Page 8 of Cruel Obsession

“You don’t look fine. You look—” He studies me closer. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing.” I pull out a cigarette and light it. Inhale deep. Let the nicotine burn through my lungs. “Just thinking.”

“About Sergei?”

“Sure.” The lie comes easily. “About Sergei.”

Stefan doesn’t look convinced, but he lets it drop. “We should get you out of here. Sergei’s men are going to pour out of that building any second, and I’d rather not have a firefight in a public parking lot.”

He’s right. We need to move.

But I can’t stop seeing her. Can’t stop wanting her.

Can’t stop thinking that in the middle of destroying my life, I found something I want more than I’ve wanted anything in years.

And that makes me more dangerous than Sergei Tulikov could ever be.

Because when I want something, I take it.

No matter the cost.

Stefan opens the car door. “Come on. Let’s go before this gets worse.”

I take one last drag of my cigarette, then flick it away.

Too late,I think.It’s already worse.

I just haven’t admitted it yet.

Chapter Three

Arkady

It’s morning.

My father doesn’t knock. The office door slams open, rattling the frame. Papers on my desk flutter. I don’t look up from the laptop, even though the spreadsheet on screen has dissolved into meaningless numbers. Let him wait.

“Arkady.”

One word. Ice wrapped in barbed wire.

I close the laptop. Lean back in my chair. Meet his eyes. “Father.”

“What thefuckwere you thinking?”

His accent thickens when he’s angry—consonants sharpening, vowels flattening. Right now, they could cut glass.

“I was thinking I didn’t want to marry a woman who bores me.”

“Boresyou?” He barks out a laugh. No humor in it. “You burned a strategic alliance because you want to be entertained? Your ego is going to get you killed.”

“It’s more than that, Father. I won’t spend a lifetime playing games for you. That’s not ego—that’s self-preservation.”

“Self-preservation.” He crosses the room in three strides, plants both hands on my desk. Leans in. I can smell the Turkish tobacco on his breath, the expensive cologne that can’t quite mask the scent of old violence. “You want to talk about self-preservation, boy? Let’s talk about what you cost us yesterday.”

“Us?” I don’t move. Don’t blink. “You meanyou.”

His jaw clenches. “It’s not the first time you’ve disappointed me, Arkady. But this—” He straightens, spreads his arms. “What kind ofmudaksays no at his own wedding?”