Page 19 of Cruel Obsession

“What about household staff from one of the other families? Someone already vetted?”

“Tried that. They all report back to whoever sent them. I’m not having spies in my house.” I drag a hand through my hair, frustration coiling tighter in my chest. “I need someone clean. Someone with no connections to any of… this.”

“Tall order.”

“I’m aware.”

“What does Anfisa say about it?”

I huff out a breath. I wish I could clone her. “She’s trying to help, but her heart’s not in it. She’s retiring,” I say, voice rougher than intended. “Couple of weeks. Going back to Russia to be with her grandchildren.”

“After dealing with you all these years, she’s earned it.”

“Da.” The word sticks in my throat.

After Mother died—after she’d stopped eating, stopped speaking, stopped living while her heart kept uselessly beating—Anfisa had kept the household running. Kept me from drowning completely.

And now she’s leaving.

Another person I’ll lose.

“I need someone she can train before she goes,” I continue, forcing my voice level. “Someone who can handle running a house that size. Someone who won’t piss themselves every time I walk into a room.”

“So someone competent and brave as shit.” Yanis grins. “Shouldn’t be too hard to find.”

“You’d think—”

The door slams open.

We both turn.

Rosanna storms in like an avenging angel in designer white—linen and rage and perfectly styled hair that probably took an hour to achieve that artful cascade.

Her eyes are blazing. Red-rimmed. Either from crying or fury or both.

“You fucking asshole!”

Yanis is on his feet immediately, hands up in a placating gesture I’ve seen him use a hundred times. “Rosanna, maybe we should—”

“Sit. Down.” She doesn’t even look at him. Her glare is locked on me.

“Rosanna—” Yanis tries again.

“No.” She takes three sharp steps toward my desk. “I’m done being this asshole’s doormat. Done letting him treat me like shit.”

I lean back in my chair, keeping my expression neutral. Bored, even. It’s a skill I’ve perfected—showing nothing while everything inside is razor wire and broken glass.

“You’re interrupting,” I say.

Her laugh is bitter. “Am I? How terrible for you.”

Yanis glances between us, clearly weighing whether to stay or run. Smart money says run.

“Yanis,” I say, not looking away from Rosanna. “Leave.”

“Maybe I should—”

“Leave.”