Page 89 of Mafia King's Bride

“Hi.” A voice interrupts my thoughts. Some suit is approaching me, all smiles and familiarity. “Are you looking for Anatasia?”

“Yes,” I nod curtly. “I’m her husband, Dmitri Orlov.” The words come out more possessive than I intend.

His eyes widen with recognition. “You’re the man who swooped in and took Ana from the rest of us. It’s nice to meet you finally. I’m Steve.”

I shake his hand firmly, making sure he feels the strength behind it. A warning.

“Do you know if she’s in a meeting?” I ask, trying to keep my voice level.

Steve shakes his head. “Nope.”

“Nope, as in you don’t know?”

He sucks his teeth. “I meant that I haven’t seen her today. I stopped by her office hours ago for a document, but it was locked. I tried calling her phone, but she didn’t answer. I assumed she was taking the day off.”

My jaw clenches. “Thank you,” I say curtly, turning to leave.

I storm out of the building onto the bustling Manhattan street, my rage barely contained. The cacophony of car horns and pedestrian chatter fades into white noise as I pull out my phone, dialing Ana’s bodyguards with shaky fingers.

“Where is she?” I snarl as soon as the line connects, not bothering with pleasantries.

There’s a pause, then a confused voice. “Mr. Orlov? We don’t understand. Mrs. Orlov should be in her office.”

My blood boils. “Should be? You fucking idiots! I was just there. She’s not!”

“That’s impossible, sir,” the other guard chimes in, sounding bewildered. “We’ve been monitoring the building entrance all day. She hasn’t left.”

I rake my fingers through my hair, fighting the urge to put my fist through the nearest wall. “Well, she’s not there now, is she? So, tell me, you incompetent fucks, how did my wife vanish from under your noses?”

The guards stammer, clearly at a loss. My mind races, considering the possibilities. Did someone grab her again?

“Sir, we?—”

“Shut up,” I cut them off, my voice low and dangerous. “If anything’s happened to her, I swear I’ll end you both. Slowly. Painfully. Do you understand me?”

Their silence is answer enough.

“Now listen carefully,” I continue, forcing my voice to steady, “I want you to check on every rival we have. Every fucking one. Someone must have seen something. And if you come back empty-handed, don’t bother coming back at all.”

I end the call, resisting the urge to hurl my phone across the street. My mind whirls with possibilities, each more terrifying than the last. Who could have taken her? Bianchi’s people seeking revenge? One of the other Bratva groups testing my resolve?

As I stand there, surrounded by the oblivious masses of Manhattan, I’ve never felt more helpless.

I dial Yelena.

“What’s up, brother? Did you miss me? I’m free tomorrow by?—”

“Is Ana with you?” I cut her off, my patience wearing thin.

Her pause speaks volumes. “I haven’t seen her since we parted ways yesterday. What’s wrong? Have you tried calling her? Checking her office?”

I bite back a sarcastic response. “I’ll try Viktor,” I say instead, my voice tight with worry.

Yelena’s attempt at reassurance falls flat. “I’ll try her too. I’m sure nothing happened to her. Probably just an out-of-office meeting or something.”

I hang up and call Viktor, going straight to the point. “Hey, have you heard from Ana today? She’s not in her office. A colleague of hers says he hasn’t seen her all day. She’s not responding to my calls or texts either.”

He sounds puzzled. “No.” It does nothing to ease my growing anxiety.

---