Page 100 of Cruel Obsession

I am not my father’s son in the ways that matter.

I am calculating where he is cruel. Precise where he is excessive. And I will dismantle his fucking trafficking empire piece by piece, starting today.

My mind switches to cold assessment. He said they’re being shipped to Dubai, but from where? His basement or the warehouse? Or both? What he doesn’t know is that Stefan tracked Julia’s phone to this house, which means the old bastard was bluffing about the shipment. They must still be here, somewhere beneath our feet.

This isn’t the house I grew up in. Aside from the route to his study, I don’t know my way around. This new mansion has a layout I’m still learning, but there must be access to a lower level somewhere.

I move quietly through the house, checking doors, studying the floor plan in my mind. My eyes catch the tiny surveillance cameras tucked into crown molding, disguised as decorative elements. The old cunt has eyes everywhere—which means I need to be careful. If he suspects I’m searching, he could move the girls, or worse.

Down a back corridor lined with obscenely expensive art—Degas, Monet, all likely purchased with blood money—I find a heavy door that looks promising. When I open it, a set of concrete stairs descends into shadow. My pulse quickens as I follow them down, one hand resting on the gun at my back.

The air grows colder, damper. It carries a chemical scent—industrial cleaner masking something else. The scent brings back unwanted memories: Operation Blackout, six years ago. The same smell had hung in the air when we raided that convoy. The girls we managed to save had been drugged, their eyes vacant. But the ones we didn’t reach…

At the bottom, a metal door blocks my path. Locked, of course. I pull out my picks—a skill father would be furious to know I maintained. “A Laurov doesn’t pick locks,” he’d said once. “We own the fucking keys.”

The lock clicks open, and I push through, gun ready.

Nothing but wine. Rows of expensive bottles organized in order of date of harvest. I curse under my breath, holstering my weapon. Another dead end.

But something isn’t right. The wine cellar is too perfect, too clean. My eyes scan the walls, looking for inconsistencies, hidden panels, anything that might conceal another entrance. Father has always loved his secrets, his hidden compartments. When Yanis and I were boys, he taught us how to build false bottoms in drawers, hidden catches in bookshelves. Lessons for future criminals.

Finding nothing, I retrace my steps upstairs, standing in the empty corridor to collect myself. Every minute I waste searching is another minute those girls remain captive. And if my father decides to move them before I can locate them…

My phone vibrates in my pocket—a text from Stefan:

“Signal still active. Basement level. East wing.”

I reorient, heading east. This fucking palace has more secrets than I anticipated. As I move through the arched doorway that separates the wings, something catches my eye—a silhouette at the far end of the hallway. A woman.

She freezes when she notices me, then retreats quickly into a room. Something about her movement strikes me as familiar, though I can’t place why. She’s not Julia or Niki—I’ve seen both girls with Stefan, and this woman moved differently. Older, perhaps.

Could she be staff? But why run?

I follow, entering the room where she disappeared, but find it empty. A guest bedroom, pristine and untouched. The adjoining room too—a sitting area with views of the garden. Nothing. Where the hell did she vanish to?

Blyad.

The sensation of being watched prickles at my neck. I turn, following the feeling to another door. As I reach for the handle—

“Can I help you, sir?” A guard materializes from nowhere, hand resting on his holstered weapon. His eyes are dead—the kind that belong to men who follow orders without question. The tattoo on his wrist marks him as one of Father’s special security team, ex-military with loyalty bought at premium prices.

I could break his neck before his hand closed around the grip of his gun. The thought surfaces, cold and certain. I can see it play out in my mind: the move, the counter, the snap. Three seconds, maybe four. But this isn’t the time for direct confrontation. If I take him out, others will come. And the girls might pay the price.

“No,” I say, turning away. “Just looking for the bathroom.”

He doesn’t believe me, but he can’t challenge me directly. I’m still the boss’s son.

“First door on the right, sir,” he says, not moving from his position.

I nod and walk away, mind racing. The guard’s presence confirms it—this wing hides something worth protecting. Stefan’s intel about the basement must be correct, but the entrance isn’t where I expected.

And that woman… why did she look so familiar?

Back in my car, I sit without starting the engine. The scope of this operation is larger than I thought. It’s not just Julia and Niki—there are other girls, other victims. And that guard won’t be the only one. Father’s paranoia means multiple security layers, likely armed response teams on call. The warehouse will be similarly fortified.

This is no longer a rescue mission I can handle with Stefan and a few men. This is war against my father’s entire operation. If I move against him this openly, there’s no going back. He’ll come after everything I care about: my businesses, my people. Everything I care about…

But if I don’t act, how many more girls disappear forever? How many more families will be destroyed?