Page 92 of Marked By the Mob

The weight of the moment presses down on me and I need space to breathe. To think. To process what just happened and what it means. What I just committed myself to.

“I should check on Krystal,” I say, my voice rougher than I intend.

Eduard nods and steps aside to let me pass. “We’ll be downstairs if you need us.”

I move past them into the hallway, acutely aware of their eyes following me. My shoulder throbs where the bullet grazed me, the bandage tight beneath my sweater. The pain is manageable, a dull ache that reminds me how close I came to dying today.

Someone shot at me. At us. You’d think I’d be more used to it, being an FBI agent. But I don’t think anyone ever gets used to it. Even Artur, Rurik, and Eduard, as many times as they’ve been shot at—and the ones doing the shooting—it still takes its toll on them.

Krystal’s room is at the end of the hallway, one of the guest suites the men prepared when they brought her here. I knock softly before fitting the key in the lock that Eduard gave me and pushing the door open.

She’s sitting on the edge of the bed, her honey-blonde hair falling loose around her shoulders. She looks up when I enter, her expression a mixture of relief and fear, and her eyes are red-rimmed.

“Emma.” She stands quickly, crossing the room to pull me into a careful hug. “Oh my god, I was so scared. When you went down, I thought…”

“I’m okay,” I assure her, returning the embrace. “It’s just a graze. The bullet barely touched me.”

She pulls back, her hands gripping my arms as she studies my face. “Who would do that? Who would shoot at you in broad daylight?”

A grimace pulls at my mouth. She didn’t grab the wounded area, but it still sent a shockwave of her. She jerks her hands away, her eyes widening. “I don’t know.” I move to sit on the bed, and she joins me. “But I’m going to find out.”

Krystal wraps her arms around herself, her delicate frame trembling slightly. “I need to go back to Volkov.”

The words hit me like a punch to the gut. “What? No. Krystal, you’re safe here.”

“Am I?” Her voice rises, panic threading through it. “Volkov is going to know I was brought here. He’s going to think I betrayed him. Do you have any idea what he’ll do to me?”

“He can’t touch you here,” I say firmly. “My guys won’t let him.”

She raises an eyebrow at the way I verbally claimed Rurik, Artur, and Eduard, but she doesn’t ask me about it.

“You don’t understand.” Krystal stands and starts pacing, her movements agitated. “Volkov doesn’t just kill people who betray him. He makes examples of them. He destroys everything they care about first.”

I watch her move across the room, my chest tight with guilt and frustration. I should have found her sooner. It shouldn’t have taken a year of searching and then being sold in a bride auction to find and rescue her.

“I want to stay,” she says suddenly, stopping near the window. “God, Emma, I want out of that life so badly. But I’m terrified of what he’ll do if I don’t go back.”

“Then stay,” I say, standing to face her. “We’ll protect you. All of us.”

Krystal’s laugh is bitter. “You can’t protect me from Volkov. No one can.”

“You’d be surprised what three Bratva bosses can do when they’re motivated.” I move closer, my voice softening. “Please, Krystal. Don’t go back to him.”

She turns to look at me, tears streaming down her face. “I don’t know if I’m strong enough to fight him.”

“You are.” I take her hands in mine, squeezing gently. “You’re one of the strongest people I know. You survived a year with him. You learned to play his game. Now it’s time to stop playing.”

For a long moment, she just stares at me. Then she nods slowly, wiping at her tears. “Okay. I’ll stay. For now.”

Relief floods through me and I pull her into another hug. “Thank you.”

We settle back onto the bed, the conversation shifting to safer ground. Or at least, what should be safer ground. But nothing about this situation is safe anymore.

“The bride auction,” I say carefully. “You said it connects to federal agencies. How deep does that go?”

Krystal’s expression darkens. “Deeper than you want to believe. The auction isn’t just about selling women, Emma. It’s about leverage, information, and control.”

“How, exactly?”