Page 78 of Marked By the Mob

Her gray-green eyes flash with fury. “Fine. I’m going toourroom. Happy?”

She doesn’t wait for an answer. She just turns and storms up the stairs, her boots clicking against marble with sharp, angry strikes. I watch her go, my chest tight with conflicting emotions. Relief that she’s safe. Fury that she put herself at risk. And underneath it all, fear that we’re losing control of a situation that was already precarious.

Eduard exhales slowly. “That went well.”

“She’s going to get herself killed,” I mutter.

Rurik’s pale eyes follow Emma’s retreating figure until she disappears down the hallway. “Or worse.”

We move to the study without discussion, the three of us settling into familiar positions. Rurik behind the desk, Eduard near the window, and me pacing the length of the room because I can’t sit still.

“We need to talk about this,” Eduard says quietly.

“About what?” I ask, though I already know.

“About Emma.” Eduard’s gray eyes are serious. “About what she’s becoming.”

I stop pacing and turn to face him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means she was supposed to help us unite the families,” Rurik says, his voice flat. “She was supposed to be the foundation of our alliance, the woman strong enough to stand beside all three of us and bridge the gaps our fathers left behind.”

“She still can be,” I argue.

“Can she?” Eduard leans against the window frame, his arms crossed. “She’s obsessed with saving Krystal, who may or may not want to be saved. She’s chasing a mole inside the FBI who could be anyone. And now she’s taking risks that put her directly in Volkov’s crosshairs.”

“She’s trying to find answers,” I say, my voice tight. “Can you blame her for that?”

“No,” Rurik says quietly. “But we can’t protect her if she won’t let us.”

The words hit harder than I expect. Because he’s right. Emma is brilliant, brave, and stubborn as hell. But she’s also reckless in ways that terrify me. She walks into danger like she has nothing to lose, and maybe that was true when she was just an FBI agent chasing a case. But now she’s ours. She belongs to us. And if something happens to her, it won’t just destroy her. It’ll destroy all of us.

“The other families are watching,” Eduard says. “They know she’s FBI. They know Volkov wants her. Every move she makes, every risk she takes, it reflects on us.”

“So what are you suggesting?” I demand. “We lock her in a room? Chain her to the bed? Treat her like a prisoner? Again?”

“I’m suggesting we make her understand the stakes,” Eduard says. “Before it’s too late.”

I want to argue and defend Emma. I want to insist she’ll come around, that she just needs time to adjust. But the truth is, I don’t know if that’s true. Emma has been fighting since the moment we brought her here. I’m not sure she knows how to stop.

Rurik is quiet for a long moment, his pale eyes distant. Then he speaks, his voice low and controlled. “Is Emma becoming more of a liability than an asset?”

34

EMMA

Two days of silence feels like two weeks.

I’ve shared meals with Rurik, Eduard, and Artur in the smaller dining room, the four of us seated around the table like we’re playing at being a normal family. But the tension is thick enough to choke on. They pass dishes without speaking. I eat without tasting. The only sounds are silverware against plates and the occasional clearing of a throat.

I’m still pissed about what Artur said. The reminder that I was captured and sold at a bride auction cuts deeper than it should because he’s right. I walked into that warehouse thinking I was invincible, and I ended up chained on a stage while men bid on me like I was livestock.

But I hate admitting he has a point.

The truth is my life has changed in ways I’m still trying to process. I can’t protect myself the way I used to. I’m not an FBI agent with backup and resources anymore. I’m officially dead, living in a Bratva estate, surrounded by criminals who would killme without hesitation if the three men sitting across from me decided I wasn’t worth protecting.

That realization sits heavy in my chest as I push eggs around my plate Sunday morning.

Eduard glances at me, his gray eyes cautious. Rurik’s pale blue gaze flicks in my direction before returning to his coffee. Artur leans back in his chair, his dark eyes watching me with that familiar mix of amusement and disappointment.