Page 32 of The Russian's Revenge Bride
***
Having work to focus on changed everything. Within days, I had a fully functional office set up in one of the mansion’s unused rooms. Zara handled the PR side while I worked on salvaging what I could of my fall line and planning for the future.
The damage control story was working better than expected. Orders started trickling in from boutiques that wanted to capitalize on the romantic narrative. My social media following exploded as people became fascinated by the mysterious Mrs. Voronov.
For the first time since this whole nightmare began, I felt like myself again. Like I had value beyond being a pawn in someone else’s game.
I was working late one evening, sketching designs for a new collection inspired by my recent experiences, when Mrs. Kowalski appeared in my doorway.
“Mrs. Voronov? There’s someone here to see you.”
I looked up from my sketches, confused. “At this hour?”
“She says she’s your mother.”
My blood turned to ice. “Mom?”
Ruth Beaumont stood in the mansion’s foyer like she owned the place, her honey-blonde hair perfectly styled despite the late hour. She wore a designer coat that I recognized from last season’s Chanel collection, and her expression was a mixture of concern and barely controlled fury.
“Eleanor.” Her voice was tight with emotion. “What the hell have you done?”
I glanced around, looking for Maxim or one of his men. “How did you get in here?”
“Your husband let me through. Apparently, he has more manners than you do.”
That stung, but I pushed the hurt aside. “What are you doing here?”
“What am I doing here? My daughter disappears for a week, then I find out she’s married some criminal she’s never mentioned. What do you think I’m doing here?”
“He’s not a criminal,” I said automatically, then realized how stupid that sounded.
“Isn’t he? Eleanor, do you have any idea who you’ve married? What kind of world you’ve walked into?”
“I know exactly what I’ve done.”
“Do you? Because from where I’m standing, it looks like you married a dangerous man just to spite your father.”
The accusation hit too close to home, but I forced myself to stay calm. “It’s complicated.”
“Complicated how? Eleanor, talk to me. Help me understand why my brilliant, successful daughter would throw her life away like this.”
I looked at my mother, really looked at her. The woman who’d raised me, who’d protected me from William’s coldness as much as she could, who’d always been in my corner even when no one else was.
She deserved the truth.
“Sit down, Mom.”
We settled in the living room, and I told her everything. The kidnapping, the revenge plot, William’s betrayal of the Bratva, his public disavowal of me, the forced marriage. I didn’t spare any details, didn’t try to make it sound less insane than it was.
When I finished, Ruth was quiet for a long moment. Then she said, “Money laundering.”
“What?”
“Your father. His business. I always wondered how he managed to grow so fast, win so many government contracts. Money laundering for organized crime would explain it.”
I stared at her, processing what she’d just said. “You knew?”
“I suspected. The late-night phone calls, the meetings with men who didn’t look like construction workers, the way he’d disappear for days at a time with no explanation.” She sighed heavily. “I chose not to ask questions because I was afraid of the answers.”
