Page 79 of The Russian's Revenge Bride

I pulled back, meeting his eyes with the kind of certainty that came from finally understanding the shape of the puzzle I’d been trying to solve my entire life.

“I’m thinking that maybe William Beaumont doesn’t want his daughter dead. Maybe he wants to kill someone else’s daughter who just happens to be living in his house.”

The implications hung in the air between us, dangerous and terrible and, suddenly, horribly plausible.

I was going to find out if the man I’d spent my life trying to love was actually my father at all.

Chapter 22 – Maxim

The recording crackled through the speakers in my office, Dmitry’s voice cutting through the static like a blade. Lev and I sat in silence, listening to the bastard mock us over the phone with Beaumont.

“The Bratva protects someone who isn’t even his blood,” Dmitry laughed, the sound grating against my nerves. “Beaumont’s fake daughter has become their precious symbol. How pathetic.”

Beaumont’s response was equally cold. “Eleanor never meant anything to me. But now she’s married to your people, and that makes her dangerous. She represents my weakness.”

“Then we eliminate the weakness,” Dmitry said smoothly. “Kill the girl, break Maxim’s spirit. Two problems solved.”

I felt my hand tighten on the table until my knuckles went white. Lev went completely still beside me, his jaw clenched tight enough to crack teeth.

“He wants to finish what he started,” Beaumont continued. “This symbol of Bratva strength that Maxim created by marrying her. End it, and I get my control back.”

The line went dead. I reached over and switched off the recording equipment, the silence in my office suddenly deafening.

“Motherfucker,” Lev muttered, running a hand through his hair. “We need to put a bullet in his skull.”

“We need concrete proof first.” I leaned back in my chair, mind racing. “Dmitry’s always surrounded by guards. Always careful. And Rafael still trusts him.”

“So what do we do?”

I thought about it for a moment, then pulled out my phone. “We give him something he can’t resist.”

Lev raised an eyebrow. “Which is?”

“Pussy.” I scrolled through my contacts until I found what I was looking for. “I know a girl who works the high-end hotels. Blonde, beautiful, expensive. The kind Dmitry likes to fuck when he’s feeling powerful.”

I didn’t hope this would work; I knew it would.

***

A week later, we got our break. Lev’s contact at the Ritz called with the news we’d been waiting for.

“Suite 2847,” Lev said, hanging up his phone. “Dmitry just walked in alone. Girl’s already inside waiting.”

I checked my Glock, made sure the suppressor was tight. “Time to have a conversation.”

The hotel suite was dark when I slipped inside through the service entrance Lev had arranged. I could hear voices from the bedroom, Dmitry’s low chuckle mixing with the girl’s fake moans. I positioned myself in the shadows by the window and waited.

Twenty minutes later, I heard the shower start. The girl emerged first, dressed and paid, slipping out the back way like a ghost. Then came the sound I was waiting for—footsteps approaching the main room.

Dmitry walked in wearing nothing but a hotel robe, still damp from his shower, looking satisfied with himself. When he saw me standing there with my gun raised, he didn’t even flinch.

“Maxim.” He smiled like we were old friends meeting for drinks. “Right on time.”

“You knew I was coming?”

“I knew someone was coming.” He moved to the minibar, pouring himself a vodka with steady hands. “The phone taps were rather obvious. You and Lev aren’t as subtle as you think.”

“Then you know why I’m here.”