.

“Baltic Logistics?” I ask, watching her carefully.

He nods. “Same company we’ve used for the past five years.”

Emma’s hands curl into fists at her sides, so tight her knuckles go white. Then she forces them to relax, but the damage is done. Whatever that name means to her, it’s significant.

Artur notices too. His dark eyes narrow as he studies her face. “Something wrong?”

“It’s the same logistics company that handled security at the party where Krystal disappeared,” she says slowly.

17

EMMA

The name hangs in the air between us like a loaded weapon.Baltic Logistics.

I force my expression to remain neutral even as my pulse hammers against my ribs. The captain is still talking to Artur about shipping schedules and delivery windows.

I curl my fingers into loose fists at my sides, willing them not to shake. My breathing stays even through sheer force of will, the kind of control that comes from years of training and interrogations where showing emotion means losing ground.

Baltic Logistics handled security and transportation the night Krystal disappeared. I spent weeks tracking down that connection, following financial records and witness statements until I found the company’s name buried in event planning documents. They provided the private security detail for the party Krystal attended. They coordinated guest transportation. They controlled who came in and who left.

And somewhere in that carefully managed chaos, my best friend vanished.

The captain finishes his report and walks away, leaving the three of us standing in the afternoon sunlight. I can feel Rurik’s pale eyes on me, studying my reaction with that unnerving intensity he always has. Eduard shifts his weight slightly, his gray eyes tracking my face. Artur leans against the stone wall, his dark gaze sharp despite the casual posture.

They all noticed my reaction. Of course they did. These men don’t miss anything, damn it.

I need to play this carefully. Too much interest and they’ll shut me out. Too little and I’ll lose the opportunity to learn more. I take a slow breath and let curiosity color my voice instead of desperation.

“How often do you do business with them?” I ask, keeping my tone light and conversational.

Artur’s lips curve into that crooked smile that usually means he’s amused by something I’ve said. “Baltic Logistics? They move freight for half the networks operating between Europe and the States. We use them maybe three or four times a year when we need something transported through their routes.”

“What kind of something?” I press gently.

Eduard answers this time, his voice calm and measured. “Routine cargo. Electronics, luxury goods, and sometimes raw materials for construction projects. Nothing that draws attention from customs or port authority.”

I nod like this makes perfect sense, like I’m not cataloging every word for later analysis. “And the shipment coming this week?”

“Standard delivery through the port.” Rurik’s tone is flat, giving nothing away. “It arrives Thursday morning.”

Thursday. Three days from now.