Page 73 of Marked By the Mob

“Then we use it,” I say, standing. “We strengthen our defenses, tighten security, and make sure they understand the cost of crossing us.”

The drive back to the estate feels longer than it should. My mind races through contingencies, backup plans and ways to protect Emma without further locking her in a cage. She hates being treated like property, even if that’s technically what she is under Bratva law.

But she’s more than that to us. She’s a part of our family. The woman the three of us agreed on and have feelings for. I know I’m not the only one who has fallen under her spell. I can see it in Eduard and Artur as well. Emma is becoming more than a means to combine our families, she’s becoming a very important part of our family. And each of us would die to protect her.

When we pull through the estate gates, everything looks normal. Guards at their posts. Lights on in the main house. The grounds quiet and secure.

We enter through the main entrance, and I head straight for the bedroom, expecting to find Emma at the laptop or maybe asleep after another long night of research.

The room is empty.

I check the bathroom. Nothing. The sitting area. Empty. My pulse quickens as I move through the suite, opening closets and checking every corner.

Eduard appears in the doorway, his expression tight. “She’s not in the library.”

Artur’s voice echoes from the hallway. “Not in the study either.”

I pull out my phone and call the head of security. “Where’s Emma?”

There’s a pause, then confusion in his voice. “Sir, I thought she was with you.”

My blood freezes in my veins. “Find her. Now.”

We tear through the estate, checking every room, every corridor, every possible hiding place. The guards report that no one left through the main gates. The perimeter sensors show no breaches. The security footage reveals nothing unusual.

Emma is simply gone.

32

EMMA

The knock on the bedroom door comes just after lunch, soft but insistent. I’m alone in the suite, the laptop open in front of me while I chase another dead-end lead through FBI financial records. The men left an hour ago for the meeting with the other pakhans. My stomach is in knots, wondering what will happen. Will the others demand access to me? Will a shootout happen? I shake my head. There’s nothing I can do about it and sitting here worrying won’t change whatever is going to happen.

I cross the room and open the door to find one of the household staff, an older woman whose name I’ve never learned. She holds out a folded piece of paper, her expression carefully neutral.

“This was left at the service entrance for you,” she says in heavily accented English.

I take the note, my pulse quickening. The moment she leaves, I unfold it and read the neat handwriting I recognize immediately.

Emma, I need to see you. Today. There’s something you need to know about Volkov and the auction. Meet me at the coffee shop on Maple Street at 3 p.m. Please come alone. - Krystal

My hands shake slightly as I read it again. Krystal wants to meet. Today, while the men are gone and can’t stop me or insist on coming along.And can’t protect me either,a little voice inside my head warns.

I glance at the clock on the nightstand. It’s already two-thirty. If I’m going to make it, I need to leave now.

The smart thing would be to wait. Text Rurik, Eduard, or Artur and tell them about the message, letting them decide how to handle it. But something in Krystal’s handwriting feels urgent, almost desperate. And if I wait for the men to return, they’ll either refuse to let me go or insist on turning it into a full security operation that will scare Krystal away.

I grab my jacket and boots, my mind already made up. The guards who used to follow me everywhere are gone now. The men trust me enough to move through the estate freely, which means I can walk out the front door without anyone stopping me.

The realization hits me as I’m halfway down the main staircase. I could escape. Right here, right now. There’s nothing physically stopping me from leaving this estate and never coming back.

I pause on the landing, my hand gripping the polished railing. The front entrance is visible below, sunlight streaming through the tall windows. Beyond those doors is freedom. I could walk to the nearest main road, flag down a car, and be at FBI headquarters within an hour. I could march into Langford’s office and demand answers. I could be brought back to life, my missing and presumed dead status reversed with a single phone call.

But then what?

I still don’t know who the mole is. The evidence against Hayes doesn’t hold up under scrutiny, and Cole was just a scapegoat. If I walk back into the Bureau now, whoever betrayed me will know I’m alive. They’ll have time to cover their tracks, destroy evidence, and disappear into the bureaucracy before I can prove anything.

Staying here, staying dead, gives me an advantage. The mole thinks I’m gone. They think the investigation is closed. They’ve let their guard down, and that’s when people make mistakes.