Page 61 of Forced to Marry the Bratva

My instincts tell me something is severely wrong. I notice several board members look around with confusion. This wasn’t on the agenda today.

“Let’s begin,” Damien announces, tapping a button on the sleek remote in his hand. The room is bathed in dim blue light as a series of graphs and figures appear on the projection screen. “As you can see, our profits have been steadily increasing over the past few months, which is excellent news for all involved.”

“Indeed,” one of the businessmen chimes in, eyeing the charts eagerly.

“Yet,” Damien stalls. “Not as good as they should be.”

“Whatever do you mean?” my father asks, his voice slow and careful.

Damien’s gaze flickers to mine for a split second, and I feel a cold shiver run down my spine. A knot tightens in my stomach as he addresses the room. “That’s precisely why we called this meeting today. We’ve conducted a thorough investigation into the matter and are prepared to share our findings.”

“Before we continue,” Boris interjects, “I just want to emphasize that we value transparency and honesty above all else within our organization.”

“Boris, would you care to present the results of the investigation?” Damien asks, handing him a folder filled with documents.

My hands tremble as I watch Boris take the folder, knowing that whatever lies within these pages could change everything within the organization. Do we have a traitor in our midst?

My heart races as Boris begins to speak. A secret account is siphoning money from the Zolotov business. The room seems to spin around me as Boris reads out the damning facts, each word feeling like a betrayal as he makes it clear that the evidence of embezzlement falls upon just one lone actor, my father: Gerald Russo.

The silence that follows is deafening. The board members exchange shocked glances while my father’s face drains of color. I can’t bear to meet his eyes; the hurt and disappointment are too much to bear.

“Mr. Russo,” Damien says, his voice cold and controlled. “You are hereby relieved of your position within this company, effective immediately. In other words, you’re fired.”

“Damien, please,” Gerald pleads, his voice cracking with emotion. “There must be some mistake.”

“Unfortunately, there’s no mistake,” Boris adds, his expression unyielding. “We have all the proof we need right here.”

As security escorts my father from the room, his eyes lock on mine, and I can’t help but feel my world crumbling around me.

I can barely breathe, my chest tightening as I stand in the aftermath of the meeting. Whispers and murmurs fill the room, but they sound distant, muted by the storm raging inside me. Anger, betrayal, hurt—they all twist and churn together, leaving me feeling sick and unsteady.

“Genevieve,” Damien calls out softly, reaching for my arm. “We need to talk.”

I jerk away from his touch, the very idea of him discussing anything with me right now making my skin crawl. He orchestrated this entire thing behind my back, only to reveal a bombshell in front of everyone, not caring about how it might affect me.

I only know one other man who would pull such a stunt: My father.

I realize then that I have lost all sense of the trust, truth, and communication I thought I shared with Damien. He’s become a strange, distorted version of my father, and I don’t like it one bit.

“Leave me alone!” I snap, my voice trembling. “Just… leave me alone.”

Without waiting for a response, I push past him and make my way to the exit of the boardroom, my steps quick and determined. My vision blurs with unshed tears, but I refuse to let them fall. Not here, not in front of everyone. I won’t give them that satisfaction.

Chapter 23 - Damien

My heart seizes when I walk to her office, and Genevieve isn’t at her desk. I’ve already checked the washroom, the cafeteria, and the printing room she sometimes takes a break in. I understand she’s upset, but it’s not like her to just… disappear.

I stride over to Mark, her second-in-command. “Have you seen Genevieve?”

He shakes his head, frowning. “I thought she was with you in the meeting.”

My hands curl into fists. No one has seen her since she left the meeting in anger. Where could she be hiding?

I check the entry and exit logs. She hasn’t tapped out. I begin to panic and call the security guards to ask them to search through the CCTV footage.

I can’t just wait around for them to call me back—I’m too impatient. With a curse, I turn and stalk down the hallway to the elevator, taking it to the floor of the security room. The guards straighten up when they saw me, confusion flickering over their faces.

“Sir?” one ventures.

---