Page 59 of The Russian's Revenge Bride

I thought about the woman upstairs, the one who’d looked at me covered in blood and called me hers. The one who’d demanded to be included in my world instead of protected from it.

“She’ll understand,” I said finally. “She saw what happened today. She knows the stakes.”

“I hope you’re right. Because if we’re dealing with a traitor in our ranks, things are going to get a lot worse before they get better.”

After they left, I sat alone in my office, staring out at the city lights and trying to process everything that had shifted in the span of a single day. This morning, I’d been worried about keeping Eleanor safe from external threats. Now I was facing the possibility that the danger was coming from inside our own organization.

The intercom on my desk buzzed. “Sir?”

“Yes, Lev?”

“There’s someone here to see you. Says it’s urgent.”

“Who?”

“Dmitry Chertov.”

The name hit me like ice water in my veins. Speak of the fucking devil.

“Send him in.”

Dmitry entered my office with the same calm confidence he’d always displayed, his ash-blond hair perfectly styled and his gray suit immaculate. But now, knowing what I knew, I found myself studying him differently. Looking for tells, for signs of deception, for anything that might confirm or deny my suspicions.

“Maxim,” he said, extending his hand in greeting. “I heard about the attack on Eleanor. Thank God she’s safe.”

I shook his hand, noting the firm grip, the steady eye contact, the perfect balance of concern and professionalism. Either he was genuinely relieved that my wife had survived, or he was one hell of an actor.

“She is,” I said. “Thanks to quick thinking and good intelligence.”

“Rafael mentioned that I was the one who flagged the anomaly in her movement pattern. I’m glad my vigilance paid off.”

“About that,” I said, settling behind my desk. “Walk me through exactly what you saw, what made you suspicious.”

Dmitry took the seat across from me, his posture relaxed and open. “Eleanor’s car deviated from its expected route back to the house around 1:47 p.m. Instead of taking the direct path home, it stopped in the downtown area for approximately ninety minutes, then began moving toward a sector that’s known for gang activity.”

“And that triggered your concern?”

“Of course. Any deviation from expected patterns gets flagged automatically, but this one was particularly worrying. The destination area has been the site of several violent incidents in recent months.”

“So you called Rafael immediately?”

“Within minutes of the pattern recognition alert. I know how protective you are of Eleanor, and I didn’t want to take any chances with her safety.”

Everything he was saying sounded reasonable, logical, exactly what a conscientious security coordinator should do. But something about his manner was setting off alarm bells in my head. Too smooth, too perfect, like a rehearsed performance.

“I appreciate your vigilance,” I said. “Eleanor could have been killed if we hadn’t responded quickly.”

“That’s exactly what I was thinking. These attacks on Bratva associates have been escalating lately. It’s like someone has detailed intelligence on our operations, our personnel, our vulnerabilities.”

The statement was delivered with just the right mix of concern and speculation, but I caught something in his eyes when he said it. A flicker of something that might have been satisfaction.

“Interesting theory,” I said carefully. “Any thoughts on where this intelligence might be coming from?”

“Hard to say. Could be surveillance, could be electronic intercepts, could be….” He paused, as if the thought was just occurring to him. “Could be someone on the inside.”

“You think we have a traitor?”

“I think we’d be fools not to consider the possibility. The level of operational detail these attacks have shown suggests intimate knowledge of our procedures.”