Page 66 of The Russian's Revenge Bride

Despite her reassurances, I couldn’t push away the twinge of worry that sprouted in my stomach. “What if the show is a disaster? What if nobody comes, or the clothes fall apart, or someone tries to shoot up the venue?”

Anya’s expression softened, and she offered me a small smile. “Then we’ll deal with it. Together. That’s what family does.”

Family. The word still felt strange in my mouth, still carried weight I wasn’t used to. But standing there, surrounded by the evidence of Anya’s faith in me, with Zara’s fierce loyalty and Maxim’s love protecting me from all sides, I was starting to understand what it actually meant.

It meant having people who would fight for your dreams as hard as they fought for your life.

The fashion show was going to be perfect.

And if anyone tried to stop it, they were going to learn exactly what kind of woman Eleanor Voronov really was.

Chapter 18 – Maxim

The whiskey burned going down, but not as much as the fucking rage that had been eating at me for the past eighteen hours. I sat behind my desk, staring at the door and waiting for Lev to walk through it with answers that might finally explain how the hell someone had gotten close enough to put bullets through Eleanor’s car.

When he finally entered, his usual cocky swagger was replaced by something more careful, more measured. He knew I was on edge. He knew that the wrong word, the wrong tone, could result in violence that would take weeks to repair.

“Well?” I said without preamble.

Lev settled into the chair across from me, a thick folder in his hands. “Dmitry Chertov is interesting.”

“Interesting how?”

“Interesting, like he’s the most connected motherfucker I’ve ever investigated.” He opened the folder, spreading documents across my desk. “Financial records, communication logs, travel patterns. This guy has his fingers in more pies than a fucking bakery.”

I leaned forward, studying the papers. Bank statements, phone records, meeting schedules. All of it looked legitimate, professional, exactly what you’d expect from someone in Dmitry’s position.

“He’s got connections with everyone, Maxim. I’m talking government officials at the federal and state level, business leaders in construction, shipping, and finance. Mexican cartels, Italian families, Russian bratva from here to Moscow. If there’s a deal being made in this city that involves moving money or product, Dmitry’s name is somewhere in the paperwork.”

“That’s his job, Lev.”

“Yeah, but it goes deeper than that. He’s not just facilitating deals for us. He’s got his own network, his own sources, his own agenda.” Lev pulled out a sheet covered in names and dates. “Look at this shit. He meets with government contacts twice a week, minimum. Always different locations, always different people, always cash transactions that don’t appear on any official records.”

“Bribes?”

“Has to be. But here’s the thing that’s fucking with me.” He tapped the paper with his finger. “Some of these meetings happen right before our deals go through smoothly. But others happen right before our competitors run into problems with customs, or shipping delays, or sudden interest from law enforcement.”

I felt something cold settle in my gut. “You’re saying he’s playing both sides.”

“I’m saying he’s playingeveryside. Government, business, crime families. He’s like a fucking spider sitting in the middle of a web, pulling strings and collecting information.”

“And making himself indispensable in the process.”

“Exactly. Everyone trusts him because everyone needs him. Government officials need his information about organized crime. Crime families need his connections in government and business. Business leaders need his ability to make problems disappear.”

I poured another whiskey, my mind processing the implications. A man with that kind of reach, that kind of access, could do incredible damage if he decided to switch sides.

“What about personal details? Family, relationships, vulnerabilities?”

“That’s where it gets weird. On paper, Dmitry Chertov is clean as fucking snow. No family, no romantic relationships, no expensive habits, no debt, no obvious leverage points.” Levleaned back in his chair. “It’s like he doesn’t exist outside of his professional identity. I even checked in with Cassandra, and her research has yielded the same results.”

“Nobody’s that clean.”

“That’s what I thought. So I dug deeper.”

“And?”

Lev looked at me for a long moment, then shrugged. “That’s it.”