Page 67 of Marked By the Mob

“We heard,” Rurik says from the front seat.

Emma’s head snaps toward him. “You were listening?”

“Eduard was,” Artur confirms, his hand resting on her thigh. “And it’s a good thing he did.”

I watch her process this, see the flash of anger in her eyes before she forces it down. “Then you know we have to help her.”

“We know Volkov is very good at what he does,” I say carefully. “And Krystal may be playing a part for him.”

Emma’s jaw tightens. “She’s not. I know her. She wouldn’t?—”

“You knew her a year ago,” I interrupt gently. “Before Volkov spent twelve months reshaping her into whatever he needed. People change, Emma. Especially when survival depends on it.”

She doesn’t respond, but I see the doubt creeping into her expression. She wants to believe Krystal is genuine, wants totrust that her friend is still the same person she remembers. But she’s also smart enough to recognize the possibility that I’m right.

The rest of the drive passes in tense silence.

Back at the estate, I expect Emma to head straight for the bedroom, maybe let us distract her the way we did in the shower earlier. Instead, she paces the main floor like a caged animal, her boots clicking against marble floors as she moves from room to room.

“I need to do research,” she says finally, stopping in the middle of the study. “The bride auction, the people involved, and the connection to whoever set me up. I want unmonitored access to a computer.”

Rurik and Artur exchange glances. I lean against the desk, crossing my arms over my chest. “That’s a security risk.”

“I know.” Emma moves closer, her gray-green eyes locked on mine. “But if Krystal is right, if this goes deeper than just the Bratva, then we need to know who we’re dealing with. And I’m the only one with access to FBI databases.”

She has a point. As much as I hate the idea of giving her that kind of access, the information she could gather might be worth the risk.

“We discuss it first,” Rurik says, his tone leaving no room for argument.

The three of us step into the hallway, leaving Emma in the study. The conversation is brief but intense. Artur argues that giving her computer access is asking for trouble. Rurik points out that her credentials are probably still active since the Bureaudeclared her dead. I remind them both that Emma is smart enough to find ways around our security eventually, so we might as well control the situation now.

Finally, we agree. She gets access, but only under strict supervision. One of us will be with her at all times when she’s using the computer, as we’d done before. No unmonitored access like she’d hoped.

When we return to the study, Emma’s expression shifts from anxious to relieved. “Thank you.”

“Don’t thank us yet,” Artur mutters. “You fuck this up, and we pull the plug immediately.”

We move to the bedroom, and I retrieve one of our encrypted laptops from the safe. It’s clean, no personal files or operational data, just a secure connection to the internet. I set it up on the desk near the window while Rurik stretches out on the massive bed, his pale eyes already closing.

Artur pours himself a drink and settles into the leather recliner, his dark gaze tracking Emma’s movements. I pull a chair close to the desk, positioning myself where I can see the screen clearly.

Emma sits down and opens the laptop, her fingers moving quickly across the keyboard. Within seconds, she’s navigating to the FBI’s secure login portal. I watch her type in her credentials, half expecting the system to reject them.

It doesn’t.

The screen loads, granting her full access to the Bureau’s internal databases. Emma exhales slowly, her shoulders relaxing slightly. “I can’t believe that worked.”

“You’re officially dead,” I remind her. “They probably haven’t bothered deactivating your account yet.”

She nods and starts searching, pulling up files related to the bride auction investigation. I watch her work, impressed by how quickly she navigates the system. She knows exactly where to look, which databases to cross-reference, and how to filter results efficiently.

Hours pass. Rurik’s breathing evens out into sleep, his broad chest rising and falling steadily. Artur finishes his drink and pours another, his attention never wavering from Emma. I stay close, monitoring every search she runs, every file she opens.

She’s looking for connections between the auction network and federal personnel. Names that appear in multiple investigations or financial transactions that don’t make sense. Anything that might point to who set her up.

Then she freezes, her entire body going rigid.

“What is it?” I ask immediately.