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.”
“Oh, I know exactly why you’re here.” He took a slow sip, savoring it. “You heard what Beaumont and I discussed. About his daughter. About what needs to be done.”
“She’s my wife.”
“She’s a liability.” Dmitry set down his glass and faced me fully. “And you’re too blinded by pussy to see it.”
I felt rage flare hot in my chest, but I kept my voice level. “You’re working with Beaumont. Selling out the Bratva.”
“Selling out?” He laughed, the sound echoing off the suite’s walls. “No, my friend. I’m building something better. Something stronger.”
“By betraying Rafael? By betraying me?”
“By replacing you.” The mask finally slipped, showing the rotting ambition underneath. “Do you know how long I’ve watched you play Rafael’s golden boy? How many years I’ve waited for my chance to show him what real leadership looks like?”
I stepped closer, gun never wavering. “So you decided to work with our enemies?”
“I decided to work with anyone who could help me get what I deserve.” His voice turned bitter. “Europeans, Caribbeans, Mexicans. They all pay well for Bratva secrets. And they all respect strength more than sentiment.”
“You’ve been leaking our operations.”
“Every shipment. Every deal. Every move you make.” He spread his arms wide, proud of his betrayal. “I know everything, Maxim. And I’ve been trading that knowledge for loyalty.”
“Your own criminal empire.”
“My future.” He moved closer, close enough that I could smell the vodka on his breath. “When you’re dead, Rafael will need someone he can trust. Someone with connections. Someone who can clean up your mess.”
I backhanded him with the gun, the metal splitting his cheek open. He stumbled backward, blood streaming down his face, but kept that goddamn smile.
“You think Rafael will choose you after he finds out you’re a traitor?”
“Rafael won’t find out anything.” Dmitry wiped blood from his mouth, spreading it across his fingers. “Because you’ll be too dead to tell him.”
I hit him again, this time with my fist. The crack of his nose breaking was satisfying as fuck. He dropped to his knees, blood pouring from his ruined face.
“Wrong answer.” I grabbed a fistful of his hair, yanking his head back so he had to look at me. “Tell me about the anonymous tip.”
“What tip?” The words were slurred through his broken nose and split lips.
I pressed the gun against his temple. “Prague. Six years ago. Someone gave us information about Beaumont being behind the ambush.”
His eyes went wide for just a moment before that smug look returned. “That was me.”
The words hit like a physical blow. I felt something cold settle in my stomach. “What did you say?”
“I said that was me.” Blood bubbled from his mouth as he spoke. “I gave you that tip. Led you right to Beaumont like a good little puppet master.”
“Why?” The word came out raw.
“Because I needed you focused on the right enemy.” He tried to laugh, ended up coughing blood across my shirt. “I needed Beaumont desperate enough to work with me. And I needed you angry enough to make mistakes.”
I let go of his hair and stepped back, processing what he’d just told me. Everything. Every move we’d made for the past six years had been orchestrated by this piece of shit.
“The Prague ambush?”
“Not my work directly, but I knew it was coming.” He struggled to his knees, swaying slightly. “I let it happen. Figured it would kill you both and clear the path for me.”
“Our men died.”
“Casualties of war.” He shrugged like he was discussing the weather. “I miscalculated. You both survived. So I had to try a different approach.”
I kicked him in the ribs, hard enough to hear them crack. He curled into a ball, gasping and choking on his own blood.
“Eleanor.”
“Beautiful Eleanor.” The words came out in a wheeze. “Beaumont’s dirty secret. The daughter who isn’t really his, married to the monster who thinks he’s protecting her.”
I knelt down beside him, pressing the gun against the back of his skull. “You’ve been planning her death from the beginning.”
“I’ve been planning your destruction from the beginning.” Each word was a struggle now. “The girl is just a means to an end. Kill her, break you. Break you, replace you.”
“And Beaumont goes along with this because?”
“Because he gets his reputation back. The strong leader who won’t be manipulated by Bratva scum.” Dmitry rolled onto his back, blood pooling beneath his head. “He thinks he’s using me. I’m using him. We’re both using you.”
I stood up, looking down at his broken body. Six years of lies. Six years of manipulation. Six years of dancing to this bastard’s tune without even knowing it.
“Any last words?”
“Yeah.” He managed to lift his head slightly, meeting my eyes. “You won’t kill me. You need me too much. Rafael needs me too much. I’m the only one with these connections, these relationships.”
“You think so?”
“I know so.” Confidence crept back into his voice despite the blood pouring from his wounds. “Kill me, and you lose everything I’ve built. Every contact, every deal, every advantage.”
“Maybe.” I raised the gun, pointing it at his forehead. “But I’ll still have Eleanor.”
“For how long?” He smiled, showing red teeth. “How long before another enemy comes for her? How long before your protection isn’t enough?”
“Long enough.”
“You’re making a mistake, Maxim.”
“Probably.” I clicked off the safety. “But it’s my mistake to make.”
“Rafael won’t forgive this. When he finds out what you’ve done, when he realizes you killed his most valuable asset over some cunt who isn’t even….”
I pulled the trigger before he could finish the sentence. The suppressor muffled most of the sound, but the impact was devastating. His head snapped back, brains and blood splattering across the expensive carpet.
Dmitry Chertov lay still, finally fucking quiet.
I stood there for a moment, looking at what was left of him. Blood covered my hands, my shirt, probably my face. The metallic smell filled the room, mixing with the lingering scent of vodka and sex.
My phone buzzed. Text message from Lev: Clean?
I typed back: Clean .
Within minutes, Lev and two of his men were in the suite with plastic sheeting and cleaning supplies. Professional. Efficient. The kind of cleanup we’d done a hundred times before.
“Any problems?” Lev asked, already rolling Dmitry’s body into the plastic.
“None.” I wiped my hands on a hotel towel, but the blood was already drying under my fingernails. “It’s done.”
“What about his network? His connections?”
“We’ll burn them all.” I pulled out my phone, scrolling through contacts. “Every name, every deal, every bridge he built. Turn it all to ash.”
“And Rafael?”
I looked at the red stain spreading across the carpet, thinking about six years of manipulation. Six years of being played like a fucking violin.
“Rafael will understand.”
“You sure about that?”
I wasn’t sure about anything anymore except one thing: Eleanor was mine, and anyone who threatened her would end up like Dmitry. Broken. Bloody. Dead.
“Yeah,” I said, watching Lev’s men carry the body bag toward the service elevator. “I’m sure.”
The suite was clean within an hour. No trace of what had happened, no evidence of Dmitry Chertov’s final moments. Just another hotel room waiting for the next guest.
I drove home through the dark Chicago streets, hands still stained with blood, thinking about lies and truth and the price of betrayal. By the time I pulled into my driveway, the rage had settled into something colder. Something permanent.
Dmitry was right about one thing. This wouldn’t end here. There would always be another enemy, another threat, another bastard who thought they could use Eleanor against me.
Let them come. I had plenty of bullets left .