48. Rurik
RURIK
I stand at the window in my office, watching the convoy of SUVs pull through the estate gates.
My men move between the vehicles, opening doors and helping women step out onto the gravel drive.
Even from this distance, I can see the fear written across their faces, the way they huddle together like prey animals expecting another predator.
I still can’t believe I was instrumental in helping the FBI shut down the bride auction.
The thought sits uncomfortably in my chest. I wasn’t upset that the auction was closed. I’d never approved of what it had become, the trafficking and exploitation that corrupted what was once a sacred tradition. But helping the cops? That was new. And not something I’d be making a habit of doing.
But this was different. This was the bride auction that even our fathers didn’t agree with. The one that drove a wedge between them and ultimately contributed to their deaths. Shutting it down felt like finishing what they started, like honoring their memory in a way that actually mattered.
And it was Emma’s idea, which made it impossible to refuse.
I watch another woman emerge from the second vehicle, her blonde hair tangled and her clothes wrinkled from days of captivity.
She looks around the estate with wide, terrified eyes, probably expecting another cage.
My jaw tightens. These women have been through hell, and now they’re here because Emma convinced me that bringing them to a Bratva stronghold was somehow the compassionate choice.
The crazy thing is, she’s right.
If we’d immediately turned them over to the FBI, they’d face hours, maybe days of questioning. Interrogations disguised as interviews. Bureaucratic processing that treats them like evidence instead of victims. Emma didn’t want to subject them to that, not after everything they’d already endured.
So instead, they’re here. In my home. Under my protection.
I turn from the window and head downstairs, my boots echoing against marble floors.
The main room has been prepared for this, with furniture rearranged to create comfortable seating areas instead of the formal setup we usually maintain.
Staff members move quietly through the space, setting out water, coffee, and food.
The women are already being ushered inside when I arrive.
I count twelve of them, ranging in age from maybe twenty to mid-thirties.
They look exhausted, relieved, and terrified all at once as they’re guided to the various couches and chairs.
Some sit immediately, their legs giving out from exhaustion.
Others remain standing, backs pressed against walls, eyes darting toward exits.
Krystal is there, moving among them with gentle confidence. She’s wearing a cream-colored sweater that makes her look approachable and safe. She crouches beside one of the younger women, speaking quietly, her hand resting lightly on the girl’s shoulder.
“You’re safe now,” Krystal says, her voice carrying across the room. “I know you’re scared. I know you don’t know what’s happening. But I promise you, no one here is going to hurt you.”
Several women look at her with desperate hope, wanting to believe but too traumatized to trust easily. One woman, dark-haired and maybe thirty, speaks up in heavily accented English.
“Where are we? Who are you people?”
Krystal straightens, her hazel eyes warm and steady. “My name is Krystal. I was taken by the same auction network that took you. I know what you’ve been through because I lived it.”
The admission ripples through the room. Women who were staring at the floor look up. The ones pressed against walls shift slightly forward. Krystal has their attention now, their trust beginning to form.
“The people who run this estate helped rescue me,” Krystal continues. “And now they’re helping you. You’re not prisoners here. You’re guests. We’re going to make sure you’re safe, fed, and cared for while we figure out what comes next.”
I lean against the doorframe, watching Krystal work.
She’s good at this, better than I expected.
The warmth in her voice, the way she moves among the women without crowding them, and the careful balance of honesty and reassurance.
She’s found her purpose, I realize. This is what she wants to do with her freedom.
My gaze shifts to Emma, standing off to the side near the windows.
She’s wearing dark jeans that hug her ass perfectly and a loose black sweater that hides the small bump of her pregnancy.
Her dark hair is pulled back in that practical braid, and there’s a slight, satisfied smile on her face as she watches Krystal interact with the rescued women.
This had been her plan all along, I realize. She set this up because Krystal wants to help these women, and Emma wanted to give her best friend a purpose.
The pieces click together with sudden clarity.
The conversations over the past two weeks about what to do with the women once the auction was shut down.
Eduard mentioning funding for an underground network to help trafficked victims. Krystal’s quiet determination to turn her trauma into something useful.
Emma orchestrated all of it. She saw what Krystal needed before Krystal fully understood it herself, and she made it happen.
I’m pleased that it’s not just talk. The three of us may be into a lot of dangerous and illegal things, but harming women has never been one of them.
This feels right. Like we’re actually doing something good instead of just protecting our own interests.
I can’t believe how good it feels to do something legal and not criminal.
The pride and satisfaction as I look at the women brings a warmth to my heart that I usually only feel around Emma.
Emma’s gray-green eyes find mine across the room, and something passes between us. Understanding, maybe. Or pride. She knows I see what she’s done, and she’s waiting to see if I approve.
I nod once, and her smile widens slightly.
Krystal continues speaking to the group, explaining that they’ll each be given private rooms, medical attention if needed, and time to rest before any decisions need to be made about their futures.
Some women start crying, the relief finally breaking through their fear. Others remain silent, still processing.
One of the younger women, maybe twenty-two with red hair and freckles, raises her hand tentatively. “What happens after? Where do we go?”
Krystal’s expression softens. “That’s up to you. Some of you might have families you want to return to. Others might need new identities and fresh starts. We’re going to help with whatever you need. There’s no pressure, no timeline. You take as long as you need to heal.”
“And the men who took us?” another woman asks, her voice hard with anger. “What happens to them?”
“They’re being dealt with,” I say, my voice cutting through the room.
Every head turns toward me. Some women flinch at my size and presence. Others just stare, trying to figure out if I’m a threat.
“The auction network has been dismantled,” I continue, keeping my tone calm and controlled. “The organizers are either dead or in federal custody. The buyers who participated are being hunted down. You won’t see any of them again.”
It’s mostly true. The FBI has the main organizers, and we’ve been systematically eliminating the buyers who tried to run. Volkov is still out there somewhere, but he’s been quiet since we destroyed his empire. Probably hiding in whatever hole he crawled into after losing everything.
The red-haired woman nods slowly, some of the tension leaving her shoulders. “Thank you.”
I don’t know how to respond to that. I’m not used to being thanked for my business, so I just nod and step back, letting Krystal take over again.
Emma moves to stand beside me, her hand finding mine. Her fingers are warm and steady, and I squeeze gently.
“This was a good idea,” I murmur, low enough that only she can hear.
“Krystal needed this,” Emma says quietly. “She needed to turn what happened to her into something that helps others. And these women need someone who understands what they’ve been through.”
“You’re funding this operation?”
“Eduard is. With your approval.” She looks up at me, her gray-green eyes searching my face. “Is that okay?”
I think about the money we spend on weapons, bribes, and operations that serve no purpose beyond profit. Funding a network to help trafficked women feels like a better use of resources than half the shit we usually invest in.
“It’s more than okay,” I say.
Emma’s smile is genuine, reaching her eyes, and I feel a tug at my heart. She’s beautiful like this, passionate about something that matters.
I lean down and press a kiss to her temple, breathing in the clean scent of her shampoo. “You’re incredible, you know that?”
“I’m just doing what needs to be done.”
“That’s what makes you incredible.”
Krystal has the women organized now, staff members guiding small groups toward the guest wing where rooms have been prepared. The atmosphere in the main room has shifted from terrified to cautiously hopeful. It’s not perfect, but it’s progress.
One woman remains seated on the couch near the fireplace, her hands folded in her lap. She’s older than the others, maybe mid-thirties, with dark hair pulled back in a severe bun. Her posture is rigid, controlled, like she’s forcing herself to stay calm through sheer willpower.
Emma notices her too and crosses the room, settling into the chair across from the woman. “Hi. I’m Emma.”
The woman’s dark eyes assess Emma carefully. “Irina.”
“Are you okay, Irina? Do you need anything?”
“Information.” Irina’s accent is thick, Eastern European. “I need to know who was supposed to buy me.”
Emma’s expression shifts to something more professional, her FBI training kicking in. “Why?”
“Because I need to know if I’m still in danger.” Irina’s hands clench in her lap. “The auction was interrupted before the bidding finished. My buyer never claimed me. If he’s still out there, if he’s looking for me…”
“We’ll protect you,” Emma says firmly. “No one is going to hurt you here.”
“You don’t understand.” Irina’s voice drops to barely above a whisper. “My buyer was supposed to be Volkov.”
The name hits me like a punch to the gut.
I jerk my attention to Irina, my entire body going rigid. We haven’t heard from or seen Volkov since we took down his business. He’s supposed to be on the run and hiding, licking his wounds in whatever safe house he managed to reach before his enemies closed in.
But if he was bidding on women at the auction, if he was still actively participating in the network we just destroyed, that changes everything.
Emma’s gray-green eyes find mine across the room, and I see the same realization reflected in her face. Volkov isn’t hiding. He’s planning. And whatever he’s planning involves acquiring assets he can use against us.