Page 60 of Marked By the Mob

Rurik moves through the gallery with quiet authority, checking each guard’s position and confirming their orders. Eduard stands near the entrance, his gray eyes scanning the street beyond the tinted windows. Emma waits in the center of the room, her arms crossed over her chest, tension obvious in the rigid set of her shoulders.

She’s wearing dark jeans and a fitted black sweater, her hair pulled back in that practical braid she favors. Her gray-green eyes are sharp and watchful, tracking every movement in the room.

I move to stand beside her, close enough that our shoulders brush. “You ready for this?”

“I’ve been ready for a year,” she says quietly.

“That’s not what I asked.”

She glances at me, and I see the fear beneath the determination. She’s terrified of what she might find. But she’s here anyway, because Emma Moore doesn’t back down from anything. It’s one of the things I love about her, even if it drives me fucking crazy.

The radio in my ear crackles. “Vehicle approaching from the south. Two occupants visible.” I straighten immediately, my hand going to the weapon concealed beneath my jacket. Rurik moves closer to the window while Eduard positions himself near the door. Emma doesn’t move, but I feel her entire body tense beside me.

“Let them through,” Rurik says into his radio. “But keep eyes on the vehicle.”

The next few minutes stretch like hours. I watch through the window as a black sedan pulls up to the curb, its tinted windows revealing nothing. The driver stays in the vehicle while the rear door opens.

Krystal Donnovan steps out.

I expected someone broken. Someone who looked like a victim, scared and desperate for rescue. Instead, the woman who walks toward the gallery entrance is composed and elegant, dressed in a tailored cream dress. Her honey-blonde hair falls in perfect waves down her back, and her movements are controlled, deliberate.

Two bodyguards follow several steps behind her, their expressions neutral but alert. Another remains by the vehicle, watching the street.

Emma’s breath catches beside me. “Oh my god.”

The door opens, and Krystal steps inside. Her hazel eyes sweep across the room, taking in the guards, the security measures, and the three of us standing protectively around Emma. Then her gaze settles on her friend, and something flickers across her face. Not quite emotion, but close.

“Emma,” she says quietly, her voice calm and measured.

Emma moves forward, her steps hesitant. “Krystal?”

They stand a few feet apart, and I watch Emma’s expression shift from relief to confusion to something that might be horror. This isn’t the reunion she expected. This isn’t the frightened friend she’s been trying to save.

Krystal’s bodyguards position themselves near the entrance, their hands resting casually near concealed weapons. I make eye contact with one of them, a silent acknowledgment that we’re all armed and ready to move if this goes sideways.

“You look good,” Emma says finally, her voice tight.

“So do you.” Krystal’s gaze flicks to me, then to Rurik and Eduard. “I see you’ve been busy.”

The comment carries an edge I don’t like. Emma’s jaw tightens, but she doesn’t respond to the provocation. “Why did you want to meet?”

Krystal is quiet for a moment, her expression carefully neutral. Then she begins speaking in careful, deliberate sentences thatsound rehearsed. “I wanted you to know I’m okay. That I wasn’t discarded or killed. Aleksander Volkov discovered early how close we were. Instead of hiding me away, he kept me alive because I was useful.”

Emma’s hands curl into fists at her sides. “Useful how?”

“He taught me how to move through elite circles. How to gather information without attracting attention. How to be an asset instead of a liability.” Krystal’s tone is matter-of-fact, like she’s describing a job instead of captivity.

The room goes silent. I watch Emma process the explanation, see the exact moment she understands what Krystal is really saying. Her best friend wasn’t rescued because she didn’t need rescuing. She was never meant to be discarded. She was meant to be leverage.

“You’re working for him,” Emma says quietly.

“I’m surviving,” Krystal corrects. “The same way you are.”

The comparison makes Emma flinch. I move closer, my hand finding the small of her back in a gesture meant to ground her. She doesn’t pull away, but I feel the tension radiating through her body.

Krystal glances at her bodyguards then back to Emma. “I should go. Aleksander doesn’t like me to be away too long.”

“Wait.” Emma steps forward, her voice desperate. “Come with me. We can protect you. We can?—”