Chapter 24 – Maxim
I sat in my office, staring at the empty bottle of vodka on my desk. The silence felt like a weight pressing down on my chest, heavier than the blood under my fingernails, heavier than the memory of Dmitry’s brains painting that hotel wall.
I’d fucked up. Royally, completely fucked up.
Rafael was going to want answers about Dmitry’s disappearance soon. Questions I couldn’t answer without admitting I’d executed one of his most trusted men in a goddamn hotel suite. No proof. No evidence. Just my word against a dead man’s reputation.
The smart move was to run. Take Eleanor and Anya, disappear into the night, and never look back. But running meant leaving Rafael exposed, meant abandoning the only family I’d known since my parents died. And it meant looking like exactly what Dmitry had accused me of being—weak.
No. There was only one honorable way out of this mess.
I pulled out my phone and dialed Rafael’s number.
“Maxim?” His voice was cautious. “It’s late.”
“I need to see you. Tonight.”
“What’s wrong?”
“Everything.” I closed my eyes, thinking about Eleanor sleeping upstairs, about Anya who’d already lost too much because of my choices. “Rafael, I need you to promise me something.”
“What kind of promise?”
“The brotherly kind. The kind that matters.”
A long pause. “Be here in forty minutes.”
After I hung up, I walked to the window overlooking the garden where Eleanor liked to sketch in the mornings. She’d made this place feel like home in a way I’d never thought possible. And now I was about to lose it all.
The door opened behind me. Lev walked in without knocking, as usual.
“You look like shit,” he said, settling into the chair across from my desk.
“Feel like it too.” I turned to face him. “Lev, I need you to promise me something.”
“Christ, not you too. What is it with everyone wanting promises tonight?”
“When I’m gone, look after Anya and Eleanor.”
His face went serious. “Gone where?”
“ Gone gone. Dead gone.” I moved back to my desk, fingers tracing the edge of a photo Eleanor had insisted I keep there. “You know I killed Dmitry last night. Rafael’s going to want justice.”
“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.”
“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. “The arrogant 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.”
“I know everything.” I moved closer to his desk, noting the way his eyes tracked my movements. “I know about Garrison. I know about the divorce. I know you’ve been trying to have Eleanor killed to send a message to your wife.”
“Former wife,” he corrected. “The papers were finalized yesterday.”
“Congratulations. How does it feel to lose the only thing that made you look human?”
“Ruth was never mine anyway.” His voice turned bitter. “She belonged to that pathetic artist from the day I met her. I just borrowed her for twenty-one years.”
“And Eleanor?”
“Eleanor was part of the package deal. A reminder of my wife’s previous life, living in my house, bearing my name.” He shrugged. “I tried to make the best of it. Gave her everything she could want. Education, opportunities, money.”
“Everything except love.”
“Love?” He laughed, the sound harsh in the quiet room. “Love is for fools and artists, Voronov. I deal in reality. And the reality is that your wife has become a liability I can no longer afford.”
“Former liability.” I pulled out my Glock, letting him see it. “As of tonight, she’s a widow.”
Beaumont’s smirk never wavered. “You won’t kill me.”
“Won’t I?” I clicked off the safety. “Why does everyone keep saying that? What makes you all so fucking certain I won’t pull this trigger?”
“Because you’re not a killer, Voronov. You’re a businessman who got in over his head. You kidnapped my daughter for revenge, sure, but murder? That’s not who you are.”
“You sure about that?”
“I’m certain.” He leaned forward, confidence radiating from every pore. “You want to scare me? Fine. You want to threaten me? Go ahead. But you won’t actually pull that trigger because you know what happens next. You know the kind of heat that comes down when someone like me dies violently.”
I stared at him for a long moment, this man who’d spent twenty-one years making Eleanor feel unwanted, unloved, like a burden he had to carry. This man who’d tried to have her killed out of spite.
“You’re wrong about one thing, William.”
“What’s that?”
“I am a killer.” I raised the gun, pointing it at his forehead. “And you’re about to find out exactly what kind of man your fake daughter married.” I paused, then, adding, “Also, I’m not just doing this for me. Eleanor asked me to take care of you.”
It was true. After her meeting with her mother and the revelations that had followed, we’d sat down and discussed the situation with Beaumont. I’d mentioned Rafael’s orders, and she’d taken to them surprisingly well.
“You can pull the trigger, if you want,” I’d offered.
She’d sat across from me on the bed, her fingers curling in her lap as she stared at my chest, unable to meet my gaze. “No,” she murmured. “That won’t help me.”
Before I could come up with a solution, Eleanor had finally looked up, resolve hardening her hazel eyes. “You can do it,” she’d said. “He’s taken enough from me, and it’s time he paid the price.”
Now, as I stood with my gun trained on him, Beaumont finally grasped the severity of the situation.
His smirk disappeared, collapsing as his expression gave way to one of cowardice. “Wait, we can make a deal!” he scrambled to say. Sweat broke out along his forehead. “I have money, resources, connections. Whatever you want, I can….”
The first bullet took him in the center of his forehead, snapping his head back against his chair. The second bullet, fired half a second later, opened up the side of his skull in a spray of blood and brain matter.
William Beaumont slumped forward onto his desk, blood pooling around his head like a crimson halo.
I stood there for a moment, looking at what was left of Eleanor’s tormentor. No satisfaction, no vindication. Just cold efficiency.
Then I got to work.
I spent the next twenty minutes turning the study into a crime scene. Shattered the window with a paperweight, scattered papers, and knocked over furniture. Cleaned out his safe, taking cash and jewelry that would never be recovered. Made it look like a violent burglary.
On my way out, I put a non-fatal bullet in the leg of one of the surviving guards, enough to wound him, make him a witness to the “robbery,” but not enough to kill him. He’d wake up with a story about multiple intruders, masked men who’d invaded the house looking for valuables.
By the time the police arrived, I was miles away, driving through the empty Chicago streets with William Beaumont’s blood still under my fingernails.
My phone buzzed. Text message from Eleanor: Missing you. Come home safe.
I typed back: On my way. It’s finished.
And it was. William Beaumont was dead, his threats neutralized, his schemes buried with him. The world would mourn the tragic death of a prominent businessman, victim of a violent robbery gone wrong.
Eleanor was finally free. Free from the man who’d never wanted her, never loved her, never saw her as anything more than an unwelcome reminder of his wife’s betrayal.
Now she could focus on building the life she deserved. The life we were building together.
I drove home to my wife, leaving William Beaumont’s corpse behind like the piece of shit he’d always been .