Page 50 of Forced to Marry the Bratva

“You’re going to be the death of me,” he rasps, and I can only smile, sated and breathless in his arms. There’s no place I’d rather be.

I come down from the high of our passion, acutely aware of the hard edge of the table digging into my back. But the discomfort is a distant second to the warmth and fullness of Damien inside me as he recovers, his body sheltering mine.

He nuzzles against my neck, the scrape of his stubble sending pleasant shivers down my spine. “So perfect,” he murmurs, lips tracing the flutter of my pulse. “So mine.”

A delicious thrill runs through me at his possessiveness. I never imagined I’d find such dark pleasure in being claimed, but Damien brings out a side of me I never knew existed.

I run my fingers through his hair, enjoying the play of muscle and sinew under my hands as he shifts against me. “Only yours,” I whisper back. “But we do have to get back to work.”

He growls at that, the sound vibrating against my skin. Slowly, he pulls out of me, his liquid dripping down my legs. He helps me clean up, and we get dressed.

We unlock the door and step out. “I’m going to get some coffee,” he tells me. “You coming?”

“Sure,” I say, but then I remember my pen drive. “Oh shoot. Would you mind bringing it for me? I’m going to get the pen drive from Seleena.”

He nods, and I begin to walk in the direction of Boris’s office. But before I can, I feel a hand wrench into mine rather painfully.

“What the—?” I begin, turning around.

And then, I freeze. I’m face to face with my father in an abandoned hallway. My good mood evaporates the instant I see him.

He pins me with a calculating look, eyes narrowing at my flushed cheeks and tousled hair. I fight not to fidget under his scrutiny, keeping my expression neutral. “Father. What are you doing here?”

“I came to speak with you,” he says coolly. “You’ve been avoiding my calls.”

Anger twinges in my chest at his words. It’s more than avoiding his calls. Just a week ago, when my first proposal was accepted, he had walked out of the meeting in rage. Since then, he hasn’t attended a single meeting.

His message was loud and clear: He doesn’t accept me in a position of power.

Yet, given all that, I haven’t meant to avoid him, not really. I’ve just been preoccupied—preoccupied with Damien. “I apologize. Things have been quite busy here.”

“Yes, I can see that.” His gaze turns sharp, piercing. “Tell me, Genevieve, how exactly are you keeping the Russo family’s interests in mind when you’re prancing around trying to make the Zolotovs richer?”

I bristle at the implication. “I don’t know what you mean. I would never do anything to jeopardize our family or business. Helping the Zolotovs doesn’t mean I’m not helping us. There’s enough room for a slice of the pie.”

“For a slice of the pie?” He contorts his face in sarcastic fury. “Who taught you to talk like that?”

I say nothing and avert my gaze. Damien’s made me so happy, so comfortable, that I’ve forgotten what it’s like to be around my father. No one makes me feel as small as this man does.

He takes a threatening step forward, pushing into my space, and I fight not to flinch away. “You seem far too comfortable here for my liking. Have you forgotten where your loyalties lie?”

“Of course not,” I say through gritted teeth. “But that doesn’t mean I can’t do my job.”

His eyes flash with anger. “Watch your tone with me, girl.”

I snap my mouth shut, fists clenching at my sides. I won’t give him the satisfaction of a retort as much as I ache to put him in his place.

“Perhaps I made a mistake, allowing you to take on such an important role,” he continues, almost idly. “Clearly, you need to be reined in and reminded of your duty.”

“There’s no need for that,” I say stiffly. “I know my responsibilities.”

“Do you?” He reaches out suddenly, grasping my chin in a bruising grip. I gasp at the flare of pain, stunned by his actions. “Because I’m not entirely sure you do. You’ve brought me no news.”

“Father, stop,” I plead, attempting to jerk away. He holds fast, fingers digging in cruelly. “You’re hurting me, and there simply isn’t any news to bring.”

“Liar,” he shouts, tone hard and unforgiving. The next thing I know, he raises his hand in the air and slaps it across my face, releasing me with a shove.

I stumble back a step, hand flying to my cheek. I stare at him with wide, wounded eyes, unable to believe he would lay hands on me so violently. Tears spring to my eyes, and never in my life have I felt this… broken.

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