Page 86 of The Russian's Revenge Bride

“Dmitry was a traitor.”

“Dmitry was Rafael’s friend. And I have no proof he was anything else.”

Lev laughed. Actually fucking laughed. “Maxim, you paranoid bastard. You think I’d let you walk into that hotel room without insurance?”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about this.” He pulled out his phone, tapping at the screen. “I’ve known you since we were five years old. I know exactly how you react when someone threatens the people you love. Fucking hothead.”

He turned the phone toward me. Video footage. The hotel suite. Dmitry’s confession playing out in perfect clarity.

“You recorded it?”

“I recorded all of it.” Lev’s grin was sharp. “Every word. Every admission. Every time the bastard bragged about Prague and his little network of traitors.”

I stared at the screen, watching Dmitry’s bloody mouth move as he confessed to years of betrayal. The relief hit me like a physical blow.

“How long have you had this?”

“Since last night. I didn’t just tap his phone; I had cameras installed in that suite weeks ago, back when we first started suspecting him to be the leak in the organization.” He pocketed the phone. “I just needed to make sure the footage was secure before I showed anyone.”

“You motherfucker.” I grabbed him, pulling him into a hug that probably cracked his ribs. “You beautiful, paranoid motherfucker.”

“Yeah, yeah, save the love declarations for your wife.” But he was smiling when he pushed me away. “Now let’s go show Rafael what his trusted friend really was.”

***

Rafael was waiting in his study when we arrived, already pouring three glasses of whiskey. He looked tired, older than his thirty-eight years.

“This better be good, Maxim. I’ve got the Mexicans breathing down my neck about the shipment delays, and the fucking Italians think they can muscle in on our territory while we’re distracted.”

“It’s about Dmitry,” I said without preamble.

Rafael’s face went cold. “What about him?”

“He’s dead.”

The glass in Rafael’s hand stopped halfway to his lips. “What did you say?”

“Dmitry Chertov is dead. I killed him last night.”

Rafael set down his whiskey with deliberate control. “You killed one of my most trusted men.”

“I killed a traitor.” I nodded to Lev, who pulled out his phone. “Show him.”

We watched in silence as Dmitry’s confession played out on the small screen. Rafael’s face grew darker with each revelation—Prague, the network of contacts, the plan to replace me. By the time it ended, his knuckles were white where he gripped his glass.

“This footage is authentic?”

“Every word,” Lev confirmed. “I’ve got the full recording. Six hours of the bastard spilling everything.”

Rafael knocked back his whiskey in one gulp. “Six years. Six fucking years he’s been playing us.”

“He got men killed,” I said quietly. “Our men. Brothers.”

“And now he’s answered for it.” Rafael looked at me with something like approval. “Good. Clean kill?”

“Clean enough. Hotel suite, suppressed weapon. Lev’s people handled the cleanup.”