Page 56 of Innocently Captured By the Bratva

Yet even as the anger and confusion rage within me, a small part of me clings to hope. Maybe this is just a misunderstanding. Maybe she had a reason for leaving so abruptly.

I pull out my phone, my fingers hovering over her contact. I need to hear her voice, need to understand why she left. She doesn’t pick up.

I toss the phone aside, my jaw clenched. No, I refuse to accept that. I'll do whatever it takes to find her, to understand what happened.

As terrifying as it is to admit, even to myself, I now know the truth: Quinn Desmond has become more than I ever thought possible. This house feels empty without her. My heart feels like it is missing a piece. She has become the one thing I never expected to find—someone who makes me want to be a better man.

***

When she doesn’t pick up any of my calls, I storm into the security office, my anger reaching a boiling point as I confront the guards. “How could you let this happen?” I demand, my voice echoing off the walls. “How could you let her just walk out of here without even trying to stop her? Didn’t you see the fucking suitcases in her hand?”

The guards exchange uneasy glances, their postures stiffening under my furious gaze. “Sir, we had no reason to suspect—”

“No reason?” I cut him off, my fist slamming against the desk. “She's my fiancée, for Christ's sake! It's your job to protect her, to make sure nothing happens to her!”

I know deep down that it's not their fault, that Quinn is too clever and determined for them to have stopped her. But right now, I need someone to blame, someone to lash out at. Because the alternative is facing the gut-wrenching reality that she chose to leave me.

The guards remain silent in fear. I turn away, running a hand through my hair as I try to control my temper. “Just...find her,” I mutter, my voice rough with emotion. I don't care what it takes. Bring her back to me.”

***

The next day, I head into work. I need to focus and channel this rage into something productive. However, as I make my way to the office, my thoughts keep drifting back to Quinn.

When I arrive, my brothers are already waiting, their faces lined with concern. “Mark, what's going on?” Abram asks, his brow furrowed. You look like hell, and you didn’t tune in for the conference call last night.”

“It's nothing,” I snap, brushing past him. “Let's just get this over with.”

“You sure everything is okay?” Denis asks with worry in his eyes.

“It’s just one fucking conference call. Will you all calm down?”

My brothers exchange looks, but say nothing.

But even as I try to lose myself in the mundane details of business, my mind keeps wandering, replaying every moment with Quinn, searching for some clue, some hint of what went wrong. The others cast me wary glances, but I ignore them, too consumed by my own swirling emotions to care.

Suddenly, my phone buzzes, and I glance down to see Lara's name on the screen. For a moment, I contemplate ignoring it, but a masochistic impulse compels me to answer. “What?” I bark, my tone harsher than intended.

“Well, hello to you, too,” Lara says, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “I was just calling to see if you and Quinn wanted to join us for dinner tonight.”

The mention of Quinn's name is like a knife to the gut, and I close my eyes, drawing in a shaky breath. “Not tonight,” I manage, my voice tight. “Something's come up.”

“Is everything okay?” Lara asks, concern creeping into her tone. “You sound—”

“I'm fine,” I interrupt, my grip tightening on the phone. “I’m working, Lara, and you should be too.”

I hang up before she can respond, tossing the phone onto the table with a clatter. My brothers are staring at me with concern now. But I can't handle their questions, can't bear the thought of explaining the gaping hole in my chest where Quinn used to be.

So instead, I push to my feet, my chair scraping against the floor. “I need some air,” I mutter, striding towards the door.

As I step out into the hallway, I lean against the wall, my eyes squeezing shut. The anger is still there, simmering beneath the surface, but it's tempered now by a bone-deep weariness, a sense of helplessness that I've never felt before.

***

I stride into my bedroom, slamming the door behind me with a resounding bang. My mind races as I sink into my bed, my fingers already reaching for the phone. I have to find her, have to hear her voice again.

I dial the number for my head of security, barking orders the moment he picks up. “I need you to find Quinn Desmond's new contact information now.”

“But Sir,” he stammers, “that could take some time—”

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