Page 48 of Marked By the Mob

EMMA

The guard with his hand threaded through the man’s hair yanks up, revealing his bruised face.

I recognize the man being dragged forward. He’s one of the delivery drivers I’ve seen coming and going through the estate gates over the past few days. Young, quiet, always kept his head down when he passed through security checkpoints. Now his hands are tied behind his back with zip ties, and panic fills his voice as he begins begging for mercy the moment he sees the three men approaching.

“Please, boss, please,” he gasps, his accent thick. “I can explain. I swear I can explain.”

The captain with the scarred hands grimaces. “You were stealing from the storage office. Money and inventory records.”

The driver’s eyes go wide with terror. “It was a mistake! I only took a small amount. I’ll return everything, I swear. Please, just let me live.”

Rurik stops a few feet away, his expression unreadable. He doesn’t raise his voice. Doesn’t show anger. He just studies the man kneeling in front of him with that controlled intensity that makes my skin prickle.

“Has he been warned before?” Rurik asks the captain, his tone flat.

The captain nods once. “Yes, sir. Three months ago for the same thing. We let him keep his job on the condition it wouldn’t happen again.”

The driver’s begging gets louder, more desperate. “I’m loyal! I’ve worked for you for two years. I made one mistake. Please, I have a family. I’ll do anything. Just give me another chance.”

Artur moves closer, crouching in front of the man so they’re eye level. His dark eyes are sharp, assessing, and there’s no trace of his usual humor. “Who were you planning to sell the information to?”

“No one!” The driver’s voice cracks. “I wasn’t going to sell anything. I just needed the money. My daughter, she’s sick, and the medical bills?—”

“Bullshit.” Artur’s voice is soft but edged with steel. “You don’t steal inventory records because you need cash for medical bills. You steal them because someone’s paying for information about our operations.”

The driver’s face goes pale. The hesitation in his response gives him away before he even speaks. “I swear, I had no buyer. I was just…I was desperate.”

Eduard moves to stand beside Rurik, his gray eyes cold as he confirms the details with the guards. “How much did he take?”

“Fifteen thousand in cash,” the captain says. “And copies of the shipping manifests from the past six months.”

Eduard’s jaw tightens. He glances at Rurik then nods once. The decision is made without ceremony.

Rurik gestures to the guards. “Take him to the east wall.”

“No!” The driver’s scream is raw with terror. “Please, no! I’ll tell you everything! I’ll give you names! Please!”

The guards drag him away, his boots scraping against the gravel as he fights uselessly against their grip. His begging echoes across the courtyard, growing more frantic with each step. Other staff members who were working nearby have stopped to watch, their expressions carefully neutral.

I stand frozen, my heart pounding against my ribs. This is happening. They’re going to kill him. Right here, right now, and no one is stopping it.

“Wait,” I say, my voice sharper than I intend. “You can’t just?—”

Rurik’s pale eyes cut to me. “Go inside, Emma.”

“No.” I step forward, my hands curling into fists at my sides. “You can’t execute someone over theft. That’s not justice. That’s murder.”

“It’s enforcement,” Artur says quietly, standing. “And you don’t want to watch this.”

“Then don’t do it.” My voice rises despite my effort to stay calm. “He said he’d give you names. He said he’d tell you everything. Use that. Get the information and then?—”

“And then what?” Eduard’s tone is gentle but firm. “Let him go? Send him back out into the world where he can sell what he knows to the next buyer who offers enough money?”

“Lock him up. Turn him over to—” I stop myself before I say “the authorities.” The absurdity of suggesting they call the police hits me mid-sentence.

Rurik’s expression doesn’t change. “This isn’t a negotiation, Emma. The decision is made.”

He turns and walks toward the east wall, where the guards have positioned the driver against the stone. I follow without thinking, my boots crunching against gravel as I close the distance. Eduard moves to intercept me, his hand catching my arm.