Page 56 of Marked By the Mob

Artur moves to her head, getting on his knees on top of the desk, then guides his cock to her mouth. She takes him eagerly, her lips stretching around his thickness as Eduard fucks her harder. The sight of her like this, caught between them and loving every second, makes my spent cock twitch with renewed interest.

When they both finish, we collapse together on the leather couch near the window. Emma curls against my side, her breathing still uneven, her skin flushed and damp. Eduard stretches out on her other side while Artur claims the chair across from us.

For several minutes, no one speaks. Then Emma sits up slowly, reaching for her clothes.

“We should get back to work,” she says quietly.

No one argues. We dress in silence and return to the desk, calmer but still focused on the investigation. The documents we scattered during sex are gathered and reorganized. The maps are smoothed flat. The ledger is reopened to the page we were studying before everything shifted.

I pull out my encrypted phone and begin sending messages to several intelligence contacts. If someone inside the Bureau sold Emma out, there will be evidence somewhere in the access records. Digital trails are nearly impossible to erase completely, especially when someone is moving fast and under pressure.

The responses come back slowly over the next hour. Most of my contacts need time to dig through secure servers and bypass FBI firewalls. But one message arrives faster than expected, the notification vibrating against the desk.

I open it and read quickly, my jaw tightening with each line.

“What is it?” Eduard asks, noticing my expression.

I turn the phone so they can all see the screen. “The login used to access Emma’s undercover credentials was recorded at 2:17 a.m. the night before the sting operation.”

Emma leans closer, her eyes scanning the message. “Whose account?”

I meet her gaze, watching the exact moment understanding hits.

“Special Agent Marcus Cole.”

25

EMMA

Marcus Cole’s name stares back at me from Rurik’s phone screen, black text against white background that might as well be a confession written in blood.

I lean closer to the desk, my fingers gripping the edge hard enough that my knuckles go white. The system login tied to my undercover identity was accessed at 2:17 a.m. the night before the sting operation. Cole had full access to my digital cover file. He was the last agent to update it before everything went to hell.

The memory surfaces with uncomfortable clarity. Cole acting nervous during the final briefing, his hands fidgeting with his pen while Hayes outlined the operation timeline. The way he avoided eye contact when I asked him to confirm the communications protocols. How he left the room quickly once the meeting ended, mumbling something about needing to check server logs.

I thought he was just anxious. Cole always got twitchy before major operations, his social awkwardness amplified by pressure.But now those small details take on new weight, reshaping themselves into something darker.

I remember the coffee runs we’d take together on slow afternoons, Cole complaining about his caseload while I listened. He’d always order the same thing—black coffee, no sugar—and we’d sit in the break room talking about nothing important. He made me laugh once by doing a terrible impression of Langford’s stern voice during a briefing. That was maybe three months ago, before everything started falling apart.

There was also the lunch we grabbed near the office, some mediocre sandwich place Cole insisted had decent pastrami. He’d been quieter than usual that day, pushing food around his plate. When I asked if he was okay, he’d hesitated before admitting he was in over his head with some gambling debts. Nothing serious, he’d said, just some bad luck at the poker tables. He’d laughed it off, but I’d seen the tension in his jaw, the way his fingers drummed against the table in an anxious rhythm.

“I’ll get it sorted,” he’d told me, forcing a smile. “Just need a good week.”

I’d believed him then. I’d thought it was just a rough patch, the kind of thing that happens to people. I’d even offered to grab lunch again soon, to check in on him. He’d seemed grateful for that, genuinely relieved that someone cared enough to ask.

Now I wonder if that gratitude was real or if he was already planning to sell me out by then.

“He sold me out,” I say quietly, the words tasting bitter. “Cole needed money for his gambling debts and someone offered him enough to hand over my identity.”

Rurik sets the phone down carefully, his pale blue eyes studying my face. “It’s possible.”

“It’s more than possible.” I straighten, crossing my arms over my chest. “The timeline fits. The access logs prove he was in the system when he shouldn’t have been. And he had motive. Gambling debts makes people desperate.”

Eduard moves to stand beside me, his gray eyes thoughtful as he reviews the information again. “The pattern is damning.”

“Exactly.” Relief floods through me, cold and certain. If Cole sold the information, then the betrayal was simple. Greed, not something deeper. Not someone I trusted more than a colleague I barely knew outside of work.

Not Langford.