Page 87 of Marked By the Mob

I grab my jacket and check my phone one more time. One forty-five. I need to leave now if I’m going to make it on time.

Eduard walks me downstairs, his hand never leaving my back. At the front entrance, he pauses and turns me to face him. His gray eyes are serious, searching mine.

“Come back,” he says quietly.

It’s not a command. It’s a request. Maybe even a plea.

“I will,” I promise.

His mouth finds mine in a kiss that’s gentle and possessive at the same time. When he pulls back, his thumb brushes across my lower lip.

“We’ll be watching,” he murmurs.

Then I’m out the door and crossing the courtyard toward the main gate. The afternoon sun is warm against my skin. It’s almost peaceful, if I ignore the armed guards stationed at regular intervals and the cameras tracking my every movement.

The taxi I called is waiting outside the gate. I slide into the back seat and give the driver the address. As we pull away from the estate, I watch it disappear in the side mirror. The stone walls, manicured grounds, and the fortress that’s become something dangerously close to home.

I force myself to look away and focus on the meeting ahead.

The café on Birch Street is small and quiet. And empty. I arrive five minutes early and choose a table near the back with a clear view of the entrance. Old habits from my training kick in automatically. Always know your exits. Always position yourself where you can see threats coming.

Krystal arrives exactly on time, her honey-blonde hair falling in styled waves down her back. She’s wearing a light blue dressthat makes her look soft and approachable, the kind of outfit that draws no attention. But I notice the way her hazel eyes scan the café before she sits down, the practiced ease with which she positions herself so her back isn’t to the door.

Volkov has trained her well.

“Hey,” she says, her voice warm but cautious.

“Hey,” I reply.

We order coffee from a server who looks bored and distracted. The moment she leaves, Krystal leans forward slightly.

“I don’t have much time,” she says quietly. “Volkov thinks I’m shopping.”

“Then let’s make this quick.” I pull out my phone and pretend to show her photos while I recite the information Rurik, Eduard, and Artur gave me.

Krystal listens carefully, her expression neutral. When I finish, she nods once. “I’ll pass it along,” she says. “But Emma, you need to be careful. Volkov is getting impatient. He wants you, and he’s not going to stop pushing until he gets what he wants.”

“I know,” I say. “The men I’m with won’t let that happen.”

Something flickers across Krystal’s face. Concern, maybe. Or doubt. “Are you sure about that? Are you sure they’re protecting you and not just keeping you for themselves?”

The question hits harder than it should. “I’m sure.”

Am I, though? The doubt creeps in despite my certainty. What if I’m wrong about them? What if this whole thing is just another form of captivity dressed up as protection?

No. I push the thoughts away. I’ve seen how they look at me. Felt how they touch me. Whatever this is between us, it’s real. Complicated and fucked up, but real.

Krystal reaches across the table and squeezes my hand. “I just want you to be safe.”

“I want the same for you,” I say quietly. “Come with me. Right now. We can get you out.”

She shakes her head, her expression sad. “Not yet. I’m close to something, Emma. Something big. If I can just hold on a little longer, I might be able to bring down Volkov’s entire operation.”

Before I can respond, before I can tell her it’s not worth the risk, a sharp crack splits the air.

The sound registers a split second before the impact. Something slams into my shoulder with enough force to knock me sideways out of my chair. I hit the floor hard, my head cracking against the tile.

Pain explodes through my upper body, white-hot and overwhelming. I try to breathe, but my lungs won’t cooperate. My vision blurs, and I taste copper.