Page 58 of Cruel Submission

Not today. Today I swallow it. Today I clean the house and cook the meals and pretend I don’t notice the new cameras or the extra guards or the way the walls are closing in, centimeter by centimeter, so slowly you could almost convince yourself it isn’t happening.

But tomorrow.

Tomorrow I stop swallowing.

Chapter Nineteen

Arkady

The security feeds flicker across six monitors in my office.

East gate. West approach. Perimeter cameras one through twelve. I’ve been watching them for three hours now, waiting for movement that never comes.

Waiting for Gavriil to make his move.

My fingers tighten around the vodka glass. I force my grip to loosen, flex my fingers. Try to forget my last conversation with my brother.

You’re becoming just like him, Arkady.

I drain the glass. Pour another.

The alcohol doesn’t numb anything. Just makes the edges sharper.

My phone vibrates against the desk. Stefan.

Perimeter secure. Motion sensors active. No movement.

I don’t respond. He knows I’m watching the same feeds he is.

Another vibration. Different phone—the encrypted one.

Unknown number.

My stomach drops before I even open it.

Debra is still not in my house. The clock is ticking, boy.

My fucking father.

I read it twice. Three times. Let the implications sink in like a blade between ribs.

I dial Stefan.

“Problem,” I say when he picks up.

“I’m listening.”

“The old cunt is getting impatient. He’s escalating.” I pull up the property schematics on my laptop. “What’s the update on security measures?”

“Fortress protocol holding. Double rotations on all shifts. I’ve upgraded the camera systems—thermal imaging on the tree line, motion-activated floods on the south lawn.” He pauses. “But there’s something else.”

“Tell me.”

“Your father’s been meeting with the Chechen bratva. Three times this week. Oleg Kadyrov was spotted leaving your father’s estate yesterday morning.”

Pizdets.

Oleg Kadyrov doesn’t do social calls. If he’s involved, Gavriil’s bringing in serious muscle—experienced soldiers who’ve fought in actual wars, not just street enforcers playing dress-up with guns.