17. Emma
EMMA
The name hangs in the air between us like a loaded weapon. Baltic Logistics.
I force my expression to remain neutral even as my pulse hammers against my ribs. The captain is still talking to Artur about shipping schedules and delivery windows.
I curl my fingers into loose fists at my sides, willing them not to shake. My breathing stays even through sheer force of will, the kind of control that comes from years of training and interrogations where showing emotion means losing ground.
Baltic Logistics handled security and transportation the night Krystal disappeared.
I spent weeks tracking down that connection, following financial records and witness statements until I found the company’s name buried in event planning documents.
They provided the private security detail for the party Krystal attended.
They coordinated guest transportation. They controlled who came in and who left.
And somewhere in that carefully managed chaos, my best friend vanished.
The captain finishes his report and walks away, leaving the three of us standing in the afternoon sunlight.
I can feel Rurik’s pale eyes on me, studying my reaction with that unnerving intensity he always has.
Eduard shifts his weight slightly, his gray eyes tracking my face.
Artur leans against the stone wall, his dark gaze sharp despite the casual posture.
They all noticed my reaction. Of course they did. These men don’t miss anything, damn it.
I need to play this carefully. Too much interest and they’ll shut me out. Too little and I’ll lose the opportunity to learn more. I take a slow breath and let curiosity color my voice instead of desperation.
“How often do you do business with them?” I ask, keeping my tone light and conversational.
Artur’s lips curve into that crooked smile that usually means he’s amused by something I’ve said.
“Baltic Logistics? They move freight for half the networks operating between Europe and the States. We use them maybe three or four times a year when we need something transported through their routes.”
“What kind of something?” I press gently.
Eduard answers this time, his voice calm and measured. “Routine cargo. Electronics, luxury goods, and sometimes raw materials for construction projects. Nothing that draws attention from customs or port authority.”
I nod like this makes perfect sense, like I’m not cataloging every word for later analysis. “And the shipment coming this week?”
“Standard delivery through the port.” Rurik’s tone is flat, giving nothing away. “It arrives Thursday morning.”
Thursday. Three days from now.
The three men exchange a look I can’t quite read. It’s quick, barely a flicker of eye contact, but I catch it anyway. Something about Baltic Logistics makes them cautious. Whether that’s because they suspect the company is compromised or because they know more than they’re saying, I can’t tell yet.
“You should rest,” Eduard says, effectively ending the conversation. “It’s been a long day.”
I want to argue, want to push for more information, but I recognize a dismissal when I hear one. Instead, I nod and turn, feeling their eyes on my back as I walk away, two guards appearing from nowhere to follow me.
Back in my room, I shower away the afternoon dust and change into fresh clothes. The hot water helps settle my racing thoughts, though it does nothing to ease the tension coiled in my chest. The connection I’ve been chasing for a year is suddenly, impossibly real.
I spend an hour lying on the bed, staring at the ceiling, running through everything I know.
The dates, names, and pieces that don’t quite fit together yet.
My mind circles back to the meaningful glances between the three men when I asked about the shipment.
They know something. Or they’re about to receive something that matters.
By the time I leave my room, the afternoon light has shifted.
The house is quieter now, the men presumably still occupied with their business outside or scattered throughout the estate.
I find myself drawn to the library on the second floor, tucked into the eastern wing, where I know the quiet will help me think.
The library is massive, with floor-to-ceiling shelves packed with books in multiple languages. Leather chairs sit near the tall windows where afternoon light streams through, and a heavy wooden desk dominates one corner.
Eduard is already there when I arrive, seated at the desk with shipping manifests spread across the surface. He glances up when I enter, his gray eyes warm despite the serious set of his jaw.
“Couldn’t stay away?” His voice carries a hint of amusement.
“Needed somewhere quiet.” I move to the shelves, running my fingers along the spines. Most of the titles are in Russian, Cyrillic letters that I can’t fully read. But some are in English, and I recognize several books about organized crime history.
Eduard watches me for a moment then returns his attention to the documents in front of him. The scratch of his pen against paper fills the silence as he makes notes in the margins.
I pull a book from the shelf at random. It’s a history of the Russian Bratva families, thick and well-worn. The pages fall open to a section about territorial disputes in the 1990s, complete with photographs of men in expensive suits standing beside luxury cars.
“Looking for something specific?” Eduard asks without looking up.
“Just curious.” I flip through the pages, studying the images. “Trying to understand the world I’ve landed in.”
He sets down his pen and leans back in his chair, his broad shoulders relaxing slightly. “That book won’t tell you much about the current landscape. Most of those families are gone now. Absorbed by larger organizations or destroyed in the wars that followed the Soviet collapse.”
“What about your families?” I close the book and turn to face him. “The three of you rebuilt after your fathers died. How did you manage it without getting swallowed up?”
Eduard is quiet for a moment, his gaze distant. “We were careful. We made alliances where we could and eliminated threats when we had to. And we stayed united, even when our fathers’ deaths could have torn us apart.”
I move closer to the desk, drawn by the honesty in his voice. “The other families didn’t try to take your territories?”
“They tried.” His lips curve slightly. “We made sure they regretted it.”
The casual way he says it sends a chill down my spine. These men have killed to protect what’s theirs. I already knew that intellectually, but hearing it stated so plainly makes it real in a way that’s hard to ignore.
I gesture to the manifests on his desk. “Is that for the Baltic Logistics shipment?”
“Part of it.” He slides one of the documents toward me. “We coordinate with several companies for different routes. Baltic handles the European connections.”
I study the manifest, noting the listed cargo and delivery schedules. Everything looks legitimate on the surface, the kind of paperwork that would pass inspection without raising flags. But I know how these operations work. The real cargo is never listed on official documents.
“What are you actually moving?” I ask quietly.
Eduard’s gray eyes meet mine, assessing. “Does it matter?”
“It might.” I set the manifest down carefully. “If I’m going to be stuck here, I’d rather know what I’m stuck in the middle of.”
He considers this for a long moment, his fingers drumming against the desk. Then he stands and moves to the window, looking out over the estate grounds.
“We move money mostly,” he says finally. “Cash that needs to be cleaned and redistributed through legitimate businesses. Sometimes we transport high-value items that can’t go through normal channels. Art, jewelry, things that are easier to sell overseas.”
“And women?” The question comes out sharper than I intended.
Eduard turns to face me, his expression hardening. “No. That’s a line we don’t cross.”
“But you know people who do.” I step closer, my heart pounding. “The auction where you bought me. You were there. You participated.”
“We were there to find you,” he says quietly. “Or someone like you. Not to support what those bastards do.”
The admission catches me off guard. I want to believe him, want to think that these men are somehow different from the criminals who traffic women across borders. But I’ve seen too much and know too much about how these networks operate.
“Baltic Logistics,” I say, changing direction. “They’re connected to more than just shipping, aren’t they?”
Eduard’s jaw tightens. “Yes.”
“Are they moving people? The last confirmed place Krystal was seen alive was at a private party where Baltic Logistics controlled who came in and who left,” I repeat, crossing my arms. I’m suddenly cold despite the warm afternoon light.
“I could be them. I’ve been chasing that connection for months, and now I find out you do business with them. ”
Eduard moves back to the desk, his movements careful and controlled. “Emma, you need to understand something. Baltic Logistics works with dozens of criminal organizations across multiple countries. If they were involved in your friend’s disappearance, it could have been for any number of clients.”
“I know that.” My voice is tight. “But it’s the first real lead I’ve had in a year… Well, other than the bride auction, of course.”
“And if you go after them too hard, too fast, you’ll start a conflict with every syndicate that uses their services.” Eduard’s tone is gentle but firm. “Including some that would make what happened at that auction look like a fucking picnic.”
The warning is clear. Whatever I’m thinking about doing, it’s dangerous. Not just for me, but potentially for the three men who bought me.
I should care about that. Should factor their safety into my calculations. But all I can think about is Krystal’s face the last time I saw her, bright and trusting and so damn naive about the world she was walking into.
“I have to know what happened to her,” I say quietly.
Eduard nods slowly. “I understand. But you need to be smart about how you find out.”
We stand in silence for a moment, the weight of unspoken things pressing down between us. Then Eduard returns to his work and I move back to the bookshelves, pretending to browse while my mind races.
I flip through pages without really seeing them, my thoughts spinning.
If Baltic Logistics is delivering something to this estate on Thursday, it might be my first real chance to find out what happened to Krystal.
But Eduard is right about the risk. If I push too hard and the wrong people notice, it could trigger exactly the kind of violence these men have been trying to avoid.
I close the book and slide it back onto the shelf, my decision already made. I’ll be careful. I’ll be smart. But I’m not going to let this opportunity pass.
As I leave the library, Eduard calls after me. “Emma.”
I pause in the doorway and turn back.
“Whatever you’re planning,” he says quietly, “don’t do it alone.”
I don’t answer. I just nod once and step into the hallway, pulling the door closed behind me.
The corridor is empty except for two guards, afternoon light slanting through the windows and casting long shadows across the marble floor. I start walking toward the main staircase, my mind already working through possibilities and scenarios.
Then I stop.
The realization hits me so suddenly, I have to brace one hand against the wall.
If the same company connected to Krystal’s disappearance is delivering something to this estate later this week, it’s not just an opportunity to gather information. It’s a direct link between my best friend’s kidnapping and the three men who now claim to own me.
Which means either they know more than they’re telling me or we’re all caught in something much bigger and more dangerous than any of us realized.