Page 107 of Cruel Obsession

“If we fail,” I counter, meeting his gaze, “those girls disappear forever. Including Julia and Niki.”

Stefan’s knuckles whiten against the edge of the table. His massive frame seems to expand with barely contained fury, the black ink across his throat pulsing with each heartbeat.

“If we fail,” he growls, “my daughter becomes some sheik’s plaything. I’ll take down the entire Bratva before I let that happen.”

The raw anguish in his voice slices through the room. Every man here knows Stefan would tear the world apart for his daughter. The same fury burns in my gut. My father selling women isn’t new, but these particular girls? It crosses a line that can’t be uncrossed.

“Easy,brat,” I say, my voice a steel edge. “We’re getting them out.”

I tap the schematic, refocusing their attention on what matters. “Yanis, you get Father out of the house, clear? He trusts you the most. Take him for dinner, walk in the park,whatever father-son bullshit you need. Just keep him away for the duration.”

Yanis nods, conflict shadowing his face. “Consider it done,bratan.”

I see the cost in his eyes. Yanis, caught between loyalty to our father and loyalty to me—to what’s right. I understand the weight of that choice.

“Mikhail,” I turn to my cousin, “can you trigger the alarm systems remotely? We need a distraction. Also make sure my father’s phone doesn’t ping when the alarm goes off. We don’t want him to know.”

Mikhail’s lips curl in that smug way they always do when I ask him about tech. “Child’s play,” he says, already swiping his fingers over the screen of his tablet.

“Perfect. First, Yanis gets our father out, away from the mansion. Then Mikhail triggers the alarms. The staff will evacuate when this happens. Alexei and Andrei, you make sure none of them return. Once the house is empty, Stefan, Yuri, and I hit the cellar.” I run through the timing once more in my head. “That’s our window to extract the girls. We move fast and get the job done before the old man could realize what’s happening.”

The sound of the door opening cuts through my thoughts. Mirabel appears with a tray of food and drinks, and something electric happens in the room. Her eyes lock onto Stefan, and she freezes, color draining from her face as she takes in his massive tattooed form—the artwork covering his scalp, the thick black lines wrapping his throat, the sheer intimidating size of him.

Stefan notices her reaction and shifts in his chair, discomfort evident in the slight twitch of his shoulder.

Interesting.

My body tenses instinctively, protective instincts flaring. The way she’s looking at Stefan—it’s not just apprehension athis obvious intimidation factor. It’s… horror. Why would she be afraid of my enforcer?

Mirabel’s hands tremble slightly as she sets down the tray, her movements careful, deliberate, like someone trying not to startle a jungle cat. She avoids looking at Stefan again, but as she turns to leave, her eyes meet mine. There’s something in that look—recognition? Fear? I can’t place it, but it gnaws at me.

“Thank you, Miss McLeod,” I say formally, watching her carefully.

The scent of her perfume—something light, citrus—lingers as she passes, mingling with the smell of gun oil and sweat that permeates the room. For a heartbeat, I want to reach out, to catch her wrist and demand answers. The urge to control the situation, to know everything, pulses through me.

She nods and hurries out, but not before casting one last glance at Stefan. Yet again, her eyes are wide with terror.

“She looked at you like she’d seen a ghost,” I say to Stefan once the door closes. “What’s that about?” My tone is casual, but my eyes are hard. I don’t like secrets I’m not privy to.

He responds with a shrug, his face unreadable. But something’s there—a connection I’m missing. I file it away for later. Right now, we have an operation to execute, but Mirabel McLeod just moved higher on my list of priorities.

I open the weapons case on the table with a metallic click that satisfies something primal in me. The smell of steel and cordite fills the air.

“Each of you has a specific role and the tools needed,” I say, lifting a pistol from its foam cradle. “Alexei and Andrei, perimeter control. Leo, you handle any security we encounter.”

I distribute earpieces, tactical vests, and weapons with practiced efficiency. The weight of each piece feels right in my hands—familiar, controlled. This is the world I know. The world I rule.

“Silencers on everything,” I instruct, screwing one onto my own weapon. “No casualties unless absolutely necessary. The guards are Father’s men—most are just mercenaries following orders.”

Yuri, our medic, looks up from checking his kit. “What about the girls? Some may be drugged or injured.”

My mind flashes to the girls we’ve rescued before. The vacant eyes. The needle marks. The silent, animal terror.

“That’s why you’re coming with us,” I tell him, voice roughening. “Prepare for anything from sedation to physical trauma.”

I frown, running through the inventory again. “We’re missing the thermal scanner.Yobany urod. Shit.”

I reach into my pocket for the key to my secret room. The metal warms against my palm, a reminder of what I keep locked away—not just equipment, but pieces of myself no one gets to see. Stefan is the only one here who knows about it—he helped me build it when I moved into the house. The others don’t need to know what else I keep there. The weight of the key feels heavy with its burden of memories.