Page 62 of Forced to Marry the Bratva

“Found anything?”

“Still lookin’, boss,” another says.

I pace up and down, egging them on to hurry.

Finally, after what feels like an eternity of suspense, one of the security guards catches something on the footage. I watch as Genevieve sneaks out through a side door of the building, looking over her shoulder as if checking for any pursuers. She has somehow slipped past the guards at the entrance and the security cameras. How did she manage that?

I slam my hands on the desk, rattling the monitors. “How did she get out?” My voice is deceptively calm, at odds with the storm raging inside me. “How did you not notice?”

They exchange bewildered looks. “We never saw Mrs. Zolotov leave, sir,” one guard said. “The cameras at the side exits must have malfunctioned. Sometimes, the network connection drops from the wind and such.”

Malfunctioned? I lean closer, rage simmering under my skin. “Are you incompetent? All of you?” They shrink back, white-faced.

I turn on my heel and stalk out, running a hand through my hair. I rush to my office and lock myself in.

I don’t want to be disturbed. She’s my wife, and I’m going to find her. I will hunt her if I have to. I understand that she’s upset, but there’s no reason for her to storm out like that when we can sit and have a conversation like the mature adults we’re meant to be. I pick up my phone and call her.

***

I pace the length of my office, phone clutched in my hand as it rings for the tenth time. No answer. Just her voicemail, her soft voice telling me to leave a message.

“Dammit, Genevieve, pick up the phone!” I growl, resisting the urge to hurl the phone at the wall. “Where are you?”

Each minute that ticks by ratchets my anxiety higher. She is out there, alone, upset, and vulnerable, and I have no idea where she is or if she is safe. I should have never let her out of my sight.

I call the apartment building to check with the guards if she’s returned; she hasn’t. I call Gael, but he doesn’t know where she is.

Damn it! Where is she?

I call again. This time, to my surprise, the call goes through. I stare at my phone for a second, startled. “Genevieve…?” I utter her name, just to be sure.

“What?” she barks at me. She’s really mad.

I take a deep breath to level out my voice. “Where are you?” I inquire gently.

“That’s none of your concern,” she says coolly.

I suck in a sharp breath. “The hell it isn’t. You’re my wife, Genevieve.”

“Am I?” Her voice shakes slightly. “You’ve barely spoken to me for the past three days. You fired my father without a word. I don’t feel much like your wife.”

Guilt twists my insides. She isn’t wrong. I’ve been distant, wrapped up in my own concerns to protect her. But that doesn’t mean I don’t care about her, that I don’t crave her with every fiber of my being.

“You’re mine,” I say, a hint of desperation in my tone. “Come home, Genevieve. We’ll work this out.”

“I can’t.” Her voice breaks. “Not yet. I need time.”

Panic rises in my chest. “Time for what? To decide if you want to stay with me?”

“Maybe,” she whispers.

“Come on, Genevieve,” I mutter in frustration.

“You lied to me,” she says. “You kept secrets and made plans behind my back. How am I supposed to trust you after this?”

“I’m sorry,” I say, the words tumbling out in a rush. “You’re right. I should have been honest with you from the start. I was afraid you wouldn’t understand, that you’d try to stop me because you’re Gerald’s daughter. I feared you’d remain loyal to him.”

“Did you even stop for one second to think that I might be loyal to YOU, my husband?” she screams at me. “Did you truly believe that I would have supported my father’s embezzlement, Damien? You didn’t even give me a chance to show you where I stand. You simply made the decision for me. You’re no different to my father.”

---