Page 82 of Marked By the Mob

EMMA

Eduard brings the note over to the bed and I sit up eagerly, holding my hand out and wiggling my fingers, telling him to give me the damn note. He hesitates and exchanges a look between Rurik and Artur before handing it to me.

The message is simple, direct, and formal. As if it’s a legal communication between the FBI and one of their partners. It’s really just a simple line of text that says exactly what Eduard said it did, to give me quietly over to the FBI and in return they’ll receive immunity and trade concessions. But that’s not what has my heart pounding and a smile stretching across my face. It’s the letterhead that hasVictor Langford, Deputy Assistant Directoron it.

I sit up so fast the sheet falls away from my breasts, but I don’t care. My eyes scan the message again, my heart pounding harder with each word.

Relief floods through me so intense it makes my hands shake. Langford is trying to save me. My mentor, the man who’s been like family since I was sixteen, is negotiating my rescue. Hehasn’t given up on me. He’s moving Heaven and Earth to bring me home.

I turn to find all three of them watching me with identical expressions of wariness and disappointment.

“It’s from Langford,” I say, unable to keep the excitement from my voice. “He’s trying to negotiate my return. The FBI is offering immunity and trade concessions.”

Rurik’s expression doesn’t change, but something hardens in his gaze. He holds out his hand. “Let me see it.”

I hesitate for only a second before passing him the message. He reads it carefully, his jaw tightening with each line. Then he hands it to Artur, who’s now sitting up against the headboard.

“This isn’t a rescue,” Rurik says flatly. “This is containment.”

My stomach drops. “What are you talking about?”

Eduard reads the message twice, his gray eyes thoughtful. “The language is too vague. No specifics about extraction, no timeline, no verification protocols.”

“Because it’s encrypted,” I argue, my voice rising. “Langford can’t give details in case someone intercepts it.”

Artur passes the message back to me, his blue eyes cold. “If he wanted to rescue you, he’d use proper channels. Secure communication protocols you’d both recognize. This?” He gestures at the paper. “This is bait.”

“You don’t know him like I do.” My chest tightens with frustration. “Langford has been my mentor since I was sixteen. He’s like family. He would never hurt me.”

“Family doesn’t always mean safe,” Rurik says, his voice low and dangerous. “Especially when power and money are involved.”

“He’s trying to help me!” The words come out sharper than I intend. “You’re all so paranoid you can’t see someone actually trying to do the right thing.”

Eduard crosses his arms, his muscular frame blocking the doorway. “This isn’t even addressed to you, Emma. This is an offer to build an alliance with the FBI. There’s no hidden message. No promise of returning you to the FBI and clearing your name.”

“Maybe he’s still working out the details.” Even as I say it, doubt creeps into my voice, but I shove it down. “He needs time to coordinate everything.”

“He is trying to save his own ass,” Artur says quietly.

The words hit me like a slap. “Stop it. Just stop.” My hands clench into fists. “I know you don’t trust anyone outside your world, but Langford isn’t like that. He’s one of the good guys.”

Rurik’s jaw works, fighting to keep his temper in check. The muscles in his shoulders are taut beneath his shirt, and I remember how those shoulders feel under my hands. How safe I felt wrapped in his arms just hours ago. But right now that safety feels like a cage.

“Emma.” His voice softens slightly. “We’re trying to protect you.”

“By making me doubt the one person who’s always had my back?” I shake my head. “No. I won’t do it.”

The three of them exchange glances, some silent communication passing between them that I can’t decipher. Finally, Rurik exhales slowly.

“Fine.” He turns toward the door. “Believe what you want.”

Artur slides out of bed, his tall frame moving with predatory grace. He pauses beside me, his hand briefly touching my shoulder. The warmth of his palm seeps through my shirt, and despite my anger my body responds to his touch.

“Just be careful,” he warns.

Then they’re gone, leaving me alone with the message clutched in my trembling hands.

I spend the rest of the morning in the small office they’ve set up for me, diving back into my research. Work has always been my refuge, the place where everything makes sense. Numbers don’t lie. Data doesn’t betray.