Page 118 of Deceitful Vows

I wouldn’t have sent Mikhail to do my bidding if Maksim hadn’t mistaken my arrival at his hotel as me bringing our meeting forward by several hours.

My head would be buried between Zoya’s legs.

Unwilling to show more of his hand than he just did, Maksim gestures for me to sit across from him. He is acting courteous because I own the airline Maksim and Zoya flew with this evening, meaning I wasn’t solely aware of Zoya’s visit to my hometown hours before it occurred, I also know my list of heart surgeons is being minimized each second Maksim exacts revenge.

Maksim killed Dr. Azores mid-flight and then secured my security company’s services to doctor the evidence.

I am more than happy to comply with his request, but only after issuing some of my own.

After unbuttoning my suit jacket, I take a seat across from Maksim before getting down to business. “I have names of the people you’re seeking. Many of them.” When he attempts to interrupt, I speak faster. It pisses him off, but so be it. I have as much, if not more, pull in this town as him. “Your mother didn’t end up where she was for no reason. This ruse runs far deeper than Myasnikov Private Hospital’s underbelly. To truly make a stance, you need the information my team has unearthed.”

I hand him a printout that Konstantine unearthed after a lengthy crawl through the system he hacked into weeks ago. It shows that Maksim’s mother is one of many victims. The main target won’t be recognized by name. When they mean nothing to you but a means to get off, you don’t get their name before leaving a fistful of bills on the nightstand.

Once I’m confident Maksim identifies the face of the woman being carried out of his hotel room clearly inebriated, I place a second photograph over the first.

This one adds a tic to his jaw.

The whore who kept his sheets warm for a night looks starkly different on an autopsy table.

“They took all her organs, including her eyes.”

Maksim tosses down the images before leaning back in his chair. “Are these supposed to rattle me?”

“No,” I reply, being honest. “But it is a little hypocritical to make it seem as if you’re taking down an industry you apparently commenced.”

He looks like he wants to slit my throat.

Good. It means he’s now paying attention.

“Someone in your operation is working with the federation.” His squint announces he’s heard of the federation, but his lack of worry shows he’s underestimating their potential. “There are numerous paper trails leading back to Ivanov Industries. Including the sale of your mother’s organs.”

“What benefit would I get from killing my mother?” He sounds like he wants to murder me just for the insinuation, and it adds another point to my tally.

“From the rumors circulating, to reach the top tier of the Fernandezes’ ladder.”

When my hand digs into my soft leather briefcase for more evidence, Maksim growls out, “Tread carefully, Kazimir. Veryfuckingcarefully.”

I give him as much information as I can about organ sales on the black market without putting up the roadblocks I did weeks ago when I contacted Matvei.

It places me in Maksim’s favor, though not enough for him not to add his own stipulations to our verbal agreement.

“I will consider holding off on certain regions if you give me the names of everyone in the Myasnikov Private ring.”

I almost lecture him on how no business should be ran on “ifs,” but hold my tongue when I recall his willingness to bend protocols for me is better than any outcome I could have anticipated.

“I’ll see what I can do.”

“No.” His headshake is as arrogant as the balling of his hand when he places it on his desk in clear warning that his patience is wearing thin. “I want themnow.”

Something in his eyes tells me this is as personal as it gets for him as well, but not all of it centers around his mother’s recent hospital admission.

Knowledge that the changeup could swing the needle in my favor permanently sees me offering him a rare snippet of leniency. “Tell me the name you want me to exclude, and I’ll have my man run it through the list.”

His reply isn’t as immediate this time around, but it is brimming with angst. “Nikita Hoffman.Dr.Nikita Hoffman.”

“Running it now,” Konstantine announces, talking through the earpiece I’ve rarely been without over the past two weeks.

His fingers stroke the keyboard a handful of times before he cusses.

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