Chapter Thirty-Seven
Arkady
Stefan stumbles through the door first, looking like death warmed over.
Dark circles bruise the skin beneath his eyes, his jaw clenched so tight I can see the muscle jumping.
“My girl… Arkady.” His voice cracks. “What if they’ve already—”
“They haven’t.” I cut him off before he can finish that thought. “We’re getting her back. Along with Niki.”
The others arrive in quick succession. Yanis walks in with Mikhail trailing behind—our cousin, the tech expert who can crack any security system like it’s made of paper.
Then comes Leo, arms folded across his chest, the weapons specialist who never travels light.
The twins follow, Alexei and Andrei moving in synch, both former CIA field intelligence officers.
Spies, in plain language. Now they freelance, and they often help us out with intel that shouldn’t exist. Last through the door is Yuri, carrying his medical kit.
These are the only men I trust with my life.
An hour ago, Alexei called with confirmation—the warehouse sits empty, scrubbed clean. Which means the girls are exactly where I suspected all along: my father’s basement.
I gesture toward the conference room. “Mirabel’s preparing food. We’ll eat while we plan.”
My men file in, taking their regular seats around the boardroom table. The room hushes. I tap a button, bringing up a series of photos on the screen: the familiar facade of my father’s estate, security points circled in red.
“Thanks to Andrei and Alexei, we have strong intel,” I announce. The twins exchange looks that speak volumes. Their work has always been precise, meticulous. Just the asset we need right now. “I’m not going to bullshit you; this isn’t going to be easy.”
“Doesn’t matter,” Stefan’s voice is gruff, “we won’t make it easy on those fuckers either.”
The air in the room feels dense with purpose. This isn’t just another operation; it’s personal. Every man here knows what happens to the girls my father traffics. Every man here has seen the aftermath.
“If we fail,” Yanis says quietly, “We’re all fucked.”
My jaw tightens. Leave it to Yanis to state the obvious—always the voice of caution. I respect it, but right now we need action, not hesitation.
“If we fail,” I counter, meeting his gaze, “those girls disappear forever. Including Julia and Niki.”
Stefan’s knuckles whiten against the edge of the table. His massive frame seems to expand with barely contained fury, the black ink across his throat pulsing with each heartbeat.
“If we fail,” he growls, “my daughter becomes some sheik’s plaything. I’ll take down the entire Bratva before I let that happen.”
The raw anguish in his voice slices through the room. Every man here knows Stefan would tear the world apart for his daughter. The same fury burns in my gut. My father selling women isn’t new, but these particular girls? It crosses a line that can’t be uncrossed.
“Easy, brat,” I say, my voice a steel edge. “We’re getting them out.”
I tap the schematic, refocusing their attention on what matters. “Yanis, you get Father out of the house, clear? He trusts you the most. Take him for dinner, walk in the park, whatever father-son bullshit you need. Just keep him away for the duration.”
Yanis nods, conflict shadowing his face. “Consider it done, bratan.”
I see the cost in his eyes. Yanis, caught between loyalty to our father and loyalty to me—to what’s right. I understand the weight of that choice.
“Mikhail,” I turn to my cousin, “can you trigger the alarm systems remotely? We need a distraction. Also make sure my father’s phone doesn’t ping when the alarm goes off. We don’t want him to know.”
Mikhail’s lips curl in that smug way they always do when I ask him about tech. “Child’s play,” he says, already swiping his fingers over the screen of his tablet.
“Perfect. First, Yanis gets our father out, away from the mansion. Then Mikhail triggers the alarms. The staff will evacuate when this happens. Alexei and Andrei, you make sure none of them return. Once the house is empty, Stefan, Yuri, and I hit the cellar.” I run through the timing once more in my head.
“That’s our window to extract the girls.
We move fast and get the job done before the old man could realize what’s happening. ”
The sound of the door opening cuts through my thoughts.
Mirabel appears with a tray of food and drinks, and something electric happens in the room.
Her eyes lock onto Stefan, and she freezes, color draining from her face as she takes in his massive tattooed form—the artwork covering his scalp, the thick black lines wrapping his throat, the sheer intimidating size of him.
Stefan notices her reaction and shifts in his chair, discomfort evident in the slight twitch of his shoulder.
Interesting.
My body tenses instinctively, protective instincts flaring. The way she’s looking at Stefan—it’s not just apprehension at his obvious intimidation factor. It’s… horror. Why would she be afraid of my enforcer?
Mirabel’s hands tremble slightly as she sets down the tray, her movements careful, deliberate, like someone trying not to startle a jungle cat.
She avoids looking at Stefan again, but as she turns to leave, her eyes meet mine.
There’s something in that look—recognition?
Fear? I can’t place it, but it gnaws at me.
“Thank you, Miss McLeod,” I say formally, watching her carefully.
The scent of her perfume—something light, citrus—lingers as she passes, mingling with the smell of gun oil and sweat that permeates the room. For a heartbeat, I want to reach out, to catch her wrist and demand answers. The urge to control the situation, to know everything, pulses through me.
She nods and hurries out, but not before casting one last glance at Stefan. Yet again, her eyes are wide with terror.
“She looked at you like she’d seen a ghost,” I say to Stefan once the door closes. “What’s that about?” My tone is casual, but my eyes are hard. I don’t like secrets I’m not privy to.
He responds with a shrug, his face unreadable. But something’s there—a connection I’m missing. I file it away for later. Right now, we have an operation to execute, but Mirabel McLeod just moved higher on my list of priorities.
I open the weapons case on the table with a metallic click that satisfies something primal in me. The smell of steel and cordite fills the air.
“Each of you has a specific role and the tools needed,” I say, lifting a pistol from its foam cradle. “Alexei and Andrei, perimeter control. Leo, you handle any security we encounter.”
I distribute earpieces, tactical vests, and weapons with practiced efficiency. The weight of each piece feels right in my hands—familiar, controlled. This is the world I know. The world I rule.
“Silencers on everything,” I instruct, screwing one onto my own weapon. “No casualties unless absolutely necessary. The guards are Father’s men—most are just mercenaries following orders.”
Yuri, our medic, looks up from checking his kit. “What about the girls? Some may be drugged or injured.”
My mind flashes to the girls we’ve rescued before. The vacant eyes. The needle marks. The silent, animal terror.
“That’s why you’re coming with us,” I tell him, voice roughening. “Prepare for anything from sedation to physical trauma.”
I frown, running through the inventory again. “We’re missing the thermal scanner. Yobany urod. Shit.”
I reach into my pocket for the key to my secret room.
The metal warms against my palm, a reminder of what I keep locked away—not just equipment, but pieces of myself no one gets to see.
Stefan is the only one here who knows about it—he helped me build it when I moved into the house.
The others don’t need to know what else I keep there.
The weight of the key feels heavy with its burden of memories.
“Stefan, go to my private room and bring back the thermal scanner in the gun cabinet,” I say, tossing him the key. “Third drawer down.”
Stefan catches it with one hand, nodding with silent understanding. As he leaves, I notice Yanis watching me, that look in his eyes that says he knows I’m keeping secrets. My brother has always been too perceptive for his own good.
“We move in six hours,” I say, redirecting everyone’s attention to the mission. My voice drops lower, intensity radiating in the stillness I cultivate. “Get prepped, check your gear twice, and be ready. These girls get one shot at freedom.”
My team disperses with purpose, but my mind lingers on Mirabel’s reaction to Stefan. She recognized him—I’m certain of it. But from where? And why the fear?
The questions circle like wolves, but I push them away. Right now, the mission demands my full attention. Innocent lives hang in the balance. Whatever secrets Mirabel is hiding will have to wait.
I fold up the maps with precise movements, control in every crease. Control is what keeps people alive. Control is what I do best.
And yet, as I gather my materials, I can still see her eyes—wide, frightened, knowing. The softness of her mouth as she’d drawn in that sharp breath. Mirabel McLeod has just become a complication I didn’t anticipate. A complication I’m suddenly desperate to unravel.
When this is over, she and I will have a very different kind of conversation.
One where I get answers, not more questions.