Page 74 of The Russian's Revenge Bride

“We don’t know names,” Konstantin said quickly. “Only contact protocols.”

“Two….”

“Payment came through intermediaries,” Andrey added, his voice strained. “Dead drops, encrypted communications, untraceable transactions.”

“Three.”

The finger came off with a wet crunch. Andrey’s scream echoed off the walls, high and desperate and absolutely fucking beautiful. Blood sprayed across the concrete, and I tossed the severed digit into a bucket at my feet.

“Nine more where that came from,” I said calmly. “Plus toes, if we’re feeling ambitious.”

“Please,” Andrey gasped, his face gray with shock. “We’re telling the truth. We never met the client directly.”

“But you know who they work for.”

“Russian government,” Konstantin said. “FSB, maybe GRU. Someone with access to state resources.”

Interesting. Russian intelligence targeting Eleanor suggested this was about more than just Beaumont’s personal vendetta. This was geopolitical, which meant the stakes were higher than I’d realized.

“Why Eleanor?”

“We weren’t told specifics. Only that the target was high value, that her elimination would send a message.”

“What kind of message?”

“That American Bratva isn’t untouchable. That Russian interests still have reach in Chicago.”

I moved the cutters to Andrey’s ring finger. “That’s not the whole story.”

“There was something about her father,” Konstantin said desperately. “Some kind of business deal that went wrong. Our handler mentioned revenge, settling old scores.”

“William Beaumont?”

“Yes.”

Before I could ask the next question, my phone buzzed with an incoming call from Lev. I considered ignoring it, but something about the timing made me pause. Important enough to interrupt an interrogation.

“Yeah?”

“Maxim, you need to hear this. I finally cracked the encryption on those calls between Dmitry and Beaumont.”

“And?”

“And Dmitry isn’t just providing information. He’s actively coordinating attacks, scheduling eliminations, and planning strategic strikes against our organization.” Lev’s voice was tight with rage. “He’s been feeding intelligence to our enemies for months.”

The revelation hit me like ice water. I looked at the two Russians, pieces of a puzzle clicking into place with sickening clarity.

“How long?” I asked Lev.

“At least six months. Maybe longer. Maxim, he’s not just a traitor. He’s been systematically weakening our defenses, creating vulnerabilities, setting us up for a complete takeover.”

“By who?”

“That’s the fucking terrifying part. Based on these conversations, it sounds like he’s working with multiple parties. Russian intelligence, Beaumont, maybe even other crime families. He’s playing everyone against everyone else.”

I felt rage building in my chest, hot and murderous and absolutely focused. Dmitry hadn’t just betrayed us. He’d orchestrated a complex campaign designed to destroy everything we’d built, and Eleanor had been caught in the crossfire.

“Where is he now?”