Page 63 of Marked By the Mob

Rurik steps in front of me, his hand fisting in my wet hair and tilting my head back. His cock is right there, hard and demanding, and I open my mouth without being asked.

“Good girl,” he says roughly, guiding himself between my lips.

I’m filled at both ends, Eduard pounding into me from behind while Rurik fucks my mouth with controlled thrusts. The position is degrading and perfect, making me feel used and worshipped at the same time.

Eduard’s fingers dig into my hips hard enough to leave marks. “You’re ours, Emma. No matter what happens, you’re fucking ours.”

The possessiveness in his voice sends heat flooding through me. I moan around Rurik’s cock, and he groans at the vibration.

“That’s right,” Rurik says, his grip tightening in my hair. “You belong to us. Not the Bratva. Not the FBI.Us.”

Eduard’s pace increases, his cock driving into me harder, faster, until I’m rocking forward with every thrust. The angle has him hitting deep, so deep it’s almost too much, but I don’t want him to stop. I want this. I need this reminder that, despite everything surrounding us, I’m no longer facing the situation alone.

My next orgasm builds quickly, the pressure coiling tight again. Eduard reaches around to rub my clit, his fingers rough and insistent, and that’s all it takes. I come hard, my body clenching around him as pleasure tears through me.

Eduard curses and follows me over, his cock jerking inside me as he fills me with his release. Rurik isn’t far behind, his hips stuttering as he comes in my mouth, and I swallow everything he gives me.

By the time they’re finished with me, I’m boneless and sated, the emotional turmoil from earlier washed away by the intensity of what we just shared.

Artur wraps me in a towel and carries me to the bed, all three of them following close behind.

Later that evening, we gather in Rurik’s study after dinner. The conversation as we work turns serious again as we discuss what the meeting revealed.

I listen to all of it, my chest tight with frustration. But I refuse to give up on the idea that my friend can still be saved.

“No matter what Volkov has done,” I say firmly, “Krystal is still the same person underneath it all. I know she is. And I’m going to prove it.”

The determination in my voice makes it clear that I intend to do exactly that, whether they support me or not.

Rurik studies me for a long moment, then nods slowly. “We’ll figure it out. But we do it smart, not reckless.”

I’m about to respond when Rurik’s phone vibrates with an incoming call from one of his captains. His expression darkens as he listens to the report, his jaw tightening with every passing second.

“When?” he asks sharply.

Whatever the answer is, it makes his eyes go cold and dangerous.

He ends the call and looks at the three of us. “We have a problem. Several Bratva leaders have learned that Emma Moore is an FBI agent.”

My stomach drops.

“According to them,” Rurik continues, his voice hard as steel, “she’s now a resource that belongs to all the Bratva, not just us. They’re demanding she be turned over.”

28

EMMA

I stand near the window in Rurik’s study, my arms crossed as I watch the three men work. They’re scattered around the room. Rurik is behind the massive desk reviewing documents, Eduard leans against the bookshelf with his phone pressed to his ear, and Artur is pacing near the fireplace while he argues with someone in rapid Russian.

They’re trying to help me.

The realization settles in my chest with uncomfortable weight. These men kidnapped me from an auction where I was chained and displayed like property. They’ve held me captive in this estate for weeks. I watched them execute a man in the courtyard without hesitation.

And yet…

My gaze drifts from one to the next, cataloging details I’ve tried not to notice. The way Rurik’s jaw tightens when he’s concentrating, his pale blue eyes sharp as he reads through intelligence reports. How Eduard’s shoulders relax slightly when he thinks no one is watching, his gray eyes softening when theyland on me. The controlled energy in Artur’s movements, all that restless power barely contained beneath expensive clothes.

They haven’t hurt me. Not really. They’ve fed me, protected me, and given me more freedom than I probably deserve, considering I’m supposed to be their prisoner. The guards who used to follow me everywhere are gone now. It’s just the three of them watching over me when I’m in the house.