Chapter Forty-One
Arkady
My fist crashes through the drywall before I realize what I’m doing.
Plaster dust rains down, coating my knuckles already slick with blood. Three hours. Three fucking hours since Mirabel’s phone went dark.
I wrench my hand free, barely registering the sting.
The pain is nothing compared to the acid churning in my gut, the pressure building behind my eyes.
I stare at the tracking data again, the map on my screen taunting me with its little pulsing dot, frozen at her father’s house.
My messages sit delivered but unread, each one more desperate than the last. I must have called her twenty times at least.
“Where are you, zaychik?” I whisper hoarsely, despite having my suspicions.
Something is very fucking wrong. Mirabel would never ignore me like this. Even when she’s furious—like after catching her in the Secret Room or when I snapped at her about moving too slowly—she pushes back, challenges me. She doesn’t ghost. She never goes silent. Never disappears.
“Yobany v rot!” I slam my bloody fist against my desk, welcoming the sharp crack of pain. Physical discomfort is better than this hollow dread consuming me from within.
I pace my office, replaying our last conversation in excruciating detail. She claimed her father was in the hospital. But what if she lied? What if there’s something else happening? I should have verified her story, checked every fucking hospital in the state instead of taking her word for it.
Instead, I let her go because she looked at me with those big brown eyes, and my cock hardened like I was some green teenager instead of the head of the Laurov Bratva. Weak. Sloppy. Potentially fatal… for her.
Pizdets!
The thought chills me. For a moment, I see Mishka’s face superimposed over Mirabel’s—both lost because of my failures. I glance toward the east wing, where the Secret Room holds my brother’s ashes.
Not again.
I can’t lose someone else because I wasn’t vigilant enough.
The knock at my door is sharp, precise. I don’t answer, but Stefan and Yanis enter anyway, reading the murderous tension in my body like an open book.
“What’s going on?” says Yanis.
“The housekeeper’s missing,” I say, my voice dropping to the deadly quiet my enemies have learned to fear. I turn back to the screens, pointing to the glowing dot. “Her phone went dark three hours ago. Messages delivered, no response. Last location, her father’s house. Right here.”
Stefan’s eyes narrow as he studies the map, jaw tightening. I can almost see the machinery of his mind working, the pieces assembling.
“What do you care, brat?” Yanis asks, caution in his tone as his gaze flicks to the hole in the wall, the blood on my knuckles. “Can’t you get another housekeeper?”
The look I give him could freeze hell itself. “Do you really want to question me right now?” The threat in my voice is unmistakable.
Stefan shifts his weight, steering the conversation to more practical issues. “This area’s known for disappearances, boss.” He points at a screen. “Multiple cases I’ve recently tied back to your father. Quiet streets, minimal security cameras, multiple escape routes.”
Yanis’s face hardens, a shadow crossing his features as he looks at me. “Fuck, bratan. Your housekeeper… the looker with the dark hair?”
I grit my teeth and nod.
“You realize that she fits the criteria Father looks for, right? Long dark hair, dark eyes, a little bit…” He makes a waving motion with his hands. “Curvy.”
I stare at him as the realization hits with brutal clarity: Mirabel. Vanished. Matches exactly what my father wants. I can’t breathe for a second as it all locks into place, my vision edging with red.
“Jesus,” I grind out. My father is probably behind this. The man who raised me, whose blood runs in my veins, has taken Mirabel. My Mirabel.
“We’ll find her,” Stefan says quietly, his voice breaking through the roaring in my ears. “Together with Julia and Niki.”
“Use every contact we have,” I order, already pulling up security feeds, camera angles. “Check the usual spots. Talk to our people on the streets. I want the precise plan ready in two hours. We move tonight.”
After they leave, I stand at my window, fist pressed against the glass. The dread in my gut feels like a living thing with teeth and claws, shredding my insides. Beyond the dread, something darker builds—rage in its purest form, a storm gathering deadly strength.
These disappearances, all connected—and my father orchestrating every single one. The evidence has been there all along. I just refused to acknowledge what it meant: that my own blood, my own father, is more than a monster. He’s the Devil himself.
My phone buzzes against my thigh. My heart lurches painfully. Mirabel? I answer without checking the screen.
“Can I speak to Arkady Laurov, please?” The voice is male, professional. Not Mirabel. The disappointment is a physical blow.
“Who’s asking?” I keep my tone lethal, warning the caller not to waste my time.
“My name is Dr. Cullen from the prenatal department of St. Mary’s Hospital,” he says. “I’m calling about Rosanna Tulikova.”
I frown, struggling to shift mental gears. “Yes?”
“I’m afraid Miss Tulikova was in a severe car accident last night.” There’s a pause, and his voice softens slightly, the way doctors do when they’re delivering fatal news. “We couldn’t save her.”
“What?” I bark, disbelieving.
“I’m sorry to tell you this, sir. Miss Tulikova succumbed to her injuries. I’m afraid she passed away in the early hours of the morning,” he says.
I try to process this. “I don’t understand,” I say stupidly.
“She was 34 weeks pregnant,” he continues. “We performed an emergency C-section to save the baby. The baby boy is stable but premature. He’s in our NICU.”
My head is reeling. Rosanna is dead. Our complicated history, her depression, our failed wedding—all suddenly meaningless against the finality of death.
“I see,” I manage to say. “Have you… contacted her next of kin?”
“Well, that’s where it gets complicated,” Dr. Cullen says cautiously. “Miss Tulikova named you as the father before the surgery.”
The room spins around me dizzyingly.
Bozhe moy!
A son. I have a son.
If he’s mine.
My brain stutters, unable to process this new reality colliding with the crisis already unfolding.
The doctor clears his throat. “We suspect it may not have been an accident.”
“What do you mean?” My question emerges mechanically while my mind splinters in different directions.
“The police will provide more details. What you need to know now is that she named you as the father of her baby. Aside from being premature, he’s a healthy boy. His name is Aleksandr Laurov.”
My mind goes completely blank. “That’s not possible.”
“The birth certificate has your name on it, sir,” he says with studied patience.
“By law, we must release the child to you unless you formally contest paternity. You’re welcome to do a DNA test, Mr. Laurov.
But legally, you either take the baby home, or we will have to place him in a childcare center.
Then you’d have to start the adoption process should the DNA test confirm he’s your son. ”
I grip the edge of my desk as I fight for stability. The irony is savage enough to draw blood—I’ve spent years avoiding fatherhood, haunted by the image of Mishka’s small body growing still, convinced I’d only destroy any child unlucky enough to be mine.
Now, I have one dropped into my world without warning.
Rosanna dead. A baby—my son—waiting for me. Mirabel missing. All in one fucking day.
“Mr. Laurov? Are you still there?”
I force myself to focus. “Yes. When can I see him?”
“You can come to the NICU anytime. There’s paperwork to complete before release, but you’re welcome to meet your son now.”
“I’ll be there.” I end the call, my hand trembling with the force of my grip.
For a moment, I stand perfectly still, the beast within me howling for release.
The part of me shaped by my father wants blood, wants to tear through the city until I find Mirabel, leaving corpses in my wake.
The part of me that still remembers Mishka’s laugh knows I need to think clearly, strategically.
Right now, there’s a newborn baby waiting in a hospital to meet his father. And a woman locked God knows where, waiting for me to save her.
Both of them my responsibility.
Both of them need me.
And my life just changed in the blink of an eye.