Page 78 of Forced Plus-Size Bride of the Bratva

The door creaks open, and one of my lieutenants steps inside—a man I trust, seasoned by blood and war, his faceweathered and grave. His body is rigid, every line of him screaming bad news.

He doesn’t bother with pleasantries. “She’s gone.”

The words hang there. Suspended. Absurd.

I stare at him, the weight of the photograph still in my hand. For a moment, the meaning refuses to land, refuses to make sense. Gone? No. Alina couldn’t have left. Not past the guards, not without my knowing. The mansion is locked tighter than a fortress, every point of egress watched, every movement monitored.

She couldn’t have left, not without help.

The photo slips from my fingers, landing silently on the desk. The sharp edges curl slightly, forgotten.

Cold logic slams into place, swift and merciless. If she’s gone, someone took her.

I rise from the chair slowly, deliberately, even as my mind accelerates into lethal speed. Pieces align themselves with ruthless efficiency.

Jackson Waters.

The man circling like a vulture, emboldened by a moment’s weakness, by my temporary distraction. Snooping around the party, inserting himself where he didn’t belong. I should’ve buried him that night.

Alina’s fragile emotional state.

I saw it—the cracks, the way she moved like a girl about to break apart in the wind. The revelation about her father had gutted her. Left her vulnerable.

I left her to wander the grounds alone, thinking no one would dare touch what I’d claimed.

I thought I had time.

I was wrong.

“Where?” I snap, my voice low and dangerous.

“We don’t know yet,” my man says, jaw tight. “South garden last. Some guards posted, but….” He hesitates, the shame written clear on his face. “It was quick. No one saw enough to stop it.”

I turn away from him, my hand already reaching for the gun in the top drawer of the desk.

For the first time in years, something jagged flickers at the edges of my control. Not anger. Not even rage.

Panic.Real, gut-deep panic.

It threatens to tear me apart from the inside out. I force it back down with brutal precision. Panic is useless. Panic gets people killed.

Action saves them.

“Mobilize everyone,” I bark. “I want every street watched. Every port. Every private airstrip within fifty miles locked down.”

He nods sharply, already moving before I finish.

“If anyone sees Jackson Waters….” I pause, letting the words hang heavy in the air. “No mercy,” I finish.

None. When I find him—and I will—I’ll make sure he learns the hard way that taking Alina wasn’t just a mistake.

It was a death sentence.

I stand slowly.

No shouting. No wild gestures. Just a deliberate roll of my shoulders, setting every muscle into place, shaking off the useless remnants of emotion clinging to my skin.

The shift is terrifyingly calm.

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