Page 59 of Marked By the Mob

“Exactly what I said.” Rurik’s pale eyes hold hers without wavering. “The meeting is a trap. Whoever bought her is using your friend to draw you out.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Yes, we do,” Eduard says gently, moving to stand beside Rurik. “Volkov never does something without a reason. If he’s letting Krystal reach out, it’s because he wants something from us.”

Emma’s jaw tightens, her breathing quickening. I can see the fury building in her eyes, the same fire that makes her so fucking dangerous and so goddamn attractive. “Krystal wouldn’t reach out unless she truly wanted help.”

“Or unless Volkov told her to,” I point out, leaning against the doorframe. “You said yourself he’s been training her for a year.Turning her into an asset he can deploy. This could be part of that.”

“No.” Emma shakes her head, her dark hair falling loose from its braid. “Krystal wouldn’t betray me. Not willingly.”

“Maybe not willingly,” Rurik says quietly. “But Volkov is very good at making people do what he wants.”

The words hang in the air between us, heavy with implication. “I have to see her,” Emma says, her voice tight. “I have to know she’s okay.”

“You can’t,” Eduard says firmly. “It’s too dangerous.”

“I don’t care about the danger.”

“We do,” I snap, pushing away from the doorframe. “You think we’re going to let you walk into a situation where Volkov controls every variable? Where he can take you the moment you step through the door?”

Emma’s eyes flash with anger. “You chose me because I was strong enough to survive your world. If that’s true, then you can’t expect me to sit quietly when my friend reaches out to me after all this time.”

The argument escalates quickly after that. Emma pushes harder, her voice rising as she reminds us that Krystal is the reason she infiltrated the auction in the first place. That she’s spent a year chasing this lead. That she won’t stop now just because it’s dangerous.

Rurik counters with cold logic, pointing out that Volkov has resources we don’t fully understand. Walking into his trap could get Emma killed or worse. We have a responsibility to protect her whether she likes it or not.

Eduard tries to mediate, suggesting we gather more intelligence before making any decisions. But Emma isn’t interested in waiting. She wants action. She wants answers. She wants her friend back.

I watch the three of them argue, my frustration building with each passing minute. Part of me agrees with Rurik. The smart move is to shut this down completely. But another part, the part that’s been drawn to Emma’s fire since the moment I saw her on that auction stage, understands why she’s fighting so hard.

If it were one of us, if Rurik or Eduard were the ones trapped in Volkov’s world, I’d burn everything to the ground to get them back. I wouldn’t care about the risks or the consequences. I’d just act.

Emma is doing the same thing. And as much as it terrifies me, I can’t help but respect her for it.

Finally, I exhale in frustration and hold up my hand. “Enough.”

The room goes quiet. Emma turns to face me, her chest heaving with barely controlled fury. Rurik’s jaw is tight, his pale eyes cold. Eduard looks between all of us, waiting.

“We agree to the meeting,” I say quietly.

“Artur—” Rurik starts, but I cut him off.

“Under strict conditions,” I continue, my gaze locked on Emma. “The location will be ours. Locked down and surrounded by our men. You go in, you talk to Krystal, and you get out. No deviations. No heroics. You follow our rules or the meeting doesn’t happen at all.”

Emma’s eyes narrow, searching my face for the trap. “And if I agree?”

“Then we make it happen,” Eduard says, nodding slowly. “But Artur’s right. We control every variable we can. Security, location, timing. Everything.”

Rurik is silent for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Then he nods once. “Two days. That gives us time to prepare.”

Emma’s shoulders relax slightly, though the tension doesn’t leave her completely. “Thank you.”

“Don’t thank us yet,” I mutter, already running through the logistics in my head. “This could still go to hell.”

Two days later, I stand in the private gallery we control on the east side of the city, watching guards take their positions with practiced efficiency. The space is small, elegant, and easy to secure. High ceilings, minimal exits, and clear sightlines from every angle.

I’ve personally overseen every detail. Guards are positioned outside, across the street, and in neighboring buildings. Snipers on rooftops. Surveillance cameras cover every approach. Communications equipment tested and retested until I’m satisfied nothing can go wrong.