Page 18 of Cruel Obsession

“Arkady—”

“And then he told me he’s still trafficking.” The confession rips out before I can stop it. “Operation Blackout didn’t stop him. He just got better at hiding it. More careful about keeping it away from me.”

The silence that follows is different. Heavier.

Yanis’s relaxed posture shifts. His foot drops to the floor. “He admitted that?”

“Hinted. But the signs were all there. And I doubt he cares if I know or not. Because he knows I can’t do a fucking thing about it without starting a war.” I lean back, the chair creaking, and stare at the ceiling. The overhead light has a dead bulb that I keep meaning to replace. “He’s untouchable as long as he has the Bratva behind him.”

“Not untouchable.” Yanis’s voice drops lower. Harder. “Just protected.”

“Same thing.”

“It’s not.”

I look at him then. There’s something in his expression I don’t recognize—something dark threading through his usual calm.

“Don’t,” I say.

“Don’t what?”

“Whatever you’re thinking. Don’t.”

His mouth tightens. “I’m not thinking anything.”

“Bullshit. I know that look.” I lean forward, bracing my forearms on the desk. “You want to help. Want to fix this. But there’s no fixing it, Yanis. Not without bloodshed.”

“Maybe bloodshed is what’s needed.”

The words hang between us—dangerous, seductive.

For a moment, I let myself imagine it. Working with Yanis to dismantle our father’s operation piece by piece. Burning the whole rotten structure to the ground.

But then I remember.

Mishka’s face. The shock in his eyes. The blood. Too much blood.

You destroy the people you love, Arkady.

“Nyet,” I say, forcing steel into my voice. “You’re not getting involved. You’re the good one, remember? The one who might actually have a future that doesn’t end in a body bag.”

“That’s not—”

“End of discussion.” I pick up a pen, tap it against the desk. Change the subject before he can argue. “How’s the house hunt going?”

He stares at me for a long moment, jaw working like he’s chewing on words he won’t say. Then he exhales and lets it go.

“Still looking. Nothing feels right yet.” He shifts in his chair. “What about Ashwater Heights? Settled in yet?”

“Trying to. If I can ever find competent staff.”

“Still no luck?”

“I’ve interviewed dozens.” I toss the pen down. It skitters across the desk. “They’re either incompetent, terrified of me, or both. One woman took one look at Stefan and fucking ran out the door.”

Yanis’s mouth twitches. “Can’t entirely blame her. Stefan looks like he eats newborn puppies for breakfast.”

“He probably does.”