Page 30 of Crystal Veil (Rostov Bratva #2)

ELENA

My hand trembles as I dial Amelia. The phone feels foreign in my grip, like my fingers have forgotten how to hold something so simple. The estate around me is quiet, and the silence presses against my eardrums until I want to scream.

The phone rings twice before her voice fills my ear, warm and familiar and exactly what I need. “Elena?”

“Hey,” I whisper, my voice more breath than sound. “I need to talk.”

“Where are you? You sound like you've seen a ghost.”

I glance out the tall, arched window, the Miami skyline gleaming with late afternoon heat. The city spreads before me like a beautiful lie, all glass and steel and promises that crumble when you get too close. “I'm at the estate. I just... I need you to listen.”

“Always. Talk to me.”

Her voice is steady, grounding. Amelia has always been my anchor when the world tilts sideways. Even when we were kids and I'd show up at her house with scraped knees and tear- stained cheeks, she'd wrap me in her arms and make everything feel manageable again.

I close my eyes, letting her voice anchor me. “Something's off. That night at the gallery. The heist. Do you remember I told you how calm Celine was?”

“Celine? Bennato's girlfriend?”

“Yes, her. I keep thinking about her face when the alarms went off. People panicked and scattered. She didn't flinch. She actually smiled.”

The memory plays in my mind like a film reel stuck on repeat.

While everyone else stumbled over each other, while security guards shouted orders and guests shrieked, Celine stood perfectly still.

Her red lips curved upward in what I'd mistaken for amusement.

But it wasn't amusement. It was satisfaction.

Amelia exhales sharply. “That's weird.”

“I thought it was arrogance,” I murmur, pacing the edge of the veranda. The stone is warm beneath my toes, heated from hours of Miami sun. “But what if it was more than that? What if she knew it was coming?”

Silence stretches between us. I can practically hear Amelia's mind working, connecting the dots I've been too afraid to connect myself. Then, “You think she was involved?”

“I think she orchestrated it.”

The words hover in the air like a confession. Once I've spoken them, I can't take them back. Can't pretend I haven't seen what I've seen.

It clicks now like a puzzle that's been quietly taunting me. That whole night was too calculated. The timing, the precision, the way certain people seemed to know exactly where to be and when. And Celine was the only one who didn't break a sweat.

“Elena, that's...” Amelia's voice trails off. “That's huge. Are you sure?”

“As sure as I can be without proof. But I'm going to find proof.”

“How?”

I lean against the stone railing, feeling the rough texture against my palms. “I'm going to dig. Into her past, her connections, her entire life. There has to be something.”

“Elena, be careful. If you're right about this, if she really is involved with Bennato's operations and not just his lover, then she's dangerous. More dangerous than you know.”

Amelia's voice carries a note of worry that makes my chest tighten. She's always been protective of me, sometimes to the point of being overbearing. But this time, her concern feels justified.

“I know. But I can't just ignore this. I can't pretend I didn't see what I saw.”

“What does Renat think?”

I pause, realizing I haven't told him yet. Haven't even fully processed what I'm thinking myself. “I haven't told him.”

“Elena,” Amelia hisses.

“I know, I know. I will. But first, I need to be sure. I need information.”

Amelia sighs, and I can picture her running her fingers through her blonde hair the way she always does when she's worried. “What can I do to help?”

“Nothing. This is my story to chase. But thank you for listening.”

“Always. Just... promise me you'll be careful. Promise me you won't go rushing into anything without backup.”

“I promise.”

Amelia's voice tightens. “What are you going to do?”

“I'm going to expose her. Expose all of them. It's long overdue.”

“Elena, wait?—”

I end the call before she can try to talk me out of it. Before she can list all the reasons why this is dangerous, why I should let someone else handle it, and why I should play it safe.

I immediately dial Nick's direct line. If anyone can help me get to the bottom of this, it's him.

He answers on the second ring. “Martinez. How are you feeling?”

His voice is gruff but concerned. Nick has been checking on me constantly since the poisoning, calling every day to make sure I'm okay. It's sweet, in his own stoic way.

“Better. Physically anyway. But I need information.”

“Tell me what you need.”

I take a deep breath, knowing that once I voice this suspicion, there's no going back. “Celine Boucher. I need you to dig into her background. Everything. Personal, professional, scandalous. Use every source you've got.”

Nick is silent for a quiet second. I can practically hear him processing, mulling over the implications of what I'm asking.

“I know she's his side piece. But do you think she's tied criminally to Bennato?”

“I think she's more than tied to him. I think she's the knife he hides under his sleeve.”

“That's a serious accusation, Elena. What makes you think that?”

I lean against the window frame, watching the sun begin its descent toward the horizon. “Her behavior at the gallery. The way she reacted to the heist. And something about the poisoning... it felt too precise. Too calculated.”

“Celine's an art dealer, not a scientist.”

“Art dealers travel. They have connections all over the world. They know how to acquire rare things.” I pause. “Including rare poisons.”

Nick is quiet for a long moment. When he speaks again, his voice is carefully neutral. “You want me to dig into her romantic history? See if there's a pattern?”

“Yes. Exactly. She’s French and only came to this country a few years ago.”

“This could be dangerous territory, Elena. If you're right about her, if she really is Bennato's secret weapon, then investigating her could put you in more danger than you’ve already been in.”

“I'm already in danger. She tried to kill me with that letter.”

“You think it was her.”

“I think she's been cleaning up messes for Bennato for years. And I think I'm just the latest mess on her list.”

Nick exhales slowly. “Understood. Give me a few hours. I'll call when I have something.”

“Thanks, Nick. I owe you.”

“You don't owe me anything. Just stay safe, kid. And maybe tell your boyfriend what you're thinking. He's got resources we don't.”

The line goes dead, and I'm alone again with my thoughts. The next few hours drag by. I pretend I’m fine, but inside, I’m unraveling.

Every article I pull up on my laptop sends another tremor through me.

I keep digging, chasing leads and connections, doing everything I can to stay ahead of the fear while I wait for Nick to call.

I try to focus on the words on the screen and not the growing certainty that I've stumbled onto something bigger than I can handle. But my mind keeps returning to Celine's face, to that small smile that I now understand was triumph.

When the phone rings, I nearly drop it. My hands are shaking again, and I have to grip the device tightly to keep it steady.

“Talk to me,” I say without preamble.

Nick doesn't bother softening the blow. “Celine was engaged to a French diplomat in 2016. Jules Marceau. Wealthy, connected. Died in his sleep. No official cause. Private burial. No autopsy.”

My pulse slows, dread wrapping around my ribs. “No autopsy?”

“Family requested privacy. Money talks, especially when it comes to avoiding uncomfortable questions.”

“What else?”

“Then in 2019, she was seeing a Parisian artist, René Proulx. Found dead in his studio. Poisoned. Some obscure botanical toxin. Took days to identify. Authorities couldn't trace it.”

The words slam into me. One death could be a coincidence. Two deaths look like a pattern.

He keeps going. “One of her lovers in Dubai had a stroke at thirty-nine. Another in Geneva lost his entire fortune to a mysterious crypto theft. Then vanished.”

I press a hand to my stomach, grounding myself. The implications are staggering. “How many?”

“Six men in eight years. All wealthy, all connected, all dead or ruined after being involved with her.”

“She's not just Bennato's woman,” I whisper. “She is his weapon.”

“Every man she's been tied to ends up dead or ruined,” Nick confirms. “Elena, she's dangerous.”

The confirmation I'd been dreading settles over me. I'd known, on some level, but hearing it confirmed makes it real in a way that terrifies me.

“How does she do it? How does she get away with it?”

“She's smart. She moves around a lot, never stays in one place too long. Changes her appearance, her accent, her entire persona. She's like a chameleon.”

“And the authorities?”

“Look the other way. Money, connections, and the fact that she's never technically been convicted of anything. She's clean on paper.”

I sink into a nearby chair. “Nick, this is bigger than just Francesco Bennato. This is international. This is...”

“This is a story that could get you killed.”

The bluntness of his statement cuts through my journalistic excitement. This isn't just about bylines and accolades. This is about survival.

“Don't do anything yet,” I say. “Sit on the information for now.”

“Elena, this information... it's explosive. If we sit on it too long she might come after you again.”

“I know. But I need to think this through. I need to figure out the best way to handle this.”

“The best way is to turn it over to the authorities. Let them deal with her.”

“Which authorities? The ones who've been looking the other way for years?”

Nick is quiet for a moment. When he speaks, his voice is careful. “You're thinking about taking this to Renat.”

“I'm thinking about staying alive long enough to see justice done.”

“That's not the same thing,” Nick reprimands.

“Isn't it?”

“From where I'm sitting, it looks like you're about to choose between your principles and your life.”

The words sting because they're true. “I need time to think.”

“You don't have time. If she suspects you know...”

“She can’t. I’ve only just found out.”

Nick exhales sharply. “Fine,” he says, relenting. “Watch your back. If I'm right about this woman, she's not going to hesitate to tie up loose ends.”

“I will,” I promise.

The line goes dead, and I'm alone again with information that feels like a bomb in my hands.

I find Renat on the upper terrace, pacing, phone pressed to his ear. When he sees me, his entire demeanor shifts. The hard lines of his face soften, and he ends the call without ceremony.

“What is it?” he asks, eyes narrowing.

I tell him everything about Celine's behavior at the gallery, about my suspicions, about Nick's research. I watch his expression grow darker with each word, watch his jaw clench tighter as the full scope of what we're dealing with becomes clear.

When I finish, he pulls me close and brushes a kiss across my forehead. The gesture is heartbreakingly tender, a jarring shift from the violence I can feel coiled beneath his skin.

“Six men,” he murmurs against my hair.

“Maybe more. Nick only found the ones he could verify.”

Renat's arms tighten around me, and I can feel the tension in his body. “She came after you.” His teeth grind together. “She's still out there. Still dangerous.”

He pulls back to look at me, his hazel eyes dark with rage. “You can't go after her alone, Elena. Promise me.”

“I won't.”

He studies my face as if trying to memorize every detail. “This changes everything. Bennato isn't just our enemy. He's got a killer working for him who's been perfecting her craft for years.”

“What do we do?”

Then he murmurs, “Now we kill them both.”

The words are simple and terrifying in their finality. And the world, once again, shifts beneath my feet.

“Renat—”

“No.” His voice is steel. “She tried to take you from me. There's no negotiation here, no middle ground. She dies.”

The certainty in his voice should frighten me. It should make me pull away and remind me that I'm in love with a man who solves problems with violence. But instead, I feel a strange sense of relief. For the first time since all this started, I feel protected.

My rational mind wants to argue, wants to insist that there has to be another way. But looking at him, seeing the deadly resolve in his eyes, I realize that some problems can't be solved with articles and investigations. Some problems require a different kind of solution.

“How?” I ask quietly.

“Leave that to me.”

“I want to help.”

“No.” His voice is firm. “You've done enough. You’ve uncovered the truth. Now let me handle the rest.”

I lean into him, feeling the solid warmth of his body against mine. Outside, the skyline glitters in the growing dusk, beautiful, corrupt, and dangerous. Just like everything else in this world I've stumbled into.