Page 16 of Cruel Submission

I step back into the hallway, the door shutting behind me. Then I walk away from Mishka’s room—from the gun that killed him, from the urn that holds what’s left—and try not to think about what it means that I can give up his space but not his guilt.

I take a few strides away, then pull out my phone. Yanis answers on the second ring.

“That was fast.”

“Any updates on the rest of the girls?”

“Stefan and I got them sorted.” His voice is rough, tired. “Some were straight kidnappings. Others got fed the usual lies—legitimate jobs, better opportunities, all the shit these operations use.”

“Sex slaves for rich fucks who think money buys them people.”

“Da.”

I rub my temple, where it feels like a blood vessel is throbbing. “Where are they now?”

“Shelter that specializes in trafficking victims. Medical care, therapy, legal assistance if they want it. Stefan made sure they understand they’re protected. No one’s coming for them.”

“Khoroshiy. Good.” I close my eyes. “The traffickers?”

“In custody. Our custody, not official channels. Can’t risk them making calls or cutting deals before we extract what we need. They’re at the property outside Kamloops. Stefan’s handling interrogation.”

Stefan’s interrogations are thorough. And brutal. The thought doesn’t bother me as much as it should.

“And Father doesn’t know?”

“Not yet.” Yanis pauses. “He’s expecting delivery tomorrow. Going to find an empty cellar and his Princess gone. He’ll figure out it was us, Arkady. Maybe not today, but soon.”

I open my eyes, stare at the ceiling. “Let him.”

Silence on the line.

“Let him figure it out,” I repeat. “I don’t fucking care anymore. Let him know his sons dismantled his operation. Maybe he’ll finally understand we’re not playing his game.”

“You realize this means war. Once he knows, there’s no walking it back.”

“We’ve been at war since I was fifteen and figured out what he really is. This just makes it official.”

Yanis exhales—slow, controlled. “All right. Then we finish it properly. No half measures.”

“Agreed.”

“Get some sleep. You sound like hell.”

“I’ll sleep when this is over.” When Mirabel’s safe, when Debra can say her own name without flinching, when my father’s no longer breathing. Pick one.

“About Mirabel—”

“Don’t.”

“You can’t hide this forever. She’ll find out, and when she does—”

“I said don’t.”

He lets it go. “Call if you need anything.”

The line goes dead. I stand there a moment, and wonder how many more secrets I can carry before the weight of them drags me under.

Chapter Six