Page 124 of Cruel Obsession

“Teams in position,” Stefan says when we get into the strategic position at my father’s house. We crouch in the shadows of the perimeter wall, the stone cold against my back.

I can hear guards talking in the distance—low voices, casual. They don’t expect trouble. Why would they? This is Gavriil Laurov’s fortress. Untouchable.

Stefan checks his phone. “Yanis just messaged me. He’s with your father. Says he should be able to keep him away from the house for at least an hour.”

I nod, a flicker of satisfaction warming my chest. At least one thing is going according to plan. My brother has always excelled at deception—a skill cultivated by our father.

Tonight, that skill saves lives. But not my father’s. There’s sweet irony in that.

I signal to Mikhail to switch off the cameras. My phone vibrates almost immediately with his confirmation: “Done.”

For twenty minutes, we’ll be ghosts, invisible to the security systems my father trusts so completely. His arrogance has always been his weakness—believing himself untouchable, even from his own sons.

Especially from his own sons.

The old cunt underestimated us. All those years of brutal lessons, of teaching us to be ruthless, and he never considered we might turn that ruthlessness against him.

I look at Stefan and Yuri, taking in their tense postures, the determination etched into their features. These men have followed me into firefights and business negotiations equally bloody. But this… this one is different.

Tonight, they follow me into my father’s hell.

“Move,” I say softly, drawing my weapon.

The moment stretches. There’s no going back after this—not for any of us. My father’s retribution will be swift and merciless if we fail. But the thought of Mirabel possibly inside, of Stefan’s daughter and the others suffering in those cells—it makes any risk worthwhile.

We move toward the house—my father’s fortress, and now, my target.

The wall is twelve feet high, but there’s an old oak near the eastern corner that makes it climbable.

I go up first, muscles burning as I haul myself over. The grounds spread out below—manicured lawns, ornamental gardens, the main house lit up like a museum. Beautiful. Pristine.

Hiding rot underneath.

Stefan and Yuri follow, dropping silently to the grass beside me. We move in formation, keeping to the shadows, weapons ready. Every sound feels amplified—the crunch of leaves underfoot, my own controlled breathing.

Mirabel’s in there.

The thought drives me forward.

Hold on, zaychik.

I’m coming.

Chapter Forty-Four

Arkady

The cellar is a fucking maze.

Much bigger than it has to be. I stand at the entrance, scanning the expanse of concrete corridors that branch off in three directions. The beam from my flashlight cuts through the darkness, revealing smooth walls that extend far beyond the house’s foundation. This isn’t improvised. This is deliberate. Intentional. Calculated.

How long?

The question carves through my thoughts.

How many years has he been building this?

The concrete walls absorb the light from our flashlights, making the air itself feel hostile. Everything down here is designed to swallow evidence—sound, light, hope. The stench of fear hangs in the air, coating the back of my throat with each breath. It’s not just the smell of unwashed bodies or stale air. It’s something deeper. Something that seeps into the walls when people realize no one is coming to save them.