Page 128 of Cruel Obsession

“Hope you got your job done, brat. The old man just headed home. Should be back in his office shortly.”

“Yobany urod,” I mutter under my breath. My father will pay for what he’s done. I’ll dismantle his empire with my bare hands if I have to. Every property. Every connection. Every dirty secret he’s buried. I’ll drag it all into the light and watch it implode.

And if he’s hurt her—

Not even God can help him if he’s hurt her.

I glance at Stefan, who’s watching me. “Go ahead and take the girls back,” I tell him. “I’ll be right behind you.”

“You sure, boss?” He frowns.

I nod grimly. “Dead sure. There’s something I have to do.”

Chapter Forty-Five

Arkady

The buses pull away, tires crunching on gravel, and my vision floods crimson.

My father’s smirking face burns in my memory. That fucking monster has Mirabel. I’m going to get him to tell me where the fuck he’s keeping her, one way or another.

And it’s something I don’t need my men to see, because I’m going to take my time with the cunt. I’m going to enjoy every second of carving him up.

Turning and striding back toward the old man’s mansion, my rage builds with each step, fury propelling me forward. I picture my hands around his throat, squeezing until his eyes bulge and his face turns purple. I’ll make him tell me where she is first. Then I’ll make him pay for every woman he’s ever hurt.

Every.

Single.

One.

The corridor stretches before me, endless marble and cold walls. My father thinks he’s untouchable, thinks his position protects him from consequence. He’s wrong.

He’s been wrong for a long fucking time.

He’ll learn that once and for all when I make him scream.

My fingers flex at my sides, remembering the weight of a blade, the resistance of flesh. I’ve killed before. More times than I can count. But this—this will be different. This will be personal.

This will be for Mirabel.

The rage inside me isn’t the explosive kind. It’s cold. Calculated. The kind that waits and watches and plans exactlyhow to maximize suffering. The kind that knows patience yields better results than impulse.

Where is she?

The question cycles through my mind on repeat. Where has he taken her? What has he done to her? My jaw clenches so tight my teeth ache. If he’s touched her, if he’s hurt her—

No.

Can’t think about that now.

Focus, for fuck’s sake!

As I approach the living room, voices drift through the half-open door. I freeze mid-step, muscles locking instantly.

A woman’s voice, weak and trembling: “Please, Gavriil, don’t… don’t hurt me again.”

I stop dead.