Page 9 of The Russian's Revenge Bride

“Target’s still in her office,” Lev reported. “Lights on, fourth floor, northeast corner. Looks like she’s got company.”

That was a complication I didn’t need. “How many?”

“Just one. Blonde woman, designer clothes, moving around a lot. Probably discussing whatever the fuck fashion people discuss.”

I considered my options. Two targets meant twice the potential for things to go wrong, and it also meant Eleanor wouldn’t be alone when I made my move. Fear was easier to manage when it was isolated.

“We wait,” I decided. “Blonde leaves, we move.”

“Copy that.”

The rain intensified, turning the world outside my car into an impressionist painting of blurred lights and moving shadows. Perfect conditions for disappearing someone. The city had emptied itself, leaving only the desperate and the dangerous to navigate the flooded streets.

I was definitely both.

My phone buzzed with a text from an unknown number. Just an address and a time. No signature, but I recognized the format. One of our contacts, confirming the safe house was ready. Everything was falling into place like dominoes arranging themselves for the fall.

“Movement,” Lev’s voice cut through my thoughts. “Target’s leaving.”

Then, Lev added, “Blonde’s still inside. But she’s focused on her work, not paying attention to anything else. Target stepped out of the main office area.”

“Copy. Moving to intercept.”

I got out of the car and crossed the street, rain soaking through my jacket within seconds. The building’s front entrance was locked, but locks were suggestions when you knew how to ask nicely. The access card I’d acquired from a former employee opened the door without complaint.

The lobby was marble and pretension, all clean lines and expensive art that probably cost more than most people made ina year. Security camera in the northeast corner, motion sensors by the elevators, but nothing I couldn’t handle.

I took the stairs instead of the elevator, moving silently up four flights of concrete and steel. The stairwell was empty, echoing with the sound of rain against the building’s exterior walls. Each step brought me closer to the moment I’d been planning for six years.

Eleanor Beaumont had no idea her world was about to end.

The fourth floor was quiet except for the hum of air conditioning and the distant sound of a sewing machine. I could see light spilling out from under a door at the far end of the hallway, marked with elegant lettering that read “Eleanor Beaumont Designs.”

Through my earpiece, Lev whispered, “She’s moving around inside. Looks agitated.”

Perfect. Distraction was always useful.

I approached the office door and listened. Footsteps inside, the rustle of fabric, the clink of coffee cups. Eleanor was alone and focused on her work, completely unaware that death had come calling.

But I wasn’t here to kill her. That would be too quick, too merciful for what her father had done. This was about leverage, about making William Beaumont understand that his sins had consequences that reached beyond his ability to control.

“She’s moving,” Lev’s voice crackled through my earpiece. “Left her office, heading toward the back of the building.”

I waited in the stairwell, patient as death itself. The building’s emergency exits were designed for fire safety, but tonight they were serving a different purpose. I’d already disabled the interior locks from this side, making sure anyone who entered wouldn’t be leaving without my permission.

Through the concrete walls, I could hear footsteps approaching. Eleanor was coming to me, probably looking for fresh air or a moment to clear her head from whatever fashion crisis was consuming her life.

She had no idea she was walking into her nightmare.

The door above me opened, and I heard her voice echo down the stairwell. “Hello?” Uncertain, already sensing something was wrong.

Perfect.

I could see her phone in her hand through the gap in the stairwell, probably trying to call for help. But these old stairwells were dead zones for cellular signals, all concrete and steel that blocked radio waves as effectively as they blocked escape routes.

I started climbing the stairs slowly, deliberately, letting each footstep announce my approach. The sound echoed off the walls like a countdown to her destruction.

“Hello?” Her voice drifted down from above, shaky but trying to sound brave.