32. Emma
EMMA
The knock on the bedroom door comes just after lunch, soft but insistent.
I’m alone in the suite, the laptop open in front of me while I chase another dead-end lead through FBI financial records.
The men left an hour ago for the meeting with the other pakhans.
My stomach is in knots, wondering what will happen.
Will the others demand access to me? Will a shootout happen?
I shake my head. There’s nothing I can do about it and sitting here worrying won’t change whatever is going to happen.
I cross the room and open the door to find one of the household staff, an older woman whose name I’ve never learned. She holds out a folded piece of paper, her expression carefully neutral.
“This was left at the service entrance for you,” she says in heavily accented English.
I take the note, my pulse quickening. The moment she leaves, I unfold it and read the neat handwriting I recognize immediately.
Emma, I need to see you. Today. There’s something you need to know about Volkov and the auction. Meet me at the coffee shop on Maple Street at 3 p.m. Please come alone. - Krystal
My hands shake slightly as I read it again. Krystal wants to meet. Today, while the men are gone and can’t stop me or insist on coming along. And can’t protect me either, a little voice inside my head warns.
I glance at the clock on the nightstand. It’s already two-thirty. If I’m going to make it, I need to leave now.
The smart thing would be to wait. Text Rurik, Eduard, or Artur and tell them about the message, letting them decide how to handle it.
But something in Krystal’s handwriting feels urgent, almost desperate.
And if I wait for the men to return, they’ll either refuse to let me go or insist on turning it into a full security operation that will scare Krystal away.
I grab my jacket and boots, my mind already made up. The guards who used to follow me everywhere are gone now. The men trust me enough to move through the estate freely, which means I can walk out the front door without anyone stopping me.
The realization hits me as I’m halfway down the main staircase. I could escape. Right here, right now. There’s nothing physically stopping me from leaving this estate and never coming back.
I pause on the landing, my hand gripping the polished railing.
The front entrance is visible below, sunlight streaming through the tall windows.
Beyond those doors is freedom. I could walk to the nearest main road, flag down a car, and be at FBI headquarters within an hour.
I could march into Langford’s office and demand answers.
I could be brought back to life, my missing and presumed dead status reversed with a single phone call.
But then what?
I still don’t know who the mole is. The evidence against Hayes doesn’t hold up under scrutiny, and Cole was just a scapegoat.
If I walk back into the Bureau now, whoever betrayed me will know I’m alive.
They’ll have time to cover their tracks, destroy evidence, and disappear into the bureaucracy before I can prove anything.
Staying here, staying dead, gives me an advantage. The mole thinks I’m gone. They think the investigation is closed. They’ve let their guard down, and that’s when people make mistakes.
I continue down the stairs, my boots clicking against marble floors. That’s the logical reason to stay. The strategic choice. But there’s another reason I don’t want to examine too closely.
I don’t want to leave my men.
The thought surfaces before I can stop it, uncomfortable and undeniable.
Rurik, Eduard, and Artur have become more than my captors.
In some odd way, they’ve become my family.
They protect me, take care of me, listen to me when I talk.
They are helping me track down the mole, and right now they are risking their very lives to protect me.
I shake my head and push through the front entrance before I can change my mind. The afternoon air is cool against my skin as I cross the courtyard toward the main gates. A guard stationed near the entrance straightens when he sees me approaching.
“I’m going out,” I say, keeping my voice casual.
He hesitates, clearly uncertain. “The bosses didn’t mention you’d be leaving today.”
“They know,” I lie smoothly. “I’m meeting someone in the city. I’ll be back before dinner.”
The guard studies my face for a long moment, then nods and opens the pedestrian gate beside the main vehicle entrance. I slip through before he can reconsider, my heart pounding as I walk down the tree-lined drive toward the street beyond.
The coffee shop Krystal mentioned is about two miles away. I flag down a taxi and give the driver the address, settling into the back seat as the estate disappears behind us. I pay for the trip with cash I swiped from Rurik’s desk.
The coffee shop is small and tucked between a bookstore and a dry cleaner, the kind of place that caters to neighborhood regulars rather than tourists.
I spot Krystal immediately through the front window, seated at a corner table with her back to the wall.
Her blonde hair is half up half down, and she’s wearing a cream-colored sweater that makes her look soft and approachable.
I push through the door and her hazel eyes find mine immediately. Relief flashes across her face, followed quickly by something that might be fear.
I cross to her table and sit down without ordering anything. “You said it was urgent.”
“It is.” Krystal’s hands wrap around her coffee cup, her fingers trembling slightly. “Thank you for coming. I wasn’t sure you would.”
“You’re my best friend,” I say quietly. “Of course I came.”
Her expression shifts, something painful flickering in her eyes. “I don’t know if I deserve that title anymore.”
“What are you talking about?”
Krystal takes a slow breath, her gaze dropping to the table. “I need to tell you about the past year. About what Volkov did to me. What he turned me into.”
I lean forward, my attention sharpening. “I’m listening.”
She starts talking, her voice low and controlled. She describes the night she was taken from that party, how she woke up in an unfamiliar room with no idea where she was or what had happened. Volkov appeared the next morning, calm and polite, explaining that she now belonged to him.
“He didn’t hurt me,” Krystal says, her fingers tightening around the cup. “Not physically. He never hit me or threatened violence. Everything he did was psychological.”
She explains how Volkov spent months teaching her to navigate elite social circles.
How to dress, the right way to speak, and how to read a room and identify the most powerful person in it.
He brought in tutors who taught her languages, etiquette, and the subtle art of gathering information without appearing to ask questions.
“He was turning me into someone new,” Krystal says, her voice hollow. “Someone who could move through his world without raising suspicion. Someone useful.”
My chest tightens as I listen. Volkov didn’t just kidnap her. He systematically broke down who she was and rebuilt her into a tool he could deploy. Just as the guys had warned me he would likely do.
“Why are you telling me this now?” I ask gently.
Krystal’s gaze lifts to meet mine. “Because I want you to understand that I’m not the same person you knew. I’ve learned to play the game, Emma. I’ve learned to smile and nod and pretend I’m exactly what Volkov wants me to be. But underneath all of it, I just want my life back.”
“Then let me help you,” I say immediately. “The men I’m with have resources. We can get you out.”
“It’s not that simple.” Krystal shakes her head. “Volkov has eyes everywhere. If I disappear, he’ll know. And he’ll come after everyone connected to me. Including you.”
Before I can respond, she continues, her voice dropping even lower. “There’s something else you need to know. About the auction.”
My pulse quickens. “What about it?”
“It’s not just about selling women,” Krystal says carefully.
“The auction functions as leverage exchange between the mafia and certain federal agencies. Women are purchased and trained to be placed strategically. They gather secrets, build relationships with targets, and report back to whoever owns them.”
The implications crash over me like ice water. “You’re saying the auction is an intelligence operation?”
“Partly.” Krystal’s fingers drum against the table. “Not all the women are used that way. Some are just sold for profit or personal use. But the high-value targets, the ones with specific skills or connections, they’re different. They’re assets.”
My mind races through everything I’ve learned over the past few weeks. The shell companies connected to the auction. The federal money flowing through Baltic Logistics. The way my investigation was shut down so quickly after I disappeared.
“I was supposed to be one of those assets,” I say slowly.
Krystal nods. “Volkov wanted you. He’d been tracking your investigation for months, watching you get closer to the auction network. When you went undercover, he saw an opportunity. An FBI agent with your training and access would be incredibly valuable if she could be turned.”
“But Rurik, Eduard, and Artur bought me first.”
“Exactly.” Krystal’s expression tightens. “You weren’t supposed to go to them. Volkov had arranged for one of his proxies to win the bidding. But your men threw ten million dollars on the table and fucked up his entire plan.”
The pieces click into place with sickening clarity. The other Bratva bosses demanding I be shared among the families. The pressure on Rurik, Eduard, and Artur to give me up. It’s not just about resources or tradition.
It’s Volkov.
“He’s behind the other bosses,” I say, my voice tight. “He’s the one pushing them to demand access to me.”
Krystal doesn’t deny it. “Volkov doesn’t give up on assets he wants. If he can’t own you directly, he’ll find another way to control you.”
I lean back in my chair, my hands curling into fists under the table. Everything I’ve been through, every betrayal and manipulation, leads back to one man. Aleksander Volkov orchestrated my capture, my sale, and now he’s trying to pry me away from the only people who’ve protected me.
“Why are you telling me this?” I ask quietly. “If Volkov finds out you warned me, he’ll kill you.”
Krystal’s hazel eyes fill with something that looks like genuine fear. “That’s the problem, Emma. He’s already suspicious.”
My stomach drops. “What do you mean?”
“He’s been watching me more closely lately. Asking questions about where I go and who I talk to. He knows we met at the club, and he knows I reached out to you again.” Krystal’s voice shakes slightly. “He’s testing me. Trying to figure out if I’m really loyal to him or if I’m playing my own game.”
“What did you tell him?”
“I told him I was trying to rebuild our friendship. That I wanted to stay connected to you because you might be useful someday.” She swallows hard. “He believed me. But now he’s demanding I prove it.”
The air between us grows heavy with unspoken implications. “Prove it how?”
Krystal’s hands tremble as she sets down her coffee cup. “He wants me to use our friendship to gather intelligence on Rurik, Eduard, and Artur. Their operations, weaknesses, and their plans. Everything.”