Page 72 of The Russian's Revenge Bride
“There are things you don’t know. About your father, about our marriage, about….” She trailed off, and I could practically hear her internal struggle playing out in the silence.
“About what?”
“About you.”
The words hit me like ice water, cold and shocking and immediately terrifying.
“What about me?”
“Eleanor, this isn’t a conversation for the phone. This isn’t something I can explain quickly or easily.”
“Then don’t explain it quickly. Take all the time you need. But stop lying to me, and stop lying to yourself.” I softened my voice, letting her hear the love beneath the frustration. “Mom, I’ve spent the last few months learning that sometimes the most dangerous thing you can do is stay silent about the things that matter. Don’t make that mistake.”
“Tonight,” she said finally. “After your show. We’ll talk then.”
“Will Garrison be there?”
“Yes.”
“Good. Because I have questions for him too.”
“Eleanor….”
“I love you, Mom. And I want you to be happy. But I need to know the truth about whatever you’re hiding from me. All of it.”
“I know you do. And you deserve to know. It’s just….” She sighed, the sound heavy with years of secrets and careful silence. “It’s going to change things. Between all of us.”
“Things are already changing. The question is whether we’re going to control those changes or let them control us.”
“When did you become so wise?”
I thought about Maxim, about the way loving him had forced me to confront truths I’d been avoiding my entire life. About Anya and the fierce loyalty of chosen family. About the way violence and tenderness could coexist in the same heart, the same life, the same marriage.
“When I married into a family that doesn’t believe in pretty lies.”
“Your husband’s world is dangerous, Eleanor.”
“So is yours, apparently. At least in his world, people are honest about the damage they’re capable of.”
After we hung up, I sat in my office, staring at the dress Anya had designed for me, the one that was supposed to make me look like I could murder someone and host a dinner party afterward. Tonight, I would walk into that venue as Eleanor Voronov, wife of a Bratva facilitator, a woman who had claimed her place in a world that was trying to destroy her.
But first, I was about to learn something about my family, my mother, and myself that would change everything.
I just hoped I was strong enough to handle whatever truth she’d been carrying all these years.
Chapter 20 – Maxim
I watched the car with Eleanor disappear around the corner, her security detail flanking her like shadows made flesh, and felt the familiar weight of deception settle in my chest. She thought I was staying home, buried in business, while she faced her biggest professional moment alone.
The truth was more complicated.
I hadn’t told her about my plan to attend because Eleanor had exactly zero ability to keep secrets from the people she cared about. Tell her I’d be there, and within an hour, Zara would know, then Anya, then probably half of Chicago’s social scene. In our world, surprise was often the difference between life and death, and tonight I needed every advantage I could get.
Because despite the additional security, despite the surveillance and the background checks and the metal detectors, I knew tonight would bring trouble. Too many variables, too many unknowns, too many people who wanted my wife dead gathered in one convenient location.
I changed into dark clothes, strapped on body armor that felt like a second skin, and checked my weapons one final time. Glock at my hip, backup piece at my ankle, tactical knife in my boot. Enough firepower to handle whatever the evening might bring.
The venue was a converted warehouse in the arts district, all exposed brick and industrial lighting that somehow managed to look elegant instead of brutal. I’d had teams sweep it three times in the past week, installed additional cameras in every concealment point, and positioned snipers on surrounding rooftops. But the best security system in the world was still vulnerable to the human element.