31. Rurik
RURIK
The morning light cuts through the bedroom windows in sharp angles, illuminating Emma’s face as she sleeps beside me.
Her dark hair spreads across the pillow in waves, and her breathing is deep and even.
I watch the rise and fall of her breasts beneath the thin sheet, the soft curve of her waist, and feel something tighten in my chest that has nothing to do with desire.
Though there’s plenty of that too.
Eduard stirs on her other side, his arm draped possessively across her hip. Artur is sprawled in the recliner near the window, his dark eyes already open and watching my movements. He knows what today brings. We all do.
The other Bratva bosses want Emma. They see her as a resource that should be shared among the families, not kept by three men who’ve already broken tradition by uniting their operations.
The meeting this afternoon will determine whether we can hold our ground or whether we’ll be forced into a conflict that could tear apart everything we’ve built.
I slide out of bed carefully, not wanting to wake Emma yet.
She needs rest after spending most of the night digging through FBI files two nights ago, chasing leads that keep circling back to people she trusted.
The betrayal is eating at her. I can see it in the tight set of her shoulders and the way her hands curl into fists even in sleep.
She’s ours to protect now. And I’ll kill every fucking Bratva family member before I let them take her.
Eduard joins me in the bathroom, his expression serious as we go through our morning routine in silence. The unspoken understanding between us is clear. Today we draw a line, and we defend it no matter the cost.
By the time we return to the bedroom, Emma is awake. She sits up against the headboard, the sheet pooled around her waist, leaving her bare from the waist up. My gaze drops to her full breasts, the dusky pink of her nipples, and heat floods through me.
“Morning,” she says, her voice still rough with sleep.
“Morning, sweetheart,” Artur replies from the recliner, his crooked grin firmly in place despite everything.
“Don’t call me that,” Emma mutters.
I move to the bed and sit on the edge, my hand finding her thigh beneath the sheet. “We need to talk about today.”
Her eyes sharpen immediately, all traces of sleep vanishing. “What’s happening?”
“We have a meeting with the other Bratva bosses,” Eduard says, pulling on a fresh shirt. “About them demanding access to you.”
Emma’s jaw tightens. “And you’re going to tell them no.”
“We’re going to make it very fucking clear that you belong to us,” I say flatly. “Not them. Not anyone else. Us.”
She studies my face for a long moment, looking for the truth in my expression. But I can’t lie to her, and she’s too smart to believe comfortable words anyway.
“What if they don’t accept that?” she asks quietly.
“Then we deal with the consequences.” I stand and move to the closet, pulling out a dark suit. “But you’re not leaving this estate. Not today.”
I expect her to argue, to demand she be part of the meeting or at least have a say in what happens.
Instead, she just nods once and slides out of bed, completely naked and unselfconscious as she walks to the bathroom.
My gaze drops to the curve of her ass and the way her hips sway with each step.
I have to force myself to focus on getting dressed instead of following her.
Breakfast is tense. We gather in the smaller dining room, the four of us seated around the table while staff brings food. Emma picks at her eggs, her attention drifting to the laptop we’ve left on the side table.
“You can use it,” I say, drawing her gaze. “But with restrictions.”
Her eyebrows rise. “What kind of restrictions?”
“No outgoing communications,” Eduard explains. “You can search, read, and download files. But you can’t send emails, messages, or access any platform that would alert the Bureau you’re still alive.”
Emma’s expression shifts from curious to frustrated. “That limits what I can do.”
“It keeps you safe,” Artur counters. “If the wrong people realize you’re accessing FBI systems, they’ll come looking. And we can’t protect you if we don’t know who’s hunting you.”
The set of her jaw and the way her fingers tighten around her fork tell me she wants to argue. But after a moment, she nods. “Fine. I’ll work within the restrictions.”
“Good.” I finish my coffee and stand. “We leave in an hour. You stay here with the guards.”
“I know the drill,” Emma says, her tone dry.
I move around the table and cup her face in my hands, tilting her head back so she has to meet my eyes. “We’ll be back before dark. Don’t do anything stupid while we’re gone.”
Her lips curve into a small smile. “Define stupid.”
“Anything that involves leaving this estate or contacting anyone outside it.” I lean down and kiss her, hard and possessively, claiming her mouth in a way that leaves no doubt who she belongs to.
When I pull back, her breathing is uneven and her pupils are dilated.
“Be careful,” she whispers.
“Always.”
The drive into the city is quiet. Eduard sits beside me in the back of the armored SUV while Artur rides up front with the driver. None of us speak, but the tension is thick enough to choke on. We’re heading into a meeting where the wrong word could ignite a war, and we all know it.
The location is neutral ground, a private club owned by one of the older Bratva families who’ve stayed out of the recent power struggles.
The building is elegant and understated, the kind of place where deals are made over expensive whiskey and cigars.
Security is tight, guards stationed at every entrance, their expressions carefully neutral as we’re escorted inside.
The meeting room is on the second floor, a large space with dark wood paneling and a long table that seats twenty.
Eight other bosses are already present when we arrive, their conversations dying the moment we enter.
I recognize most of them. All of them are watching us with expressions that range from curious to hostile.
We take our seats at the far end of the table, the three of us positioned so we can see the entire room.
Artur leans back in his chair with deceptive casualness, his dark eyes watching every movement.
Eduard sits forward slightly, his hands resting on the table, ready to move if needed.
I keep my expression neutral and controlled, giving nothing away of the anger and fear warring inside me.
One of the older pakhans speaks first, his voice carrying the weight of age and authority. “We’ve heard interesting rumors about your estate, Novikov. An FBI agent living under your protection.”
“Not rumors,” I say flatly. “Facts.”
Another leans forward, his thick fingers drumming against the table. “An FBI agent is a resource that belongs to all of us. She has training, intelligence, and access to federal systems. Keeping her to yourselves is selfish.”
“She’s not a resource,” Eduard says quietly, his gray eyes hard. “She’s ours.”
A pakhan sitting across from me laughs, sharp and bitter. “You bought her at auction, and now you think that gives you exclusive rights? The auction network serves all our families. What you purchase there should be shared.”
“We paid ten million dollars for her,” Artur says, his voice edged with steel. “That’s not a shared investment. That’s ownership.”
The room erupts. Voices rise in multiple languages, arguments overlapping as the bosses debate whether our claim is legitimate.
Some argue that the auction operates under collective rules, that high-value assets should be distributed among the families.
Others point out that we followed the bidding process and won fairly.
I let them argue for several minutes, watching the dynamics shift and alliances form. Then I stand, and the room falls silent.
“Emma Moore belongs to us,” I say, my voice cutting through the silence. “She’s not available for negotiation, trade, or shared access. Anyone who tries to take her will answer to all three of us.”
The older pakhan’s expression hardens. “You’re making enemies, Novikov.”
“We already have enemies,” I reply. “What’s a few more?”
He slams his hand against the table. “This is unacceptable. You can’t unite three families then hoard resources that could benefit all of us.”
“Watch us,” Artur says, his crooked grin dangerous.
The tension in the room thickens. Hands move subtly toward concealed weapons. Guards stationed along the walls shift their weight, ready to intervene. For a heartbeat, I think violence is inevitable.
Then another pakhan stands slowly, his pale eyes locked on mine. “You’re willing to go to war over one woman?”
“Yes,” I say without hesitation.
Eduard and Artur stand beside me, a united front. The message is clear. Anyone who comes for Emma comes for all three of us and our considerable, combined power.
The other bosses exchange glances, silent communication passing between them. Finally, the older pakhan nods once. “We’ll respect your claim. For now. But this conversation isn’t over.”
“It is,” I say flatly. “Emma Moore is off the table. Permanently.”
The meeting ends shortly after, the bosses filing out with barely concealed hostility. We remain seated until the room empties, then Eduard exhales slowly.
“That went better than expected,” he mutters.
“They’ll come for her eventually,” Artur says, his dark eyes following the last boss as he disappears through the door. “We just bought ourselves time.”
“Then we use it,” I say, standing. “We strengthen our defenses, tighten security, and make sure they understand the cost of crossing us.”
The drive back to the estate feels longer than it should. My mind races through contingencies, backup plans and ways to protect Emma without further locking her in a cage. She hates being treated like property, even if that’s technically what she is under Bratva law.
But she’s more than that to us. She’s a part of our family.
The woman the three of us agreed on and have feelings for.
I know I’m not the only one who has fallen under her spell.
I can see it in Eduard and Artur as well.
Emma is becoming more than a means to combine our families, she’s becoming a very important part of our family.
And each of us would die to protect her.
When we pull through the estate gates, everything looks normal. Guards at their posts. Lights on in the main house. The grounds quiet and secure.
We enter through the main entrance, and I head straight for the bedroom, expecting to find Emma at the laptop or maybe asleep after another long night of research.
The room is empty.
I check the bathroom. Nothing. The sitting area. Empty. My pulse quickens as I move through the suite, opening closets and checking every corner.
Eduard appears in the doorway, his expression tight. “She’s not in the library.”
Artur’s voice echoes from the hallway. “Not in the study either.”
I pull out my phone and call the head of security. “Where’s Emma?”
There’s a pause, then confusion in his voice. “Sir, I thought she was with you.”
My blood freezes in my veins. “Find her. Now.”
We tear through the estate, checking every room, every corridor, every possible hiding place. The guards report that no one left through the main gates. The perimeter sensors show no breaches. The security footage reveals nothing unusual.
Emma is simply gone.