Page 88 of Cruel Obsession

Motherfucker.

Again with the girls.

The lie sits between us, heavy and toxic. I’ve heard this story before—desperate women promised jobs as nannies and housekeepers, only to have their passports seized once they arrive.

But my father has been doing this since before I was born. If I refuse, he’ll find another warehouse, one where I’ll have no ability to monitor what happens. No ability to save anyone.

I instinctively reach for the inside of my jacket, where my gun would normally sit in its holster, before remembering I removed it earlier. The phantom check of chambers persists even when I’m unarmed.

“Ok. Deal.” The words coat my mouth with betrayal, but at least this way I can track his operation. “Warehouse No. 5 is available. There are bathrooms with showers, a kitchenette, and mattresses where they can crash.” I pause, calculating. “Fifteen thousand for two weeks.”

“Done.” His immediate acceptance confirms my suspicions that this is bigger than he’s letting on. “And you will not poke your nose into my affairs this time, Arkady. It’s business, not a father-son cooperation. You understand?”

I move back to my desk, pressing a palm against the cold surface. “Why would you approach me if you don’t trust me, Father?”

“Because I haven’t been able to find a property for rent for two weeks. Everybody wants deposits and a minimum of three months.”

Of course. I’m not his first choice; I’m his convenience. The familiar sting of never being enough, of being useful rather than valued, still burns through my chest.

“Right. Warehouse No. 5, two weeks, 15K in cash. Once the money is here, I’ll give you the key.”

I end the call before he can respond, dropping the phone onto my desk like it’s contaminated. My hand trembles slightly—from rage or something deeper, I can’t tell. I press the intercom button, needing to act before I lose my shit completely.

“Leo.”

The door opens almost immediately. My security specialist fills the frame, shoulders almost as wide as the entire space. “Da, boss?”

“I need surveillance on Warehouse No. 5. Full setup, cameras, motion sensors, audio. Make it invisible.”

Leo’s expression shifts subtly, a tightening around the eyes that speaks volumes. “Your father?”

“Da.He’s bringing ‘domestic workers’ through.” My sarcasm is unmistakable. “I told him I wouldn’t interfere. I lied.”

“When?”

“He just called. He’ll deliver cash first, probably tomorrow. We need the surveillance operational tonight.” I tap a code into my desk safe, extracting a black USB drive. “Use the Ghost protocol. I want thermal imaging on the perimeter and audio sensitive enough to pick up even a whisper.”

Leo nods, already typing on his phone. “I’ll have Mikhail install the system. We’ll route the feeds through the secure server.”

“And get Sasha to put together a team. If those women aren’t there willingly, we move in. Quietly.” My fingers drum an erratic rhythm against the desk as the familiar weight of command settles across my shoulders. I’ll see my father rot in hell before I let him run another of his sick ventures.

“Understood.” Leo steps back toward the door, then stops. “Boss… If this is what you think it is—”

“We’ll get them out.” I cut him off before he can finish the thought. “All of them. I swear it.”

After he leaves, I unlock my desk drawer and remove a metal box. Inside is a collection of plain metal keys. I extract the one labeled Wh. No. 5. I trace its outline with my thumb, remembering the blood I’ve already spilled to keep women like these safe from men like my father.

My eyes drift to the small framed photo on my desk—the only personal item in the room. Mishka at ten years old, gap-toothed smile blazing at the camera as he balanced on a horse.

“Not this time, little brother,” I whisper to the empty room. As much as it gutted me to lose him, what happened with my brother left me with a moral code. A code that won’t allow me to see men like my father thrive on other people’s misery.

I place the key back in the box, lock the drawer, and push away from my desk.

“Ne v etot raz, otets.Not this time,” I mutter again as I move to leave the room. If my father’s up to what I think he is, he’ll end up in the ground, just like that snake, Tulikov.

And I won’t fucking miss him.

Chapter Thirty