Page 75 of Cruel Submission

“Gavriil runs human trafficking operations. Has for decades. Young girls. Little more than children. He kidnaps them, breaks them, ships them overseas to men who pay top dollar for virgins.”

Behind me, I hear her sharp intake of breath.

“I’ve hated it for years. Fought with him about it. Built my own operations separate from his. Tried to end his business. But he’s powerful. What he says goes.” I turn back to her. “Recently, I found out he was running a new pipeline. Local girls this time. Stefan’s daughter went missing. That’s when I knew I had to act.”

“Stefan?” Her voice is small.

“My second-in-command. You’ve seen him around here.”

“The one with the tattoos on his head?” Her eyes are wide. “I saw him in the woods that day. I thought he took Debra.”

Something clicks into place.

Fuck. She’s been carrying this, too. No wonder she’s been so freaked out.

“Stefan’s one of mine. Was trying to stop the kidnapping that night. But you saw him and assumed—” I shake my head. “Wrong place, wrong time. Debra was taken that night. By my father’s men. And then he kept her.”

Mirabel’s crying again. Silent tears streaming down her face.

“I didn’t know.” The admission is like a lump in my chest. “I swear to God I didn’t know she was there. If I had, I would have—” I stop, hating myself for not having found all of them. “I shut down his operation that night. Thought it was over. But when I found out he’d started up again, I raided his estate. We pulled out twenty-eight girls from his cellar. Debra was one of them.”

“Twenty-eight,” she whispers.

“Twenty-eight we saved. God knows how many we didn’t.” The guilt sits like concrete in my gut. “I found Debra in the living room. Gavriil was—” The memory makes me sick. “He was using her. She looked exactly like you, and I thought for a second—” I shake my head. “Doesn’t matter. I got her out. Brought her here. Set her up with therapy, medication, security. Everything she needs to heal.”

Mirabel’s staring at her hands. Processing.

“There’s more,” I say. “Rosanna’s father, Sergei Tulikov. He came after me when I humiliated his daughter at the altar. Threatened you. Used Mishka’s death as leverage.” I bite down hard. “I killed him.”

She looks up fast. Eyes wide.

“It was self-defense. Mostly.” It feels like a lie, even though it’s technically the truth. “But it was also calculated. He was a threat, and I eliminated him. And when Rosanna found out her father was dead—” I stop. Breathe. “She was already depressed. Already fragile. But losing him pushed her over the edge. And when she turned to me, I pushed her away. So her death—the baby being motherless—that’s on me too.”

“Aleks,” Mirabel says softly.

“Aleks.” I nod. “I don’t know for sure if he’s mine. The timing works, but Rosanna—” I stop. Wave it off. “Doesn’t matter. I killed his grandfather. I refused to marry his mother. I’m the reason she’s dead, even if I didn’t pull the trigger. So he’s my responsibility now. My son, blood or not.”

The room falls silent. Just the sound of her breathing. The tick of the clock on the mantle. The distant sound of birds outside.

There. I’ve laid it all out. Every sin. Every secret. Every piece of darkness I carry.

Now she knows who I really am.

Not the powerful businessman. Not the dangerous Bratva prince. Not the skilled lover who made her scream my name.

A killer. A liar. A man drowning in guilt and violence, who somehow thought he could have something good.

“Say something,” I hear myself say. “Please.”

She looks up at me. Eyes red-rimmed. Face pale. “I need to process this.”

Silence. Heavy. Suffocating.

“This is just too much to handle,” she says.

The words are final. Devastating.

Too much.