33. Artur
ARTUR
The panic hits me like a fist to the gut the moment we confirm Emma isn’t anywhere in the estate.
I stand in the center of the bedroom we share, my hands curling into fists at my sides as I force myself to breathe.
The laptop sits open on the desk where she left it, the screen dark.
Her jacket is gone. Her boots are missing from the closet.
And the bed is cold, untouched since we left for the meeting hours ago.
“Where the fuck is she?” I say, my voice tight.
Eduard moves through the suite methodically, checking the bathroom, the sitting area, every corner like she might be hiding somewhere we haven’t looked. His gray eyes are hard, his jaw set in that way that means he’s controlling his temper through sheer force of will.
Rurik stands near the window, his phone pressed to his ear as he barks orders in Russian to the head of security. His pale blue eyes are cold and focused, but I can see the tension in his shoulders, the way his free hand curls into a fist against his thigh.
We’re all thinking the same thing. Where the hell did she go?
“The guards at the main gate say she left around two-thirty,” Rurik says, ending the call. “She told them she was meeting someone in the city and would be back before dinner.”
My pulse spikes. “And they just let her walk out?”
“She said we knew about it.” Rurik’s tone is flat, dangerous. “They believed her.”
I want to punch something. I want to drag those guards in here and make them explain why they didn’t verify her story before opening the fucking gate. But that won’t help us find Emma.
Eduard moves to the desk and opens the laptop, his fingers flying across the keyboard. “She was researching Hayes before we left. Financial records, meeting schedules, and internal memos.”
“Did she find something?” I ask, moving closer.
“Nothing that would make her leave without telling us.” Eduard’s jaw tightens as he scrolls through the browser history. “The last thing she accessed was a calendar entry showing Hayes meeting with the DOJ the day before her sting operation.”
Rurik crosses the room in three long strides, his expression unreadable. “She wouldn’t go back to the FBI. Not without proof of who betrayed her.”
“Then where?” I demand, my frustration boiling over. “Did she get grabbed? Did another family make a move while we were at the meeting?”
The thought chills my blood. If one of the other pakhans decided to take Emma while we were occupied, if they’re holding her somewhere, using her against us...
I force the thoughts away before they spiral. We need to focus. We need facts, not panic. Besides, our guards would have noticed something and they already said they watched her walk out of the gate, without anyone near her, to meet someone.
Eduard pulls out his phone and starts making calls, reaching out to contacts who might have seen something. Rurik sends messages to our intelligence network, asking for any reports of unusual activity near the estate or in the city. I pace the room, my mind racing through scenarios.
Did she run? The thought surfaces before I can stop it.
She had the opportunity. No guards following her, no one watching her every move.
She could have walked straight to FBI headquarters and turned herself in, declared herself alive, and brought the full weight of federal law enforcement down on us.
But that doesn’t fit. Emma wouldn’t abandon her investigation into the mole. She wouldn’t leave Krystal behind. And despite everything, despite the fact that we bought her at a fucking auction, I don’t think she’d leave us either.
Not without a damn good reason.
The door opens and one of the household staff appears. She looks nervous, her hands twisting together as she addresses Rurik.
“Sir, I heard Emma is missing. I think I might know something.”
Rurik’s attention snaps to her immediately. “Speak.”
“A message was delivered to her this afternoon. Through the service entrance. I brought it to her room myself.”
My pulse quickens. “What kind of message?”
“A note on a folded piece of paper. I didn’t read it, but she seemed…urgent after she opened it.”
Eduard moves closer, his gray eyes sharp. “Who delivered it?”
“I don’t know. It was left at the service gate with instructions to give it to Emma.”
Rurik’s jaw tightens. “Do you remember what time?”
“Around two o’clock, sir.”
Thirty minutes before Emma left. The timeline fits.
“Thank you,” Rurik says, dismissing her with a gesture. The moment she leaves, he turns to us. “Krystal.”
The name hangs in the air between us, heavy with implication. Of course it was Krystal. Who else would Emma drop everything for? Who else could convince her to leave the estate without telling us?
“Fuck,” I mutter, running a hand through my hair. “She went to meet her.”
Eduard’s expression darkens. “Alone. Without backup, and without even telling us where she was going.”
The anger builds in my chest, hot and sharp. Emma knows better than this. She’s FBI, trained to assess threats and plan operations. She knows Volkov is dangerous, that Krystal might be compromised, and that walking into an unsecured meeting is asking for trouble.
And she did it anyway.
“We need to find her,” I say, already moving toward the door.
Rurik’s hand catches my arm, stopping me. “We don’t know where she went.”
“Then we figure it out. We call every contact we have, check every location Krystal has been seen, and we don’t stop until we find her.”
Before Rurik can respond, the sound of the front door opening echoes through the estate. Footsteps click against marble floors, steady and unhurried.
Emma.
Relief floods through me so fast it makes my knees weak. Then the relief transforms into fury.
I’m down the stairs before I fully register moving, Eduard and Rurik right behind me. Emma appears in the main hallway, her jacket slung over one arm, her expression calm, like she just came back from a casual stroll instead of disappearing for hours without a word.
“Where the fuck have you been?” The words come out sharper than I intend, but I don’t care.
Emma’s green eyes narrow. “I went to meet Krystal.”
“Without telling us?” Eduard’s voice is controlled, but I can hear the anger underneath. “Without taking guards? Without even leaving a message about where you were going?”
“I left a note,” Emma says, her tone defensive.
“No, you didn’t,” Rurik says flatly. “We checked everywhere.”
Emma’s expression shifts, confusion flickering across her face. “I wrote it and left it on the desk in the bedroom. Right next to the laptop.”
I think about the desk, the laptop sitting open, the scattered papers. There was no note. Either Emma is lying or someone removed it before we got back.
“There was no note,” I say, my voice tight. “We tore this place apart looking for you. We thought you’d been taken.”
Emma’s jaw tightens. “I can take care of myself.”
The words ignite something dark in my chest. “Can you? Because last time you tried to take care of yourself, you ended up chained on an auction stage.”
Her face flushes with anger and maybe embarrassment. “That was different.”
“How?” I step closer, crowding into her space. “You walked into a trap then, and you walked into a potential trap today. The only difference is we weren’t there to pull you out this time.”
“I’m FBI,” Emma snaps. “I’ve been doing this job for years. I don’t need three overprotective criminals hovering over me every second.”
“You’re not FBI anymore,” Rurik says quietly, his pale eyes cold. “You’re officially dead. Which means you don’t have backup, resources, or authority. All you have is us.”
Emma’s hands curl into fists at her sides. “I didn’t ask for any of this.”
“No, you didn’t,” Eduard says, his voice gentler but no less firm. “But this is where you are. And walking out of this estate alone, without telling us where you’re going, puts you at risk. It puts all of us at risk.”
“I was meeting my best friend,” Emma says through clenched teeth. “Not staging a prison break.”
“Your best friend works for Aleksander Volkov,” I remind her.
Emma’s expression shifts, something defensive flickering in her eyes. “Krystal wouldn’t hurt me.”
“Maybe not willingly,” Rurik says. “But Volkov is very good at making people do what he wants.”
The silence that follows is heavy, charged with everything we’re not saying. Emma knows we’re right. I can see it in the way her shoulders tense and how she won’t quite meet our eyes. But she’s too stubborn to admit it.
“I’m going to my room,” she says finally, her voice tight.
“Our room,” I correct. “You don’t get your own space anymore, remember?”
Her gray-green eyes flash with fury. “Fine. I’m going to our room. Happy?”
She doesn’t wait for an answer. She just turns and storms up the stairs, her boots clicking against marble with sharp, angry strikes.
I watch her go, my chest tight with conflicting emotions.
Relief that she’s safe. Fury that she put herself at risk.
And underneath it all, fear that we’re losing control of a situation that was already precarious.
Eduard exhales slowly. “That went well.”
“She’s going to get herself killed,” I mutter.
Rurik’s pale eyes follow Emma’s retreating figure until she disappears down the hallway. “Or worse.”
We move to the study without discussion, the three of us settling into familiar positions. Rurik behind the desk, Eduard near the window, and me pacing the length of the room because I can’t sit still.
“We need to talk about this,” Eduard says quietly.
“About what?” I ask, though I already know.
“About Emma.” Eduard’s gray eyes are serious. “About what she’s becoming.”
I stop pacing and turn to face him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means she was supposed to help us unite the families,” Rurik says, his voice flat. “She was supposed to be the foundation of our alliance, the woman strong enough to stand beside all three of us and bridge the gaps our fathers left behind.”
“She still can be,” I argue.
“Can she?” Eduard leans against the window frame, his arms crossed. “She’s obsessed with saving Krystal, who may or may not want to be saved. She’s chasing a mole inside the FBI who could be anyone. And now she’s taking risks that put her directly in Volkov’s crosshairs.”
“She’s trying to find answers,” I say, my voice tight. “Can you blame her for that?”
“No,” Rurik says quietly. “But we can’t protect her if she won’t let us.”
The words hit harder than I expect. Because he’s right.
Emma is brilliant, brave, and stubborn as hell.
But she’s also reckless in ways that terrify me.
She walks into danger like she has nothing to lose, and maybe that was true when she was just an FBI agent chasing a case.
But now she’s ours. She belongs to us. And if something happens to her, it won’t just destroy her. It’ll destroy all of us.
“The other families are watching,” Eduard says. “They know she’s FBI. They know Volkov wants her. Every move she makes, every risk she takes, it reflects on us.”
“So what are you suggesting?” I demand. “We lock her in a room? Chain her to the bed? Treat her like a prisoner? Again?”
“I’m suggesting we make her understand the stakes,” Eduard says. “Before it’s too late.”
I want to argue and defend Emma. I want to insist she’ll come around, that she just needs time to adjust. But the truth is, I don’t know if that’s true. Emma has been fighting since the moment we brought her here. I’m not sure she knows how to stop.
Rurik is quiet for a long moment, his pale eyes distant. Then he speaks, his voice low and controlled. “Is Emma becoming more of a liability than an asset?”