Page 71 of Savage Obsession

Lazaro is breathing hard now, nostrils flaring. He wipes the blood from his face, eyes blazing with pure rage.

"You little bitch," he snarls. "I should’ve shot you in the damn head the first time."

Before I can answer, something hard slams into my back, and for a second I thought I'd become crippled.

I hit the ground; the knife slipping from my grasp, my vision swimming with dark spots.

“Tie her up. Fucking chain her and bring her to me,” Lazaro says, limping to a chair in the far corner.

One of his men yanks my hands behind me and ties me up so tight I can feel the rope peeling the skin on my wrists. He drags me to where Lazaro is sitting and forces me to my knees. As if that is not enough humiliation, Lazaro pushes me to lie flat before him.

I try to push up, but a boot presses into my back, pinning me down. My body screams in protest, but my mind is still working, still calculating.

I see Lazaro standing over me, gun aimed right at my head. "This is how it ends for you, little princess," he taunts.

I refuse to close my eyes. If I die, I will die looking him in the damn face.

Aithan

My phone buzzes, and the second I see Dimitri's name flashing across the screen, a cold dread slithers down my spine. I answer, my voice sharp. “What?”

“There’s a problem, boss.” His breath is ragged, and in the background, I hear the shuffle of movement, the scrape of a gun being drawn. “Penthouse is compromised. Yelena’s gone.”

The world narrows to a pinpoint. “What the fuck do you mean, gone?” My grip tightens around the phone, knuckles going white.

“I just got here to switch out with Nico—he’s dead, sir. Shot in the head. The place is torn apart, and there are signs of struggle, but she’s not here.”

A roar builds in my chest, but I choke it down. Panic is useless. I force myself to think, to move. My mind sharpens like a blade.

“Send me the surveillance feed now!” I’m already switching calls, my voice a lethal growl as I bark into the receiver. “I need the coordinates on Basilis’ route!”

This isn’t a coincidence. It stinks of Lazaro. This is what he meant when he told Basilis that he has yet another plan up his sleeve. That he still had pieces to play. The next attack he said was already in motion was to have my Yelena kidnapped.

Lazaro was no longer playing to fix himself as the most important figure in theElliniki.He knows his gig is up. What he is playing at now is to cripple me. He knows getting Yelena will not only cripple me, it will kill me.

Beads of sweat form on my forehead as I try not to imagine the worst.

As soon as we arrive, I take in my environment out of share force of habit. It is a secluded, rundown building. I head straight for what looks like the entrance, trusting the men with me to secure the environment and deal with any other external interference.

The sight of Yelena under Lazaro’s feet is like gasoline to an already burning inferno. Maddening anger rages inside me, dark and merciless. My heart pounds with violent purpose, every step reverberating with the rage simmering in my veins.

She’s restrained, her arms bound behind her back with his left foot on her spine. Her dark hair spilling over her face in wild disarray. Her porcelain skin is bruised, a thin cut marring her cheek. Fury detonates inside me like an explosive charge.

Lazaro towers over her, a gun dangling from his hand. He looks surprised at first, but that is quickly replaced by a smirk. The kind that makes my trigger finger tighten, but I keep my movements steady, my aim unwavering. The bastard doesn’t know that both my men and men from the Bratva have this place totally surrounded.

“Get your filthy leg off my wife.” I say, ignoring his men, who are already shaking with dread.

“Aithan!” Lazaro says, trying to cover the surprise on his face. “I was wondering when you’d show.”

I don’t answer. Instead, my gaze flicks to Yelena.

Her blue eyes burn with defiance, sharp and alert. She’s afraid—I can see it—but she’s not broken. That alone fuels my bloodlust. I will tear through this entire place for her.

“You must love her a great deal,” Lazaro muses, leaning back in his chair. “To come storming in here without thinking of the consequences.”

I tilt my head, letting a smile—a cold, merciless one—curve my lips. “I’m not the one who should be thinking about consequences.”

His expression flickers, just for a moment, before he regains his composure. “You’ve always been reckless, Aithan. Just like your father. And now look where it’s gotten you. Your little Russian princess is mine.”

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