Page 87 of The Russian's Revenge Bride

“Evidence?”

“Gone. Like he never existed.”

Rafael nodded slowly. “Then we never speak of this again. Dmitry Chertov disappeared, end of story.” He poured himself another drink. “But his network remains a problem. All those contacts, all those deals he was making behind our backs.”

“We burn them all,” I said. “Every connection, every relationship. Salt the earth.”

“That’s going to cost us.” Rafael studied his whiskey like it held answers. “Those European and Caribbean contacts were valuable, even if they were compromised.”

“Better to lose money than lose control.”

“Agreed.” He looked up at me. “Which brings me to another problem. Beaumont.”

My blood went cold. “What about him?”

“He’s been making noise. Calling in favors, spreading money around. Trying to put pressure on our legitimate businesses.” Rafael’s smile was sharp and ugly. “Thearrogant fuck thinks he can threaten Bratva interests without consequences.”

“What do you want me to do about it?”

“I want him dead.” Rafael’s voice was matter-of-fact, like he was ordering dinner. “Within the week. Before he does any real damage to our operations.”

I felt something settle in my chest. The same cold calm that had come over me right before I’d killed Dmitry. “Consider it done.”

“Make it look like an accident. Or better yet, like a robbery gone wrong. We don’t need the heat that comes with an obvious assassination.”

“Understood.”

Rafael clinked his glass against mine. “To dead traitors and soon-to-be-dead enemies.”

***

Two days later, I was crouched in the shadows outside William Beaumont’s mansion, watching his security routine like a hawk studying prey. The bastard lived like a king in his fortress of marble and gold, protected by guards who thought money made them invincible.

They were about to learn otherwise.

I’d spent the last forty-eight hours memorizing every detail of his setup. Guard rotations, camera blind spots, entry points. Beaumont’s arrogance worked in my favor; he’d gotten complacent, relying on his reputation and his wealth to keep him safe.

The first guard died quietly, my blade sliding between his ribs before he even knew I was there. I dragged his body into the landscaping, out of sight of the cameras.

The second guard was making his rounds near the service entrance. A quick strike to the throat, and he went down without a sound. His keycard gave me access to the staff corridors.

The third guard was harder, positioned right outside Beaumont’s study, where the bastard was working late. But years of training with Rafael had taught me patience. I waited until he stepped away to check the hallway, then took him from behind. Sleeper hold, no noise, no fuss.

By the time I reached Beaumont’s study, three of his guards were dead, and the rest were none the wiser.

I found him exactly where I expected: behind his massive oak desk, surrounded by the trophies of his success. Photos with politicians, awards from construction industry groups, certificates of appreciation from various charities. The perfect facade of a pillar of the community.

He looked up when I walked in, and for just a moment, fear flickered across his face. Then that arrogant smirk returned.

“Maxim Voronov.” He leaned back in his chair, hands folded across his stomach. “I wondered when you’d show up.”

“Did you?” I closed the door behind me, turning the lock. “Because your security is shit for someone who’s been expecting me.”

“Those men are just for show. Window dressing.” He gestured around the room. “You think I don’t know who you are? What you’re capable of? I’ve been preparing for this conversation since the day you took my daughter.”

“Your fake daughter.”

His smile faltered for half a second. “Ah. So you know about that.”