Page 75 of The Russian's Revenge Bride
“His apartment, as far as I know. Maxim, what are you planning?”
I looked at Andrey and Konstantin, both of whom were listening to my side of the conversation with the kind of attention that meant they understood more English than they’d let on.
“Change of plans,” I said into the phone. “Come to my house. We need to discuss Dmitry’s retirement package.”
I ended the call and turned back to the Russians. They’d served their purpose, confirmed what I’d already suspected, and provided the final pieces of evidence I needed to justify what came next.
“Thank you for your cooperation,” I said politely.
Then I put bullets through both their heads.
The drive back to the mansion gave me time to think, time to plan, time to consider the full scope of Dmitry’s betrayal. He wasn’t just a traitor. He was an architect of chaos, someone who’d been playing a game so complex that we’d only just begun to understand the rules. We knew he’d been playing multiple sides, but we hadn’t realized just how intricate his plan had been.
But now that I knew what he was, now that I understood the threat he represented, I could plan accordingly. Dmitry Chertov had made one critical error in his elaborate scheme.
He’d targeted my wife.
And that was going to be the last mistake he ever made.
***
Lev was waiting for me in my office when I arrived, documents spread across my desk, and his expression was grim with the kind of focus that meant we were about to plan something that would reshape the landscape of organized crime in Chicago.
“Show me everything,” I said, pouring two glasses of vodka and settling behind my desk.
“Dmitry’s been busy,” Lev said, pointing to a timeline he’d constructed. “Six months ago, he made first contact with Russian intelligence. Four months ago, he started feeding them information about our operations. Two months ago, he connected with Beaumont.”
“What’s Beaumont’s angle in all this?”
“Revenge, mostly. But also business. Dmitry’s been helping him position his construction company to take over territories we’ve controlled for years. Infrastructure contracts, municipal projects, real estate development.”
“And tonight’s attack?”
“Was supposed to be the opening move in a larger campaign. Eleanor’s death would have triggered a war between us and Russian interests, which would have weakened both sides enough for Beaumont and Dmitry to consolidate power.”
I stared at the timeline, the careful documentation of months of planning and betrayal. Dmitry had been patient, methodical, absolutely fucking ruthless in his approach. If tonight had gone according to his plan, Eleanor would be dead, I’d be at war with Moscow, and he’d be positioning himself as the reasonable voice calling for peace and stability.
“How do we kill him without triggering the very war he’s trying to start?”
“Carefully. Quietly. In a way that looks like natural causes or an accident.” Lev leaned back in his chair. “But first, we need to understand the full scope of his network. Who else is compromised, how deep the corruption goes, what other operations are at risk.”
“How long will that take?”
“A few days, maybe a week. Dmitry’s careful, paranoid. If we move too quickly, he’ll disappear and we’ll never find all the connections.”
I thought about Eleanor, upstairs in our bed, probably still glowing from the success of her show. She deserved to sleep peacefully, to enjoy her triumph without knowing how close she’d come to dying tonight.
“One week,” I decided. “Then Dmitry Chertov suffers a tragic accident.”
“What about Beaumont?”
“Beaumont is Eleanor’s problem to solve. But Dmitry….” I smiled, and it felt like sharpened steel. “Dmitry belongs to me.”
Chapter 21 – Eleanor
The wine was supposed to dull the sharp edges of disappointment, but three glasses in, all it had accomplished was making everything feel raw and exposed. I sat curled in the leather chair by our bedroom window, my sketchbook balanced on my knees, trying to channel my hurt into something productive instead of destructive.
The show had been perfect. Better than perfect. Orders were already pouring in, fashion bloggers were calling it “a triumph of contemporary design,” and Chicago’s social elite were suddenly very interested in being associated with Eleanor Voronov’s brand.
