Page 42 of Bratva Claim

“My job is to keep the ship from sinking. She’s going to make it sink.”

I shoot him a look. “I didn’t ask for your opinion.”

He shoots me an exasperated look, then goes back to his phone.

Fair.

Setting my drink down, I head down the hall toward the bedroom, loosening my cuffs as I go. I’m still wired from the meeting with Angelo, but it’s not the business deal that’s got my blood pressure climbing.

It’s her.

We never spoke about the sleeping arrangement. I’m definitely not against lying in the same bed with her, even though I should keep a bit of distance between us.

I’ve been too busy thinking with my dick over the past several hours than business and my next moves.

I open the bedroom door, expecting to see her sulking in the corner or passed out in front of the TV with a scowl on her face.

Instead, the room’s still.

The bedside lamp is off. The robe she was wearing earlier is folded over the back of the chair. Her heels are gone. The edge of the bed is untouched.

I stare for a second, waiting for something to click into place.

It doesn’t.

I check the bathroom. Empty.

The closet door is cracked open, and her bag is missing. I open the drawer she claimed earlier.

Cleared out.

My blood turns to ice.

She left.

That fucking woman left.

I turn back to the room, hoping this is a joke. There’s no note. No passive-aggressive sign of her rebellion.

Just… nothing.

Cold air and the space where she should be.

“Artem,” I bark as I stalk into the hallway.

He looks up from his seat on the couch, instantly aware.

“Where the fuck is she?” I growl.

He blinks. “What do you mean? She went straight into the room when we got up here.”

“Well, she’s not there now.”

That gets him to his feet.

He checks his phone as he paces toward the window like it’ll magically give him answers.

“If you don’t get your fucking ass downstairs to find her,” I growl, “I’m going to kill you myself.”