26. Artur
ARTUR
I read the encrypted message for the third time, my thumb hovering over the screen as if staring at the words long enough will change what they say.
Tell Emma Moore I would like to meet her.
The photograph beneath the text shows Krystal Donnovan staring directly at the camera like she knows exactly who will see this image.
Rurik stands across the study near the window, his pale blue eyes fixed on something outside.
Eduard leans against the desk, arms crossed over his broad chest, his gray eyes thoughtful.
Emma is silent in her chair, a glazed look in her eyes.
None of them has spoken since I showed them the message five minutes ago.
The silence stretches until I can’t take it anymore.
“It’s a trap,” I say flatly, setting the phone down on the desk between us.
“Obviously,” Rurik replies without turning around.
Eduard shifts his weight, his jaw tight. “Volkov doesn’t make careless moves. If he’s allowing Krystal to reach out, it’s because he wants something.”
“Assuming Volkov is the one who purchased her,” I add. “Or he wants to see how we react.” He’s testing our defenses and figuring out how much Emma means to us.
The thought makes something dark twist in my chest. Emma has become more than just the woman we bought at that auction.
More than the FBI agent we’re keeping under guard.
She’s ours in ways that go deeper than ownership, and the idea of Volkov, or anyone, using that against us makes my blood heat with fury.
Rurik finally turns from the window, his expression unreadable. “It’s not happening.” His tone is flat and final.
Emma stands, her hands curling into fists at her sides. “What do you mean it’s not happening?”
“Exactly what I said.” Rurik’s pale eyes hold hers without wavering. “The meeting is a trap. Whoever bought her is using your friend to draw you out.”
“You don’t know that.”
“Yes, we do,” Eduard says gently, moving to stand beside Rurik. “Volkov never does something without a reason. If he’s letting Krystal reach out, it’s because he wants something from us.”
Emma’s jaw tightens, her breathing quickening. I can see the fury building in her eyes, the same fire that makes her so fucking dangerous and so goddamn attractive. “Krystal wouldn’t reach out unless she truly wanted help.”
“Or unless Volkov told her to,” I point out, leaning against the doorframe. “You said yourself he’s been training her for a year. Turning her into an asset he can deploy. This could be part of that.”
“No.” Emma shakes her head, her dark hair falling loose from its braid. “Krystal wouldn’t betray me. Not willingly.”
“Maybe not willingly,” Rurik says quietly. “But Volkov is very good at making people do what he wants.”
The words hang in the air between us, heavy with implication. “I have to see her,” Emma says, her voice tight. “I have to know she’s okay.”
“You can’t,” Eduard says firmly. “It’s too dangerous.”
“I don’t care about the danger.”
“We do,” I snap, pushing away from the doorframe. “You think we’re going to let you walk into a situation where Volkov controls every variable? Where he can take you the moment you step through the door?”
Emma’s eyes flash with anger. “You chose me because I was strong enough to survive your world. If that’s true, then you can’t expect me to sit quietly when my friend reaches out to me after all this time.”
The argument escalates quickly after that. Emma pushes harder, her voice rising as she reminds us that Krystal is the reason she infiltrated the auction in the first place. That she’s spent a year chasing this lead. That she won’t stop now just because it’s dangerous.
Rurik counters with cold logic, pointing out that Volkov has resources we don’t fully understand. Walking into his trap could get Emma killed or worse. We have a responsibility to protect her whether she likes it or not.
Eduard tries to mediate, suggesting we gather more intelligence before making any decisions. But Emma isn’t interested in waiting. She wants action. She wants answers. She wants her friend back.
I watch the three of them argue, my frustration building with each passing minute.
Part of me agrees with Rurik. The smart move is to shut this down completely.
But another part, the part that’s been drawn to Emma’s fire since the moment I saw her on that auction stage, understands why she’s fighting so hard.
If it were one of us, if Rurik or Eduard were the ones trapped in Volkov’s world, I’d burn everything to the ground to get them back. I wouldn’t care about the risks or the consequences. I’d just act.
Emma is doing the same thing. And as much as it terrifies me, I can’t help but respect her for it.
Finally, I exhale in frustration and hold up my hand. “Enough.”
The room goes quiet. Emma turns to face me, her chest heaving with barely controlled fury. Rurik’s jaw is tight, his pale eyes cold. Eduard looks between all of us, waiting.
“We agree to the meeting,” I say quietly.
“Artur—” Rurik starts, but I cut him off.
“Under strict conditions,” I continue, my gaze locked on Emma. “The location will be ours. Locked down and surrounded by our men. You go in, you talk to Krystal, and you get out. No deviations. No heroics. You follow our rules or the meeting doesn’t happen at all.”
Emma’s eyes narrow, searching my face for the trap. “And if I agree?”
“Then we make it happen,” Eduard says, nodding slowly. “But Artur’s right. We control every variable we can. Security, location, timing. Everything.”
Rurik is silent for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Then he nods once. “Two days. That gives us time to prepare.”
Emma’s shoulders relax slightly, though the tension doesn’t leave her completely. “Thank you.”
“Don’t thank us yet,” I mutter, already running through the logistics in my head. “This could still go to hell.”
Two days later, I stand in the private gallery we control on the east side of the city, watching guards take their positions with practiced efficiency. The space is small, elegant, and easy to secure. High ceilings, minimal exits, and clear sightlines from every angle.
I’ve personally overseen every detail. Guards are positioned outside, across the street, and in neighboring buildings. Snipers on rooftops. Surveillance cameras cover every approach. Communications equipment tested and retested until I’m satisfied nothing can go wrong.
Rurik moves through the gallery with quiet authority, checking each guard’s position and confirming their orders.
Eduard stands near the entrance, his gray eyes scanning the street beyond the tinted windows.
Emma waits in the center of the room, her arms crossed over her chest, tension obvious in the rigid set of her shoulders.
She’s wearing dark jeans and a fitted black sweater, her hair pulled back in that practical braid she favors. Her gray-green eyes are sharp and watchful, tracking every movement in the room.
I move to stand beside her, close enough that our shoulders brush. “You ready for this?”
“I’ve been ready for a year,” she says quietly.
“That’s not what I asked.”
She glances at me, and I see the fear beneath the determination. She’s terrified of what she might find. But she’s here anyway, because Emma Moore doesn’t back down from anything. It’s one of the things I love about her, even if it drives me fucking crazy.
The radio in my ear crackles. “Vehicle approaching from the south. Two occupants visible.” I straighten immediately, my hand going to the weapon concealed beneath my jacket.
Rurik moves closer to the window while Eduard positions himself near the door.
Emma doesn’t move, but I feel her entire body tense beside me.
“Let them through,” Rurik says into his radio. “But keep eyes on the vehicle.”
The next few minutes stretch like hours. I watch through the window as a black sedan pulls up to the curb, its tinted windows revealing nothing. The driver stays in the vehicle while the rear door opens.
Krystal Donnovan steps out.
I expected someone broken. Someone who looked like a victim, scared and desperate for rescue.
Instead, the woman who walks toward the gallery entrance is composed and elegant, dressed in a tailored cream dress.
Her honey-blonde hair falls in perfect waves down her back, and her movements are controlled, deliberate.
Two bodyguards follow several steps behind her, their expressions neutral but alert. Another remains by the vehicle, watching the street.
Emma’s breath catches beside me. “Oh my god.”
The door opens, and Krystal steps inside. Her hazel eyes sweep across the room, taking in the guards, the security measures, and the three of us standing protectively around Emma. Then her gaze settles on her friend, and something flickers across her face. Not quite emotion, but close.
“Emma,” she says quietly, her voice calm and measured.
Emma moves forward, her steps hesitant. “Krystal?”
They stand a few feet apart, and I watch Emma’s expression shift from relief to confusion to something that might be horror. This isn’t the reunion she expected. This isn’t the frightened friend she’s been trying to save.
Krystal’s bodyguards position themselves near the entrance, their hands resting casually near concealed weapons. I make eye contact with one of them, a silent acknowledgment that we’re all armed and ready to move if this goes sideways.
“You look good,” Emma says finally, her voice tight.
“So do you.” Krystal’s gaze flicks to me, then to Rurik and Eduard. “I see you’ve been busy.”
The comment carries an edge I don’t like. Emma’s jaw tightens, but she doesn’t respond to the provocation. “Why did you want to meet?”
Krystal is quiet for a moment, her expression carefully neutral.
Then she begins speaking in careful, deliberate sentences that sound rehearsed.
“I wanted you to know I’m okay. That I wasn’t discarded or killed.
Aleksander Volkov discovered early how close we were.
Instead of hiding me away, he kept me alive because I was useful. ”
Emma’s hands curl into fists at her sides. “Useful how?”
“He taught me how to move through elite circles. How to gather information without attracting attention. How to be an asset instead of a liability.” Krystal’s tone is matter-of-fact, like she’s describing a job instead of captivity.
The room goes silent. I watch Emma process the explanation, see the exact moment she understands what Krystal is really saying. Her best friend wasn’t rescued because she didn’t need rescuing. She was never meant to be discarded. She was meant to be leverage.
“You’re working for him,” Emma says quietly.
“I’m surviving,” Krystal corrects. “The same way you are.”
The comparison makes Emma flinch. I move closer, my hand finding the small of her back in a gesture meant to ground her. She doesn’t pull away, but I feel the tension radiating through her body.
Krystal glances at her bodyguards then back to Emma. “I should go. Aleksander doesn’t like me to be away too long.”
“Wait.” Emma steps forward, her voice desperate. “Come with me. We can protect you. We can—”
“I don’t need protection,” Krystal interrupts gently. “I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be.”
Emma flinches and her shoulders sag slightly, the fight draining out of her as reality settles in. This isn’t a rescue. This is a message.
Krystal moves toward the door, her bodyguards falling into step behind her. Then she pauses and turns back, her hazel eyes meeting Emma’s with an intensity that makes my pulse quicken.
“You were always the target,” she says calmly.