ã€ŠFilthy Lies (Akopov Bratva Book 2)ã€‹


 Filthy Lies: Chapter 1

    I burst through the doors of our Brighton Beach headquarters, and the room falls silent.

    Twenty-seven pairs of eyes lock on me. It¡¯s the weekly captain¡¯s meeting. Perfect timing.

    Blood still cakes beneath my fingernails. Rowan¡¯s blood. I couldn¡¯t bring myself to wash it off.

    ¡°They took my wife.¡± My voice is a cier¡ªcold, massive, and intent on crushing anything in its path.

    No one speaks. No one breathes. They know that look in my eyes.

    It¡¯s the look that made the Solovyovs burn their own warehouse to the ground rather than face me. The look that earned me my reputation before I was old enough to legally drink.

    The look my father helped cultivate, then feared when I turned it on him.

    ¡°Every resource. Every contact. Every fucking favor owed to the Akopov name¡­ call it in.¡± I scan the room, memorizing who flinches and who holds my gaze. The information will be usefulter. ¡°I want her found. Now.¡±

    Mikhail stands first. ¡°The men are already mobilizing. Arkady called ahead.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s not good enough.¡± I cross to the center table and m my fist down. A crystal tumbler bounces and tips over. Liquid sloshes across maps and territory markers, drowning it all in dark whiskey. ¡°I want the entire Eastern Seaboard on lockdown. Nothing moves without us knowing about it. Not so much as a single fucking Girl Scout cookie.¡±

    Dimitri clears his throat. ¡°What about the feds? They¡¯ll notice if we?¡ª¡±

    ¡°Do I look like I give a fuck about the feds, Dima?¡±

    My throat is taut and pained from holding in anguished roars. It¡¯s nothingpared to the turmoil in my head, though. I close my eyes, fighting the shback that¡¯s brimming on the horizon.

    But ites anyway.

    Blood on white marble. Six digits punched into the keypad.

    So close to safety¡­

    And yet so fucking far.

    ¡°She¡¯s inbor,¡± I continue, quieter now. ¡°My child ising, and if Rowan delivers in captivity¡ªif anything happens to either of them¡ªthere won¡¯t be enough bullets on the goddamn to protect whoever¡¯s responsible.¡±

    That¡¯s all it takes. The room ripples with movement. Phones appear. Calls are made. Orders given. The machine I built rumbles to life.

    I turn to Pavel, our tech expert. ¡°Security footage?¡±

    ¡°Wiped clean. Professional job, by the looks of it.¡± He doesn¡¯t meet my eyes. ¡°But I¡¯m reconstructing fromwork backups. Give me an hour.¡±

    ¡°You have twenty minutes.¡±

    I stride toward my office, but Goran¡ªold, loyal, ruthless Goran¡ªblocks my path. ¡°Vincent,¡± he rumbles. ¡°This bears your father¡¯s signature.¡±

    What¡¯s left unsaid is the obvious question: Are you prepared to kill your own blood?

    Once upon a time, I wouldn¡¯t have known how to answer it. Now, it¡¯s as if the reply has been waiting on my lips since the moment I was born.

    ¡°My father died when heid a hand on my wife.¡±

    I brush past him and into the dark sanctuary of my office. The door barely closes before myposure fractures.

    My knees hit the floor like shattering ss. My lungs burn. The room spins.

    Rowan. Rowan. Rowan.

    Her name beats inside my skull with each pulse of blood. Her face¡ªthose green eyes that saw through every defense I¡¯ve ever mustered, that smile that somehow found beauty in a monster like me¡ªhovers just beyond my reach.

    And those images¡­

    Blood smeared across white marble. The keypad shing. One digit away from safety.

    They won¡¯t leave me the fuck alone.

    I scrub my hands over my face. My fingerse away wet. I haven¡¯t cried since my mother died. Eighteen years without a single tear.

    Dreams be nightmares so quickly, don¡¯t they?

    I draw my phone from my pocket. The screen still shows myst text to Rowan: Meeting running long. Be home soon.

    She never replied.

    I dial a number I never expected to need.

    ¡°Vincent Akopov.¡± The man on the other end sounds surprised to be hearing from me. ¡°The FBI doesn¡¯t typically receive personal calls from men of your stature.¡±

    ¡°Special Agent Carver.¡± I keep my voice steady. ¡°I believe we have mutual interests to discuss.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m listening.¡±

    ¡°My pregnant wife has been kidnapped. She¡¯s inbor.¡±

    Silence. Then: ¡°Jesus Christ.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m prepared to offer certain amodations regarding your ongoing investigation into Akopov Industries. In exchange, I need satellite coverage of the Greater New York area for thest six hours. Traffic cams. License te readers. Everything.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s not how this works, Akopov. You know that.¡±

    ¡°Then listen to how it will work.¡± I grip the phone so hard the case creaks. ¡°If my wife dies because the FBI refused to help, I will personally ensure that your career, your pension, and possibly your actual physical body end up at the bottom of the East River. In pieces.¡±

    More silence. He sighs.

    ¡°You¡¯re asking me to break about fifteen federalws here, man.¡±

    ¡°No,¡± I retort, ¡°I¡¯m asking you to save a pregnant woman¡¯s life. Everything else is bureaucratic bullshit.¡±

    I hear him exhale. ¡°Give me an hour. And Akopov? This conversation never happened.¡±

    ¡°Understood.¡±

    I end the call as Arkady enters without knocking.

    ¡°We¡¯ve got something,¡± he reports. ¡°One of our guys spotted three ck SUVs leaving your estate. Heading north on the Hudson Parkway, then east.¡±

    I¡¯m on my feet instantly. ¡°Direction?¡±

    ¡°Best guess? The warehouses near Hunts Point. It¡¯s remote, quiet, and essible by water if they need to move her.¡± Arkady hesitates. ¡°Vin, you should know¡­ the informant reported significant blood on the back seat of one vehicle.¡±

    My lungs constrict. The room darkens at the edges. The images again, beating into me, fucking relentless:

    Red blood. White marble. Green digits on a ck keypad.

    ¡°I¡¯ll kill everyst one of them,¡± I whisper, though fuck knows who I¡¯m actually talking to. ¡°Slowly. Personally.¡±

    ¡°I know.¡± Arkady¡¯s handnds heavy on my shoulder. ¡°That¡¯lle. But first, we find her. Keep your head, brother. Without it, we¡¯re lost.¡±

    He¡¯s right.

    I know he¡¯s right.

    But God help me, I want blood.

 Filthy Lies: Chapter 2

    Fanged heat tears through my abdomen and rips me from unconsciousness.

    I gasp awake in total darkness. The pain is familiar now¡ªcontractions, stronger than before.

    ¡°Breathe,¡± I whisper shakily to myself. ¡°Just breathe.¡±

    As my eyes adjust, I make out dim shapes around me. Concrete walls. A metal door. Some kind of storage room, maybe. A single bulb hangs overhead, but it¡¯s not on. As devoid of light as my life currently is.

    Grim fucking metaphor, if we¡¯re being honest.

    Another contraction hits. I curl onto my side on what feels like a thin, mangy mattress on the floor. Sweat trickles down my neck despite the cold air.

    Where am I? How long was I unconscious?

    Thest thing I remember is copsing outside Vince¡¯s panic room. So close. One digit left.

    My hands fly to my stomach, feeling the tight, drum-like surface. My baby¡ªour baby¡ªis still inside me, but trying desperately to get out.

    ¡°It¡¯s okay,¡± I whisper, rubbing circles on my belly. ¡°We¡¯re going to be okay.¡±

    I don¡¯t know if I believe it, but I need to say it. For both of us.

    The contractions areing fast now. Too fast. Maybe seven minutes apart? I try to sit up, gritting my teeth against the pain.

    I¡¯m still wearing my dress from earlier, though it¡¯s now stained with blood and sweat. My thighs feel damp. Has my water broken? It¡¯s too dark to tell.

    All I have are questions. No answers. Not a single fucking one.

    ¡°Help!¡± I call out. My words echo and die miserably in the small space. ¡°Is anyone there? I need help! I¡¯m inbor!¡±

    Silence is all I get in return.

    I scoot backward until I find a wall. It¡¯s cold, unyielding rock against my back, but I¡¯ll take that over the empty horror of the dark unknown. My fingers seek out my wedding ring. I twist it anxiously again and again.

    Vince wille. He¡¯ll find us. He always does.

    But will hee in time?

    Another contraction tears through me, stronger than thest. I bite my lip to keep from screaming, tasting blood.

    ¡°Focus, Rowan,¡± I mutter through the pain. ¡°You have one job now: keep this baby safe.¡±

    I try to distract myself by taking inventory again now that I¡¯m slightly more with it. But this scan doesn¡¯t turn up much more info. No windows, nothing but concrete dust on the floor, and nothing that even remotely resembles a bathroom. Just the thin mattress and a lukewarm stic bottle of water someone left nearby.

    I grab the bottle and unscrew it with shaking hands. The seal is unbroken, which is nice, not that germs are at the top of my list of concerns right now. I keep my sip small and conservative. Heaven only knows when I¡¯ll get more.

    Heaven is also the only one who knows what¡¯s going to happen next.

    The contractions are building. Six minutes. I¡¯m no expert, but I know this baby ising soon, with or without medical assistance.

    That thought terrifies me more than anything else that¡¯s happened.

    A scraping sound makes me freeze. Someone¡¯s unlocking the door.

    I brace myself against the wall as I cast around for anything I could use as a weapon. There¡¯s¡­ nothing. Not unless damp mattresses suddenly qualify as a viable form of self-defense.

    Light spills into the room as the door swings open, silhouetting a woman¡¯s slender frame.

    ¡°Ah, you¡¯re awake.¡± Her ent is thick, Russian, and utterly unfamiliar. ¡°Good timing. The doctor will be here soon.¡±

    My eyes struggle to adjust to the sudden brightness. Even when they do, though, it¡¯s no use. This woman, whoever she is, is middle-aged, with sharp features and blonde hair pulled into a severe bun.

    ¡°Where am I?¡± I demand. ¡°Who are you?¡±

    She ignores my questions as she sets a small bag on the floor. ¡°How far apart are the contractions?¡±

    Another wave of pain answers for me, ripping through my body like fireworks in my ovaries. I cry out, unable to hold it in.

    ¡°Hmph.¡± She checks her watch. ¡°Moving quickly.¡±

    When the pain subsides, rage gives me strength. ¡°Answer me! Where am I? Why am I here?¡±

    She sighs like I¡¯m an annoying child. ¡°You Americans, always with the questions.¡± Her cold eyes assess me. ¡°You are somewhere safe, for now. And you are here because you carry valuable coteral.¡±

    ¡°Coteral?¡± My hand instinctively shields my stomach. ¡°This is my baby!¡±

    ¡°This is the Akopov heir,¡± she corrects. ¡°And now, it is Solovyov leverage.¡±

    Solovyov.

    ¡°Vince will kill every one of you.¡± I sound a hell of a lot more confident than I feel.

    She smiles, unimpressed. ¡°Perhaps. If he can find us.¡± She removes items from her bag¡ªtowels, scissors, gloves. ¡°But first, you will deliver this baby. And then we will negotiate.¡±

    ¡°I need a hospital,¡± I insist. ¡°I need doctors.¡±

    ¡°A doctor ising.¡± She shrugs. ¡°But you would be surprised what women can endure without hospitals. My own grandmother delivered twelve children in a Siberian shack. She survived. Well, until the twelfth.¡±

    I double over and moan as more of that awful, hot, grinding, mping sensation goes searing through me. I¡¯m being squeezed into coal and split open down the middle at the same time.

    The woman watches clinically and says nothing. Her bedside manner needs some fucking work, if you ask me.

    When I can speak again, I try a different approach. ¡°Look, I don¡¯t know what your n is, but this baby needs medical care. I need medical care. If anything happens to either of us?¡ª¡±

    ¡°Then Akopov will rain hellfire upon us, yes?¡± Sheughs. ¡°You said that already.¡±

    ¡°How did you even get to me?¡± I mumble, drool dangling from my lips as the pain takes me to a ce where I no longer care about such things as ¡°dignity.¡± ¡°The estate is guarded.¡±

    ¡°Not as well as your husband believes.¡± She checks her watch again and scribbles something down in her notepad. ¡°We have been watching. Waiting for the perfect moment. When we saw Andrei¡¯s men collect you, we simply¡­ intercepted the transport.¡±

    Andrei¡¯s men. Of course. This was his n all along¡ªtake me, control the baby.

    But he never counted on someone taking me from him.

    ¡°Why?¡± I ask. ¡°What do you want?¡±

    ¡°From you? Nothing.¡± She tilts her head. ¡°From your husband? Much. The Solovyov family has scores to settle with the Akopovs. Your child provides perfect leverage.¡±

    Terror and fury are warring within me and there¡¯s no telling which will win. I want to grab all these people and shake them like rag dolls and make them understand.

    I am a person. A human being. I have done nothing wrong. You cannot just do this, you sick fucks!

    This innocent baby¡ªmy baby¡ªcaught in some ancient blood feud before even taking a first breath.

    I¡¯d scream if I could. I¡¯d scream until the whole damn world took notice.

    But I can¡¯t.

    So it doesn¡¯t.

    The darkness around me has never felt cker.

    ¡°The baby will be here soon,¡± she continues. ¡°Try not to fight. It makes things worse.¡±

    As if on cue, another contraction crashes through me, longer and more intense than any of the ones that preceded it. Despite Dr. Bitch¡¯s instructions, I scream. The sound bounces off concrete walls and returns to my ears broken and jagged.

    ¡°Breathe,¡± she instructs, unmoved by my pain. ¡°The doctor will arrive shortly.¡±

    Through the haze of pain, I focus on a single thought: Vince ising. I know it like I know my own name. He will tear apart the city to find us.

    I just need to stay alive until then. Keep our baby alive.

    When the contraction eases, I uncurl slightly. ¡°Water,¡± I gasp.

    She passes me the bottle from where I dropped, and I take another tiny sip.

    A distant sound of footsteps echoes down what must be a hallway. The woman turns toward the door.

    ¡°Doctor arrives,¡± she announces. ¡°Now, the real work begins.¡±

    As she steps aside to admit someone else, I close my eyes briefly, summoning every ounce of strength I have left.

    Vince, I think desperately. Find us. I believe in you.

    But until then, I have only myself to rely on. My body contracts again, my baby nosing its way into a world far more dangerous than either of us is ready for.

    I steel myself. They may have taken me, but they won¡¯t take my child.

    Even if I have to die to prevent it.

 Filthy Lies: Chapter 3

    Blood drips from my knuckles. I barely feel it.

    The man zip-tied to the chair in front of me used to have a name. I think it was Leonid or Lev or something simrly forgettable. He was my father¡¯s driver for the past three years.

    Now, he¡¯s just a means to an end.

    His face is unrecognizable¡ªswollen, purple, streaming crimson from a split lip and broken nose. One eye is sealed shut. The other stares at me with naked terror.

    ¡°I¡¯ll ask you one more time,¡± I say icily. ¡°Where did they take my wife?¡±

    He spits blood onto the concrete floor of the warehouse basement. ¡°I don¡¯t know.¡±

    I nod to Dimitri, who steps forward with a pair of pliers.

    ¡°Wait!¡± The man thrashes against his restraints. ¡°Wait, please! I only know what I was told. Your father, he ordered us to bring her to him. That¡¯s all!¡±

    I lean in close. ¡°Why?¡±

    ¡°The baby. He wants the baby.¡±

    Something cold and reptilian wriggles inside my chest. ¡°Keep talking.¡±

    ¡°He said¡­ he said the child is the true Akopov heir. That you¡¯ve beenpromised. That the American has turned you against your own blood.¡± His words pour out faster now in a frothing, desperate stream. ¡°The n was to take her somewhere safe until she delivered. Then he would decide what happens next.¡±

    I straighten and wipe blood from my hands with a cloth Dimitri silently offers me.

    ¡°And where is this ¡®safe¡¯ location?¡±

    ¡°I swear I don¡¯t know!¡± Tears mingle with the blood on his face. ¡°We were just supposed to deliver her to the second team. But?¡ª¡±

    ¡°But what?¡±

    ¡°There was aplication. Before we could get her to the rendezvous, we were ambushed. Other men, professionally armed. They shot Igor and Sergei and took the woman. I only got away because I was checking the perimeter.¡±

    The ice in my chest spreads to my limbs.

    ¡°Describe these men.¡±

    ¡°Six of them, maybe seven. Good at what they did¡ªlike, military, you know? One had a scar here.¡± He tries to gesture at his neck despite the restraints. ¡°They spoke Russian. One called another ¡®Solovyov dog¡¯ when they thought I couldn¡¯t hear.¡±

    Solovyov.

    I¡¯m about to ask another question when the door bursts open. Arkady strides in, face grim. ¡°I need to speak with you. Now.¡±

    I follow him into the hallway, leaving Dimitri to watch our prisoner.

    When we¡¯re alone, he turns to me. ¡°Our informant in Brighton Beach just called. The Solovyovs are bragging about having the ¡®Akopov bride¡¯ in their possession.¡±

    The concrete walls seem to pulse around me. ¡°Where?¡±

    ¡°They¡¯ve gone dark on the location. But they¡¯re nning to use her as leverage. And Vin¡­¡± He hesitates.

    ¡°What?¡±

    ¡°She¡¯s definitely inbor. They¡¯ve called in a doctor from theirwork.¡±

    I press the heels of my hands against my eyes until a whole gxy of stars goes supernova behind my eyelids. Everything inside me wants to scream, to break, to destroy.

    But I can¡¯t afford to do that yet.

    Arkady takes a deep breath. ¡°We¡¯ve looked everywhere, called in every debt, just like you wanted. But it hasn¡¯t turned up anything usable. The Solovyovs have gone to ground with her in some ck site outside ourwork.¡±

    ¡°There has to be something.¡±

    ¡°There is.¡± His eyes meet mine. ¡°But you¡¯re not going to like it.¡±

    ¡°Speak.¡±

    ¡°Grigor Petrov has resources we don¡¯t. Intelligenceworks in ces where the Solovyovs operate that we can¡¯t ess.¡±

    ¡°No.¡± The single word shoots from my mouth like a bullet and kills the idea dead on sight. ¡°Absolutely fucking not.¡±

    ¡°Vin, he¡¯s her father.¡±

    ¡°He doesn¡¯t know that.¡± I pace the narrow hallway. ¡°And the moment he finds out, he¡¯ll use that information¡ªuse her¡ªagainst me.¡±

    ¡°He might help us find her.¡±

    ¡°Or he might decide his daughter and grandchild are better off with him than with me.¡± I m my fist against the wall. ¡°I won¡¯t risk it.¡±

    Arkady edges closer. ¡°Then what¡¯s the alternative? Rowan is out there giving birth in captivity. Every minute we waste?¡ª¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t.¡± My voice drops to a dangerous whisper. ¡°Don¡¯t fucking tell me what¡¯s at stake here. I know exactly what¡¯s at stake.¡±

    My mind races through options, discarding each one as quickly as it forms. We need information. We need leverage. We need?¡ª

    ¡°The doctor,¡± I say suddenly. ¡°The Solovyovs called in a doctor.¡±

    Arkady¡¯s eyes widen as he follows my thinking. ¡°If we can identify which doctor¡­¡±

    ¡°We can track them to Rowan.¡±

    I stride back into the interrogation room. ¡°Get me everything you know about the Solovyovs¡¯ medical contacts,¡± I order the bloody man in the chair. ¡°Every doctor, nurse, or veterinarian who¡¯s ever patched up one of their men. Names. Addresses. Now. Do it fast and you might live.¡±<hr>

    Ten minutester, I have a list of six possible doctors. With anothermand, our tech team is tracking their phones, credit cards, movements.

    ¡°Sir.¡± One of my men approaches nervously. ¡°What should we do with him?¡± He nods toward our prisoner.

    I look at my father¡¯s driver, slumped in the chair, barely conscious.

    ¡°Keep him alive. He still has information we might need.¡± I turn to Arkady. ¡°And find my father. When this is over, he and I are going to have a very final conversation.¡±

    As we head upstairs, Arkady tries one more time. ¡°Vince, about Petrov?¡ª¡±

    ¡°My decision is final.¡± I check my weapon, making sure it¡¯s fully loaded. ¡°I will find my wife and child without inviting another wolf into our home.¡±

    ¡°And if we can¡¯t locate her in time?¡±

    I stop and turn to him, letting him see everything in my eyes: the rage, the fear, the absolute conviction.

    ¡°Then there won¡¯t be a Solovyov left alive in this city.¡± I continue walking. ¡°But that won¡¯t happen. Because I¡¯m going to find her. If I have to tear this world apart piece by bloody fucking piece, I will find her.¡±

    Arkady falls silent. He knows better than to argue with a man on the edge.

    And I am on the edge. Bncing precariously between calm and chaos. Between the man Rowan believes I can be and the monster my father created.

    I hope for everyone¡¯s sake that the former finds her first.

    Because if the monster gets there instead, no one will be left to tell the tale.

 Filthy Lies: Chapter 4

    The contractions areing so fast now I can barely catch my breath between them. Each one feels like my body is trying to turn itself inside out.

    The door opens. I¡¯m praying it¡¯s the doctor, but there¡¯s no way the man who enters knows a damn thing about babies. He¡¯s blunt, hunched, and broad-shouldered, with a face that looks like it¡¯s been repeatedly introduced to a brick wall. He speaks rapidly in Russian to the woman.

    I can¡¯t understand the words, but their tone tells me everything I need to know. They¡¯re worried.

    ¡°What¡¯s happening?¡± I ask when I can speak again.

    To my surprise, someone replies. ¡°Your husband is causing problems,¡± the woman says, looking annoyed. ¡°He¡¯s found three of our safe houses already.¡±

    A wild, irrational hope res in my chest. Vince ising. He¡¯s hunting for me, systematically eliminating possibilities. It¡¯s just a matter of time.

    If I can hold on long enough¡­

    The man passes something to the woman, then leaves. When he¡¯s gone, she turns and approaches me with¡­

    ¡°What the fuck? Is that a syringe?¡± I shrink back against the wall.

    ¡°Something to slowbor. We need more time.¡±

    ¡°No!¡± I knock her hand away when it gets close. ¡°You¡¯re not giving me anything. I don¡¯t know what¡¯s in that.¡±

    Her face hardens. ¡°Don¡¯t be stupid. This will help.¡±

    ¡°Help you, maybe. Not my baby.¡± I cradle my belly. ¡°Nothing goes into my body unless a real doctor tells me what it is.¡±

    She lunges for my arm, but I¡¯m faster. Fueled by maternal instinct and sheer desperation, I grab her wrist and twist. The syringe goes ttering to the floor.

    ¡°Touch me again,¡± I snarl, ¡°and I¡¯ll make you regret it.¡±

    Something in my eyes must convince her because she steps back, rubbing her wrist.

    ¡°Fine,¡± she spits. ¡°Have it your way.¡±

    The woman storms out, the door nging shut behind her like a funeral bell.

    Left alone, time bends and blurs and loses all meaning. Minutes pass, one so dull that my mind goes nk and the next rippling with so much pain that I lose the will to even scream anymore. It¡¯s like that, high and low, ck and white, boring and agonizing.

    But beneath it, I find something.

    A little kernel. A tiny, stubborn root.

    Beneath the pain, there is power.

    Beyond the suffering, I soar.

    Maybe it¡¯s because my body is doing exactly what it¡¯s designed to do: bringing my child into the world against impossible odds.

    The womanes in every so often. Her frown turns down deeper and deeper with each visit. She keeps checking her watch, growing increasingly agitated. I hear raised voices outside the door. Arguments in Russian.

    Something¡¯s wrong. I can feel it¡ªan intuition beyond the pain. My body is sending signals I can¡¯t quite interpret, but they¡¯re screaming danger.

    ¡°I need to push,¡± I realize suddenly. ¡°The baby¡¯sing now.¡±

    ¡°No!¡± She whirls toward me. ¡°You must wait for the doctor!¡±

    Right on cue, the door bursts open. A small, nervous-looking man hurries in carrying a medical bag.

    ¡°This is the woman?¡± he asks in ented English.

    ¡°Do you see any other fucking woman inbor, you idiot?¡± seethes the blond bitch.

    Grumbling, the doctor kneels beside me, his hands shaking slightly as he pulls on gloves. His eyes meet mine, and I see genuine concern there.

    ¡°How long have you been inbor?¡± he asks.

    ¡°I don¡¯t know. Hours?¡± I grip his forearm during another contraction. ¡°Something feels wrong.¡±

    He examines me quickly. His eyes flit too fast to seem confident. I wonder if he¡¯s here voluntarily or if they¡¯ve threatened him, too.

    ¡°The baby is in distress,¡± he says finally, looking up at the blonde woman. ¡°Heart rate is dropping. We need to get her to a hospital immediately.¡±

    ¡°Not possible,¡± the blonde replies coldly.

    ¡°Then the baby might die!¡± he exims in an unexpected burst of emotion. ¡°And possibly the mother, too. The cord ispressed.¡±

    Die.

    The word echoes in the hollow chamber of my skull like a bullet ricocheting inside a metal box. Again and again and again.

    Die. Die. Die.

    My baby¡ªthis stubborn, fierce little creature who has survived my broken heart, my shattered trust, gunfire, betrayal, and nowbor in this filthy hellhole¡ªmight die.

    And suddenly, I¡¯m not scared anymore.

    I¡¯m fucking homicidal.

    A primal rage ignites in my blood, transforming the pain of contractions into something else entirely. It¡¯s like someone has reced my veins with gasoline and tossed in a match. The burning spreads from my center outward until even my fingertips tingle with it.

    My child will not die here.

    I will rip this building apart with my bare hands before I let that happen.

    ¡°Get. Me. Help.¡± I clutch her wrist hard. ¡°Or I swear to God, when my husband finds us¡ªand he will¡ªyou¡¯ll wish he¡¯d killed you quickly.¡±

    The blonde woman¡¯s face contorts with contempt. But she still says nothing. So I turn to the doctor.

    ¡°Do something,¡± I plead, grabbing his hand. ¡°Save my baby. Please.¡±

    The doctor hesitates, then nods firmly. ¡°I¡¯ll try. But you must do exactly as I say.¡± He turns to the woman. ¡°I need clean towels, hot water, and better light. Now!¡±

    She looks like she might argue, but another man appears in the doorway and barks an order. She leaves quickly.

    ¡°Listen to me,¡± the doctor says quietly once we¡¯re alone. ¡°This is very dangerous. I will do what I can, but¡­¡±

    ¡°I understand,¡± I whisper. ¡°Just save my baby. That¡¯s all that matters.¡±

    He looks at me with something that I can almost mistake for respect. ¡°You are very brave.¡±

    I¡¯m not brave; I¡¯m terrified. But in this moment, a strange calm settles over me.

    If I die bringing this child into the world, then that¡¯s what happens. Vince will find our baby. He¡¯ll raise that baby with all the love and protection in the world. He¡¯ll tell stories about me, about how much I loved them both.

    The thought brings an unexpected peace.

    ¡°Vince will find us,¡± I tell the doctor. ¡°My husband. When he does, tell him I wasn¡¯t afraid.¡±

    The doctor¡¯s eyes widen, but he nods.

    The woman returns with supplies. The contractions are unrelenting now, my body working with unstoppable force, previously unused gears within me grinding and groaning as they¡¯re called into action.

    ¡°I need to push,¡± I croak.

    ¡°Not yet,¡± the doctor warns. ¡°The cord?¡ª¡±

    But my body doesn¡¯t care about his warnings. The urge is there, biological and undeniable. I bear down with all my strength.

    The doctor moves quickly between my legs, his hands sure despite his fear. ¡°Okay, now, I need you to pant. Short breaths. Don¡¯t push!¡±

    I try to follow his instructions. But it¡¯s hell to resist what my body longs to do.

    ¡°Come on, little one,¡± I whisper to my belly. ¡°Fight. Your daddy ising for us. We just need to hold on.¡±

    The doctor positions himself at the end of the mattress. ¡°Very well. This is as good as we¡¯re gonna get. Now, when I tell you, push with everything you have.¡±

    I¡¯m on a precipice. The end of one chapter. The start of another. Staring down the barrel of the greatest battle of my life, and my weapon is nothing but the raw, animal strength of my own body.

    The pain isn¡¯t pain anymore¡ªit¡¯s transcended into something holy and monstrous. I never knew I could hurt like this and still be conscious. Still be alive.

    Vince once told me that when he killed his first man, he felt like he¡¯d crossed a threshold into a different world. That¡¯s where I am now¡ªsuspended between existences, my body splitting open to bring forth life even as death hovers at the edges of the room, patient and hungry.

    I¡¯m no longer Rowan St. ir, the marketing girl with a crush on her boss.

    I¡¯m not even Rowan Akopov, the Bratva wife.

    I¡¯m something ancient and terrible¡ªa vessel of creation, a harbinger of blood and miracles.

    If I die, I die with purpose.

    If I live, I¡¯ll never be the same.

    Only time will tell which door I get to open.

    ¡°Now,¡± the doctormands.

    And I push.

    ¡°Now!¡± hemands.

    And I push.

    The room spins around me. ck spots dance in my vision. I¡¯m vaguely aware of shouting, of the doctor¡¯s urgent instructions, of my own body working beyond the limits of endurance.

    ¡°One more,¡± the doctor urges. ¡°The baby is almost here.¡±

    With thest of my strength, I push.

    And in that moment, suspended between life and death, I send a silent plea into the universe:

    Vince, find what¡¯s left of us. Love our child enough for both of us.

    I push one final time as darkness closes in.

 Filthy Lies: Chapter 5

    The abandoned construction site off West 57th Street looks like a skeleton of broken promises. It¡¯s a fitting location for what I¡¯m about to do.

    I check my watch again. We¡¯re two minutes past our agreed meeting time. My jaw clenches so hard I can feel my teeth grinding. The weight of those one hundred and twenty lost seconds presses down on my chest. Every single one is a slice in my heart that will never fully heal.

    Because every second Rowan remains missing is another second she could be dying. Our child could be dying. The thought alone makes my hand inch toward my weapon, fingers itching with the need to do something, anything. The cold metal against my palm would beforting¡ªif I had someone to point it at.

    But right now, I¡¯m only shooting at shadows.

    I¡¯ve spent thest three hours hunting through every Solovyov property we know about. Nothing. Three fucking hours of kicking down doors, threatening terrified underlings, tearing apart rooms. All for nothing.

    Nothing except blood. So much blood. Rowan¡¯s blood. The image of that crimson puddle on the tile floor of our home haunts me every time I blink. I can still smell it.

    My stomach knots at the memory, bile rising in my throat. Was she already inbor when they took her? How much pain is she in right now? Is she calling for me, thinking I¡¯ve abandoned her?

    A figure emerges from the darkness. Tall, lean, dark hair. The surgeon¡¯s scrubs are gone, reced by nondescript clothing that blends into the night. He moves like someone who knows what it means to be hunted.

    Daniel Spencer.

    No. Not Daniel. Not Spencer, either.

    Daniil Petrov.

    Grigor¡¯s youngest son. My enemy by birth and blood. The son of the man who has sought to destroy my family for generations.

    Looking at him makes my skin crawl with ingrained hatred, a visceral response cultivated since childhood. Yet here I am, seeking his help.

    Desperate times don¡¯t just call for desperate measures. They call for you to turn your back on everything you ever thought you knew.

    ¡°You¡¯rete,¡± I growl.

    ¡°You¡¯re lucky I came at all.¡±

    We stand fifteen feet apart, both of us well aware of what this meeting means. What lines we¡¯re both crossing.

    ¡°I wouldn¡¯t have contacted you if there was any other option,¡± I say.

    It¡¯s unlike me to confess that I¡¯m trapped. But for Rowan, I¡¯ll swallow my pride.

    For her, I¡¯d choke on it.

    ¡°I know.¡± He stays where he is, hands visible but tense. ¡°If anyone in my family discovers I¡¯m here, I¡¯m dead.¡±

    ¡°If anyone in my family discovers I asked for your help, I¡¯m worse than dead.¡±

    The ghost of a smile touches his lips. ¡°Yet here we are.¡±

    I don¡¯t return the smile. Can¡¯t. Not with Rowan out there somewhere. Not with the knowledge that she¡¯s in pain, afraid, bleeding out while bringing our child into this world. ¡°The Solovyovs have my wife.¡±

    ¡°I heard.¡± His eyes study me carefully, searching for something. Weakness, perhaps. Or deception. ¡°She¡¯s inbor?¡±

    ¡°Yes.¡± The single word nearly chokes me. I should be holding her hand, not standing in this godforsaken ce bargaining with a Petrov. ¡°She¡¯s been missing for over six hours now. We¡¯ve tracked down three Solovyov locations. Nothing.¡±

    ¡°And you think I know where they might be keeping her?¡±

    ¡°I think your family has been watching the Solovyovs for decades. I think you have intelligence we don¡¯t.¡±

    Daniel paces a tight circle, weighing his options, but saying nothing.

    I nce at my watch. Another four minutes gone.

    Tick-tock, motherfucker.

    Blood on white marble.

    Screams in an empty hallway.

    ck SUVs, disappearing over the horizon.

    ¡°How much do you want?¡± I ask, defaulting to thenguage I understand best. Transaction. Payment. Value.

    Daniel¡¯s head snaps up. ¡°Excuse me?¡±

    ¡°How much money do you want for this information?¡±

    His face darkens. ¡°Fuck you, Akopov.¡±

    ¡°Then what do you want?¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t want anything from you.¡± He walks closer, stopping just beyond arm¡¯s reach. ¡°Do you think I¡¯m here for some kind of fucking payday? My father would have me killed for speaking to you, let alone helping you.¡±

    ¡°Then why are you here?¡±

    In my world, no one does anything without expecting something in return. Especially not a Petrov for an Akopov.

    His jaw clenches. ¡°Because I love Anastasia. Because I know you love your woman. And because your wife is innocent in all this.¡±

    The mention of Rowan makes something crack inside me. For a horrifying moment, I feel my eyes burn, and I have to look away.

    Vincent Akopov doesn¡¯t cry. Not ever. Not since I was seven years old and my father beat that weakness out of me.

    ¡°Please.¡± I¡¯ve never begged for anything in my life. The humiliation of it sears through me, but I push past it. ¡°She¡¯s all I have.¡±

    Daniel watches me for a long moment. He¡¯s still searching for something he can rely on in my face. Whatever he finds makes him nod slightly.

    ¡°The Solovyovs have a property they don¡¯t think we know about. Off the books. An old meat processing nt near Newtown Creek.¡±

    My pulse quickens. A surge of adrenaline floods my system, the first real hope I¡¯ve felt since finding that blood. ¡°Address?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll do better than that.¡± He pulls out his phone and opens a map application. ¡°I¡¯ll take you there.¡±

    My natural suspicion res¡ªit could be a trap. But why go through this borate charade? If he wanted me dead, there are simpler ways.

    ¡°Why would you do that?¡±

    ¡°Because Anastasia loves you both, for reasons I can¡¯tprehend.¡± He nces down at his phone. ¡°And because if our positions were reversed, I¡¯d do terrible things to find her.¡±

    Something passes between us in that moment. Not friendship¡ªnever that. But understanding. Recognition of the one thing that transcends our blood feud: how far we¡¯d go for the women we love. It¡¯s unsettling to findmon ground with him, to see my own desperate devotion reflected in the eyes of a Petrov.

    I consider his offer. Daniel could be leading me into a trap. Could be working with the Solovyovs. Could be acting on his father¡¯s orders. The paranoia that¡¯s kept me alive for years screams warnings in my head.

    But something in his eyes tells me he¡¯s not.

    ¡°If you betray me, I¡¯ll kill you,¡± I tell him. ¡°I¡¯ll make it hurt.¡±

    He doesn¡¯t flinch. ¡°Understood.¡±

    And with that, our fates are sealed.

    I pull out my phone and call Arkady. ¡°I have a lead. Newtown Creek. Meet me there with the team.¡± I don¡¯t mention who provided the information. That conversation can wait.

    Daniel watches me with wary respect. ¡°Your men won¡¯t like working with a Petrov.¡±

    ¡°My men will do whatever it takes to find my wife.¡±

    As will I.

    So here I stand, about tomit the kind of treachery that would make my ancestors w their way out of their graves to curse my name. The magnitude of betraying generations of blood-sworn loyalty should crush me beneath its weight. Should twist my gut with shame.

    But all I feel is ice-cold rity.

    Because Rowan isn¡¯t just my family now¡ªshe¡¯s my gravity. My religion. My reason for breathing. She matters more than the Bratva, more than the criminal empire I¡¯ve carved from bones and bullets, more than the iron-d principles hammered into me since birth.

    She is the way.

    Everything else is merely a distraction.

    ¡°We need to move now,¡± Daniel says, breaking into my thoughts. ¡°If she¡¯s truly inbor, we don¡¯t have much time.¡±

    ¡°Lead the way.¡± I gesture toward the exit.

    As we move through the darkness, an odd sense of rity washes over me. I always thought I understood power. The power of fear, of money, of violence.

    But real power, I realize now, is what Rowan has over me.

    Power isn¡¯t what I¡¯ve spent my life umting.

    Power is what I feel for her.

    And if that power is enough to make me ally with a Petrov, it¡¯s certainly enough to tear apart every Solovyov standing between us.

    I just pray we¡¯re not toote.

    Hold on, Rowan.

    I¡¯ming for you.

    Just hold on.

 Filthy Lies: Chapter 6

    My body splits open.

    There¡¯s no other way to describe it. I am being torn in half, ripped apart from the inside out. My screams don¡¯t even sound human anymore.

    ¡°Push,¡± the doctormands. ¡°This is it. One more time.¡±

    I don¡¯t think I can. I¡¯ve given everything. Every ounce of strength, every molecule of fight. But then I remember whose child this is¡ªmine and Vince¡¯s. Stubbornness runs in both our bloodlines.

    ¡°You can do it,¡± the doctor says firmly when I open my mouth to tell him I can¡¯t. ¡°The head is right there. One more push.¡±

    I close my eyes and think of Vince. It¡¯s so easy to conjure him up. Despite everything, it¡¯s like he¡¯s right here with me. I¡¯ve got his blue eyes in my vision, his touch on my shoulders, his heat pressed up against my side. And then there are all the things you can¡¯t see or touch that are here anyways.

    The wry twist of his smile and what it does to my insides. His fire, his rage, his passion. His absolute refusal to give up on anything he wants.

    And God, do I want this baby to live.

    I dig deep, gathering whatever shreds of energy remain in my broken body, and push with everything I have left. The pain is blinding, obliterating all thought.

    Then, suddenly¡ªrelease.

    A rush of pressure giving way.

    And a scream.

    A scream that isn¡¯t mine.

    ¡°A girl,¡± the doctor announces, his voice thick with relief. ¡°You have a daughter.¡±

    The world stops spinning for one perfect moment. I blink through sweat and tears to see a tiny, purple-red body squirming in the doctor¡¯s hands. She¡¯s covered in blood and vernix, her face scrunched in outrage, lungs working perfectly as she announces her arrival with furious cries.

    She¡¯s the single most beautiful thing I¡¯ve ever seen.

    ¡°Give her to me,¡± I rasp. ¡°Please.¡±

    The doctor quickly mps and cuts the cord, thenys my daughter on my chest. Her warm, slippery weight settles against me, and everything changes.

    The universe realigns itself around this tiny being.

    ¡°Hello,¡± I whisper, running a trembling finger down her cheek. ¡°I¡¯m your mom.¡±

    Her cries quiet a little as she feels my skin against hers. I can¡¯t stop staring at her. Ten perfect fingers. Ten perfect toes. A shock of dark hair matted to her head. She has Vince¡¯s strong chin, my nose, and eyes that are clenched tight but look like they might be my shape with his color.

    A miracle folded into seven pounds of humanity.

    The fierce, consuming love that floods me is like nothing I¡¯ve experienced. It¡¯s surreal. Overwhelming. Every atom in my body has been reprogrammed with a single directive: Protect this child.

    ¡°Sofiya,¡± I murmur, the name we chose feeling right on my tongue. ¡°Sofiya Akopov.¡±

    The doctor tends to me while I¡¯m lost gazing at this perfect angel. I barely notice. I can¡¯t look away from my daughter.

    ¡°She appears healthy,¡± he says, relief evident in his voice. ¡°Strong lungs, good color. A fighter, like her mother.¡±

    ¡°Like her father, too,¡± I say softly.

    The blonde woman who¡¯s been supervising my captivity approaches. Her cold eyes are fixed on Sofiya in a way I despise.

    ¡°The child must be cleaned and examined,¡± she says, reaching for my baby.

    Something inside me snaps.

    ¡°Don¡¯t you fucking touch her.¡± My voice is barely recognizable¡ªcrackling, fierce, a lioness¡¯s warning growl.

    The woman pauses. ¡°Don¡¯t be ridiculous. You are in no condition?¡ª¡±

    ¡°I said don¡¯t touch her.¡± I curl my body around Sofiya, ignoring the screaming pain of my torn and battered flesh. ¡°She stays with me.¡±

    ¡°Give me the child, you stupid whore.¡± She reaches again, more forcefully this time.

    Ish out with my free arm, catching her hand and twisting hard enough to make her yelp.

    ¡°Touch my daughter, and I will kill you.¡± The words aren¡¯t mine. They are Vince¡¯s, flowing through me like his blood flows through our child. ¡°I will tear out your throat with my teeth.¡±

    I mean every word.

    The woman backs away, nursing her wrist. ¡°You are weak from childbirth. Do not be an idiot.¡±

    ¡°Try me.¡± I hold Sofiya closer, feeling her tiny heart beating against mine. ¡°My husband ising. You know he is. And when he gets here, anyone who¡¯sid a hand on his child will beg for death by the time he¡¯s done with them. Do you really want that for yourself?¡±

    Fear flickers in her eyes. I¡¯m right. She knows I¡¯m right.

    ¡°Clean her here,¡± the doctor intervenes. ¡°The mother should keep the baby skin-to-skin. It¡¯s medically best for them both.¡±

    The woman¡¯s gaze shifts between us. ¡°Fine,¡± she spits finally. ¡°But if Akopov does not agree to our terms, both will suffer.¡±

    I ignore her threats, focusing entirely on my daughter. Sofiya has stopped crying and is nuzzling against my chest.

    ¡°That¡¯s right, baby girl,¡± I whisper. ¡°I¡¯ve got you. And Daddy¡¯sing for us.¡±

    The doctor brings a small basin of warm water and some cloths. With gentle movements, he shows me how to clean her while keeping her against my skin. Every touch feels sacred, every tiny limb precious beyond measure.

    ¡°I have some form,¡± he says quietly. ¡°If you want to try feeding her.¡±

    I shake my head. ¡°I want to try nursing her first.¡±

    With his guidance, I position Sofiya at my breast. The feeling when shetches on is strange and wonderful and painful all at once. She¡¯s so tiny, yet so determined.

    Tears stream down my face as I watch her. I¡¯ve never felt so exhausted, so broken, or so powerful. I made this perfect being. Protected her through kidnapping and captivity. Brought her safely into the world despite everything.

    And now, I would die for her without hesitation.

    I understand Vince better now than I ever have. The fierce, fiery need to protect at all costs. The willingness to burn the world to ashes for someone you love. I feel it coursing through my veins, transforming me into someone new.

    Someone very, very dangerous.

    ¡°Your husband,¡± the doctor whispers while pretending to check Sofiya¡¯s reflexes. ¡°He is Vincent Akopov?¡±

    I nod, not taking my eyes off my daughter.

    ¡°Then God help the ones who have brought us here,¡± he murmurs. ¡°I have seen what men like him do when their families are threatened.¡±

    ¡°He¡¯ll find us,¡± I say with absolute certainty in my voice. ¡°And when he does, nowhere on this earth will be safe for them.¡±

    The doctor merely nods.

    Outside the room, I hear raised voices. A door mming. The distinct sound of a gun being cocked.

    Something is happening.

    I hold Sofiya closer and whisper reassurances I¡¯m not sure I believe. But I know one thing with unshakable conviction: No one will take her from me. No one will harm her.

    Even in my weakened state, with blood still pooling beneath me and my body torn from giving birth, I am more dangerous now than I have ever been. Because now, I understand what Vince has known all along.

    Love doesn¡¯t make you weak.

    It makes you capable of terrible, necessary things.

    I kiss Sofiya¡¯s forehead and prepare for whateveres next. ¡°We¡¯re going to be okay,¡± I promise her. ¡°Your daddy is the most stubborn, relentless man alive. He won¡¯t stop until he finds us.¡±

    The shouting outside gets louder. Footsteps pound down hallways. The blonde woman¡¯s hand moves to her weapon.

    I curl more tightly around my daughter, my body a shield.

    ¡°Let theme,¡± I whisper against Sofiya¡¯s downy head. ¡°Your father taught me how to fight. And for you, my love, I¡¯ll fight the whole world.¡±

    The door bursts open.

    And I am ready.

 Filthy Lies: Chapter 7

    The meat processing nt looms ahead of us like a fortress from hell. Solovyov¡¯s men patrol the perimeter¡ªI count six visible guards, which means at least a dozen more inside. Floodlights sweep across the empty parking lot, illuminating rusted chain-link fences topped with razor wire.

    Somewhere in there is my wife.

    Somewhere in there is my child.

    ¡°The security system is wired through that junction box.¡± Daniel points to a small metal container mounted on the east wall. ¡°Take that out, and their cameras go dark.¡±

    I nod, not trusting myself to speak. Working with Grigor Petrov¡¯s son burns like venom in my veins, but he¡¯s proven useful. Too useful.

    If he¡¯s lying, I¡¯ll peel the skin from his body inch by agonizing inch.

    But I don¡¯t think he is.

    Arkady materializes beside me, a shadow among shadows. ¡°Men are in position. Say the word.¡±

    ¡°Where are we on the security feed?¡±

    ¡°Hacked. We can see the interioryout.¡±

    ¡°And Rowan?¡± My voice catches on her name like a rusty hook.

    ¡°Third floor, northwest corner. Only one heat signature showing with her, but the walls are thick, so nothing is guaranteed.¡±

    I grip my gun tighter, knuckles white beneath my leather gloves. ¡°Move in. Secure all exits. No one escapes.¡±

    There¡¯s no grand speech. No dramatic rallying of troops. These men know what¡¯s at stake. They know what happens to anyone between me and my wife tonight.

    I turn to Daniel. ¡°Stay with Dimitri. If you try to warn your friends?¡ª¡±

    ¡°They¡¯re not my friends,¡± he interrupts. ¡°And I¡¯ming with you.¡±

    ¡°The fuck you are.¡±

    ¡°I know the buildingyout. Which stairs won¡¯t creak, which doors are reinforced.¡± His eyes lock with mine. ¡°You need me.¡±

    I hate that he¡¯s right.

    ¡°Fine.¡± I check my weapon onest time. ¡°But if you so much as breathe wrong?¡ª¡±

    ¡°You¡¯ll kill me. Yeah, I know. I got it the first ten times.¡±

    Our teams move in like a single organism. ck-d figures melt into the darkness, positioning themselves around thepound. One of my men approaches the junction box Daniel identified and kills power to the security systems with three precise snips of his wire cutters.

    ¡°Arkady, we need a distraction,¡± I say into mym. ¡°West side.¡±

    Secondster, an explosion rocks the far end of thepound. Solovyov men scramble toward it like ants from a disturbed hill.

    And we descend.

    The first guard never sees meing. I put him down with a silenced shot to the back of the skull. The second tries to reach for his radio before my knife finds his throat. The third, to his credit, manages to get fingers to his gun. But that¡¯s as far as he gets.

    Once, these kills would have been executed emotionlessly. But not tonight.

    Tonight, each body that drops is just an obstacle between me and Rowan. Between me and my child. And I tear through them with a rage that burns white-hot in my chest.

    Daniel keeps pace at my side, moving with unexpectedpetence. He disables an rm system I would have missed, guides us through a maze of corridors I would have gotten lost in.

    Gunfire erupts behind us. Arkady¡¯s voice crackles over them. ¡°Main entrance secured. Ten hostiles down. East wing clear.¡±

    We reach a stairwell. Daniel holds up a hand, stopping me from charging ahead. ¡°Pressure te,¡± he whispers, pointing to a nearly invisible sensor. ¡°Step there, and you trigger silent rms.¡±

    We navigate around it and continue our ascent. Second floor. More guards. More bodies hitting the floor, the wet thud of death following us like a faithful dog.

    The third floor, however, is quiet. Eerily quiet. Too quiet.

    ¡°Something¡¯s wrong,¡± Daniel mutters.

    And that¡¯s when I hear it.

    A baby¡¯s cry.

    High-pitched, distressed, unmistakable.

    My baby.

    My. Fucking. Child.

    Something shifts inside me¡ªa tectonic te sliding beneath the bedrock of who I am. The world narrows to a tunnel, and at the end of that tunnel is that sound.

    Nothing else matters. Not the mission. Not the danger. Not even my own survival.

    I move without thinking, without strategy, without anything but pure instinct driving me forward.

    ¡°Akopov, wait¡ª¡± Daniel hisses, but I¡¯m already gone.

    The hallway stretches before me, doors on either side. I follow the sound. Northwest corner. Last room on the left.

    Another cry, louder now. And something else¡ªa woman¡¯s voice. Angry, threatening, proud.

    Rowan.

    I don¡¯t check for traps. Don¡¯t signal Arkady. Don¡¯t do anything that Vincent Akopov, calcted tactician and ruthless pakhan, would normally do.

    I just kick the fucking door off its hinges and storm in, gun raised.

    And freeze.

    Rowan is alive.

    Rowan is alive¡­ and she¡¯s holding our child.

    She¡¯s pale¡ªtoo pale¡ªwith dark circles beneath her eyes and dried blood on her thighs. Her hair is a tangled mess, sweat-soaked and matted against her skull. Her dress is torn and filthy.

    She¡¯s the most beautiful thing I¡¯ve ever seen.

    In her arms is a tiny bundle, wrapped in rags. Our child. Our baby. Alive and crying and here.

    But it¡¯s not just that she¡¯s alive. It¡¯s what she¡¯s doing.

    Rowan, who once fainted at the sight of blood, who cringed when I raised my voice, who embodied everything soft and gentle in this world¡ªshe has a syringe pressed against a frail blonde woman¡¯s throat.

    And she looks very fucking willing to use it.

    ¡°Vincent.¡± My namees out on her exhale.

    The guard takes advantage of her distraction, lunging forward. Without hesitation, I put a bullet between the woman¡¯s eyes. Her body crumples at my feet.

    Instantly dead. Instantly forgotten.

    I¡¯m across the room in three strides, pulling Rowan and our child against my chest with my free arm while keeping my gun trained on the door.

    ¡°You found us,¡± she whispers into my neck. ¡°You found us.¡±

    ¡°Always,¡± I manage, my voice raw. ¡°I will always find you.¡±

    The baby squirms between us, still crying. Rowan shifts and adjusts the bundle so I can see.

    ¡°Meet your daughter.¡± She peels back the makeshift nket to reveal a perfect, tiny face. ¡°Sofiya Akopov.¡±

    My daughter.

    Fuck¡ªmy daughter.

    Her face is red and scrunched, still streaked with the remnants of birth. Dark wisps of hair cling to her scalp. She has my chin, Rowan¡¯s nose, and when she blinks up at me with unfocused eyes, I see a blue that mirrors my own.

    She¡¯s impossibly small. Unbelievably perfect. And I would wreak horrible vengeance on the world to keep her safe.

    ¡°You did this,¡± I say to Rowan. Awe steals the strength from my voice. ¡°You brought her into the world. Here. In this hell.¡±

    Rowan¡¯s eyes shine with exhausted tears. ¡°I tried to wait for you, but she¡¯s stubborn. Wonder where she gets that from?¡±

    ¡°She¡¯s brave,¡± I counter, touching Sofiya¡¯s cheek with one trembling finger. ¡°Like her mother.¡±

    I look at the dead guard, at the syringe lying on the floor beside Rowan.

    This woman, my wife, has realigned something fundamental in the universe. The mathematics of power and vulnerability have been rewritten by her courage.

    She gave birth in captivity.

    She protected our child with nothing but a dirty syringe and sheer will.

    And she¡¯s looking at me now like I¡¯m the one who did something remarkable.

    One day, she¡¯ll realize just who she is.

    I holster my weapon and take them both fully into my arms, careful not to crush the tiny life between us. Rowan sags against me, her strength finally giving way now that I¡¯m here.

    ¡°I¡¯ve got you,¡± I promise. I press my lips to her forehead. ¡°Both of you. I¡¯ve got you now.¡±

    ¡°I knew you¡¯de,¡± she murmurs. ¡°I told Sofiya her daddy would find us. I kept telling her that over and over again. It¡¯s the only thing that kept her from crying.¡±

    My eyes burn. It¡¯s not weakness that wets myshes¡ªit¡¯s something else entirely. Something I never believed I was capable of feeling.

    Humility.

    Because this woman¡ªthis blood-covered, ss-wielding, child-protecting warrior¡ªchose me. Fuck knows I don¡¯t deserve her love.

    ¡°We need to move,¡± Daniel warns from the doorway, his gun drawn. ¡°Reinforcements areing.¡±

    I gather Rowan into my arms. She¡¯s rmingly light, but her grip on our daughter remains firm even as she drifts in and out of consciousness.

    ¡°Clear a path,¡± I order. ¡°No one touches them. No one even looks at them.¡±

    Daniel nods and steps into the hallway to ry themand.

    I look down at my wife¡ªat her pale face smeared with blood and tears, at the fierce set of her jaw even in near-unconsciousness, at the protective curl of her body around our newborn daughter.

    In that moment, I understand something I¡¯ve spent a lifetime denying: There is strength in vulnerability. Power in devotion. A kind of victory that has nothing to do with conquest and everything to do with what you¡¯re willing to sacrifice.

    Rowan found that strength. In the darkest chapter of her life, she didn¡¯t break. She became something new. Something magnificent.

    And as I carry her and our daughter through a gauntlet of death toward freedom, I silently vow to be worthy of that transformation.

    To be worthy of them both.

 Filthy Lies: Chapter 8

    Vince carries us away. Where are we? I don¡¯t know. Where are we going? I don¡¯t know that, either.

    All I know is that the world blurs at the edges. Gunshots echo somewhere far away. Men shout in Russian and die in wordless agony.

    None of it matters.

    My entire universe has copsed to just three points: me, Vince, and the tiny bundle clutched against my chest.

    ¡°Stay with me, Rowan,¡± Vince murmurs. ¡°We¡¯re almost out.¡±

    I try to nod, but my head feels too heavy. The adrenaline that kept me going duringbor and the terrifying hours after has drained away, leaving nothing but bone-deep exhaustion in its wake.

    ¡°Sofiya¡­¡± I whisper. I need to make sure she¡¯s still there, still safe.

    ¡°She¡¯s right here,¡± Vince assures me. ¡°You¡¯re both safe now.¡±

    His arms tighten around us as he navigates through corridors that reek of rust and blood. I focus on the steady rhythm of his heartbeat against my ear, the solid warmth of his chest. The safest ce in the world.

    ¡°Clear!¡± someone shouts ahead of us.

    Cold night air hits my face. We¡¯re outside. The stars above us swim in my vision, impossibly bright. I didn¡¯t think I¡¯d ever see them again.

    ¡°Car¡¯s ready,¡± a voice says. Arkady, I think.

    Vince lowers me into the backseat of an SUV, sliding in beside me. He never lets go, not even for a second. The door ms shut, and the vehicle lurches forward.

    ¡°Hospital,¡± Vincemands. ¡°The private facility in Manhattan.¡±

    ¡°I already called ahead,¡± Arkady responds from the front seat. ¡°They¡¯re expecting us.¡±

    I blink, trying to clear my vision. Sofiya whimpers against me and I instinctively adjust her position.

    ¡°Let me see her,¡± Vince requests softly.

    With trembling hands, I pull back the makeshift nket covering our daughter¡¯s face. The streetlights passing outside cast intermittent shes of illumination across her tiny features.

    Vince¡¯s breath catches. He reaches out with a trembling hand to stroke her velvet cheek.

    His fingers quiver as they brush against her skin, so lightly it¡¯s barely a touch at all. As if he¡¯s afraid she might break. As if he can¡¯t quite believe she¡¯s real.

    ¡°Sofiya,¡± he whispers, testing the name on his tongue. ¡°My daughter.¡±

    The undiluted wonder in his voice brings fresh tears to my eyes. But it¡¯s his expression that undoes mepletely. The mask of control he¡¯s worn for as long as I¡¯ve known him has fallen away, revealing the man beneath¡ªvulnerable, awestruck, and utterly terrified.

    Terrified of losing us.

    I¡¯ve never seen him like this. Sopletely exposed.

    ¡°She has your chin,¡± I note. ¡°And your eyes, I think.¡±

    He nods, unable to speak. His finger traces the curve of Sofiya¡¯s tiny ear, her button nose, the perfect bow of her lips. The tremble in his hand never subsides.

    ¡°I thought¡ª¡± He stops, swallows hard. ¡°When I saw the blood in the hallway¡­¡±

    He doesn¡¯t finish the sentence. He doesn¡¯t need to.

    ¡°We¡¯re okay,¡± I assure him. ¡°She¡¯s perfect. Ten fingers. Ten toes. Lungs like a damn fire rm.¡±

    He nods. Then he leans down and presses his lips to Sofiya¡¯s forehead. The gentleness of the gesture makes my heart contract painfully in my chest.

    ¡°I was so scared,¡± I admit. ¡°Not of dying. But of her dying before you found us.¡±

    His eyes meet mine, zing blue like the hottest part of a fire. ¡°I would have torn the world apart to find you both, you know.¡±

    ¡°I know.¡± And I do know. I¡¯ve seen the evidence of it in the bodies left in our wake. ¡°That¡¯s what kept me going.¡±

    The car speeds through the night, and I lean my head against Vince¡¯s shoulder. Sofiya makes soft, mewling sounds against my chest. My body aches in ways I never knew possible, but none of it matters.

    We¡¯re together.

    We¡¯re alive.

    We¡¯re a family.

    ¡°I love you,¡± I whisper, though I¡¯m not sure if he can even hear me as consciousness begins to slip away again.

    Thest thing I feel before darkness ims me is his lips against my temple and his whispered reply.

    ¡°You are my entire heart.¡±

 Filthy Lies: Chapter 9

    The medical facility is a beehive of activity. Doctors and nurses swarm around me, checking vitals, starting IVs, examining Sofiya. They speak in urgent tones about blood loss, tearing, possible infection, so much jargon that drifts in one ear and out of the other.

    Through it all, Vince never leaves my side. He stands like a sentinel at the head of my bed, his scowl daring anyone to suggest he move. When they take Sofiya for examination, his eyes track every movement, every person who touches her.

    ¡°She¡¯s healthy,¡± the doctor finally announces. ¡°Remarkably so, given the circumstances of her birth.¡±

    The surge of relief makes me dizzy. Or maybe that¡¯s the pain medication they¡¯ve given me.

    ¡°And my wife?¡± Vince¡¯s voice is thrumming with concern.

    ¡°Well, she¡¯s dehydrated. Plus significant blood loss and some tearing that we¡¯ve repaired. But with proper rest and care, she¡¯ll make a full recovery.¡±

    Vince¡¯s shoulders sag slightly¡ªthe only outward sign of the tension releasing its grip on him.

    They move us to a private room that looks more like a suite at the Four Seasons than any hospital ward I¡¯ve ever seen before. Security personnel stand guard outside our door. The nurses bring Sofiya back to me, freshly bathed and wrapped in a proper nket.

    ¡°She¡¯s beautiful,¡± the night nurse says with a fond smile before leaving us alone.

    Vince sits on the edge of my bed. I don¡¯t think he¡¯s blinked since he found us.

    ¡°I still can¡¯t believe she¡¯s real,¡± he says.

    ¡°I know.¡± I stroke Sofiya¡¯s cheek with my finger. ¡°She saved me, you know.¡±

    He looks up, questioning.

    ¡°When I thought I couldn¡¯t push anymore, when I thought I was going to die in that horrible ce, I remembered whose child she is. Ours.¡± I shift in ce, wincing at the pain. ¡°The doctor who delivered her¡­ is he okay?¡±

    Vince¡¯s expression darkens. ¡°He¡¯s being questioned.¡±

    ¡°He helped me,¡± I say quickly. ¡°He saved Sofiya¡¯s life. And mine.¡±

    ¡°Then he¡¯ll be rewarded appropriately.¡± The ice in his voice sends a shiver down my spine. ¡°Unlike the others.¡±

    I don¡¯t ask what happened to my captors. Those of them that lived, that is. I don¡¯t need to. The cold fury in his eyes tells me everything.

    Yet when he looks back at Sofiya, that fury melts away instantly, reced by a tenderness so profound it makes my breath catch.

    ¡°May I hold her?¡± he asks hesitantly.

    ¡°Of course.¡±

    I carefully transfer our daughter into his arms. He cradles her with such extreme gentleness, as if she¡¯s made of the most delicate ss. His massive hands, capable of such violence, now support her tiny head with infinite care.

    It¡¯s so strange to see such damaged skin against such a perfect form of the same thing. Vince has tattoos and scars and sinew standing out like tension cables in his knuckles. Sofi is pure, soft, unblemished.

    And yet somehow, they belong together.

    ¡°Hello, little one,¡± he whispers. ¡°I¡¯m your father.¡±

    Sofiya blinks up at him. Her newborn blue eyes are unfocused but somehow seem to look straight into his soul.

    ¡°I will never let anyone hurt you,¡± he continues. ¡°I swear it on my life.¡±

    ¡°She knows,¡± I say softly. ¡°She already knows who you are.¡±

    Vince looks up at me, his eyes suspiciously bright. ¡°And who am I?¡±

    ¡°Her protector. Her father.¡± I reach out to touch his face. ¡°The man who moved heaven and earth to find us.¡±

    He turns his face into my palm, pressing a kiss there. ¡°I was almost toote.¡±

    ¡°No.¡± I shake my head firmly. ¡°You came exactly when we needed you most.¡±

    Sofiya makes a small whimper, and Vince immediately adjusts his hold, rocking her gently. The sight of him sopletely wrapped around our daughter¡¯s tiny finger makes my heart swell in a way it will never undo.

    He carefully returns Sofiya to my arms. I settle her against my chest, where she nuzzles instinctively.

    ¡°I never felt strong before today,¡± I muse after afortable silence passes us by.

    ¡°You¡¯ve always been strong, Rowan,¡± Vince says. ¡°From the first moment I saw you. But today¡­¡± He shakes his head, seemingly at a loss for words. ¡°What you did¡ªthere is no greater strength than that.¡±

    Tears fill my eyes. ¡°I was so scared, Vince. So scared they would take her from me.¡±

    ¡°No one will ever take her from us.¡± The promise in his voice is absolute. ¡°I won¡¯t allow it.¡±

    ¡°Neither will I.¡± My arms tighten around Sofiya. ¡°I would have killed that woman if she¡¯d tried to take her. I would have done it without hesitation.¡±

    Instead of being shocked by my admission, Vince nods with understanding. ¡°That¡¯s what it means to be a parent. To be willing to do whatever it takes.¡±

    ¡°Even terrible things,¡± I whisper.

    ¡°Even terrible things,¡± he agrees. ¡°But we do them so she never has to.¡±

    Another silence swallows us up. It ought to feel heavy, this acknowledgment that we would cross any line to protect our child.

    But it doesn¡¯t feel heavy in the least. It feels like rity. Like purpose.

    He leans forward and presses his forehead to mine. Our breath mingles in the space between our faces. He smells like clean male sweat, like gunpowder, like Vince.

    And for as long as he¡¯s touching me, the world outside ceases to exist. There is no Bratva, no enemies, no blood feud.

    Just us. Just family.

    ¡°I love you,¡± he whispers. ¡°Both of you. More than I ever thought possible.¡±

    ¡°We love you, too,¡± I reply. ¡°Always.¡±

    I look at Vince¡¯s hands again. They¡¯re clean now, but not so long ago, they were spattered with blood¡ªmy captors¡¯ blood.

    For the first time, it feels like I¡¯m understanding the shape his soul has taken¡ªbecause mine has begun to take the same shape.

    The darkness that lives inside him burns brightest when protecting what¡¯s his. What¡¯s ours.

    ¡°When they took her from my chest for those few seconds,¡± I whisper, throat raw, ¡°I understood what makes you capable of such violence.¡±

    Vince¡¯s eyes meet mine. ¡°And?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯d burn the world down, too.¡±

    He nods. He understands what I¡¯ve be, because he has been that thing already for a long, long time.

    We¡¯re the same now.

    God help anyone who threatens our daughter.

 Filthy Lies: Chapter 10

    I park the SUV at the gate and wait for the security scan to bepleted. Beside me, Rowan sits with Sofiya nestled against her chest, both of them asleep. The soft hum of their breathing is the only sound in the car.

    It¡¯s also the only sound I ever need to hear for the rest of my fucking life.

    If all the world faded away and there was just that, just my two girls inhaling and exhaling in unison, I¡¯d be a happy man. I¡¯d be aplete man.

    The iron gates slide open silently to reveal a winding driveway that cuts through dense forest. I drive slowly, careful not to wake them. Every bump in the road feels like a personal failure.

    This property doesn¡¯t exist on any map. I purchased it through seven different shellpanies, each registered in a different country. The deed is held by a trust that has no connection to the Akopov name.

    It¡¯s my contingency n. My fortress ofst resort.

    And now, it¡¯s our home.

    The house appears through the trees¡ªmodern, low-profile, built into the side of a hill with walls of concrete and bulletproof ss. Sr panels line the roof, and a small helipad sits on the east side. The entire property is surrounded by state-of-the-art security systems.

    I ease the car to a stop and turn off the engine. Rowan stirs, her eyes fluttering open.

    ¡°Where are we?¡± she asks. Her voice is thick and dreamy with sleep.

    ¡°Somewhere safe,¡± I tell her. ¡°Somewhere no one can find us.¡±

    She looks out the window, taking in the unfamiliar surroundings. ¡°How long have you had this ce?¡±

    ¡°Since I found out you were pregnant.¡±

    Her eyes meet mine. ¡°And you never mentioned it?¡±

    ¡°I hoped we¡¯d never need it.¡±

    I exit the car and move to her side, opening the door carefully. She¡¯s still weak from the birth and captivity. The doctors wanted her to stay in the medical facility for at least a week, but I couldn¡¯t risk it.

    Not with the Solovyovs still out there.

    Not with my father¡¯s betrayal still hanging over us.

    ¡°Can you walk?¡± I ask.

    ¡°I think so.¡±

    I help her out of the car, one arm around her waist, the other hovering near Sofiya. Our daughter doesn¡¯t stir.

    ¡°She sleeps like you,¡± Rowan murmurs. ¡°So still. So quiet.¡±

    The observation catches me off-guard. Under other circumstances, it wouldn¡¯t do anything of the sort. After all, it¡¯s such a normal thing to say. Such a normal moment to have: just two parents noticing traits their child shares with them.

    But nothing about any of this shit is normal.

    We enter the house through a reinforced door that requires both retinal and fingerprint scans. Inside, the space is open and clean. The valley looms through the windows, green and endless.

    ¡°It¡¯s beautiful,¡± Rowanments.

    ¡°It¡¯s safe.¡± I guide her toward the sofa. ¡°But I wanted it to feel like a home, not a fortress.¡±

    She sinks onto the cushions and adjusts Sofiya in her arms. ¡°You thought of everything.¡±

    ¡°Not everything.¡± I sit beside her, careful not to jostle them. ¡°I never imagined finding you like that. Inbor. Alone.¡±

    The same old images skip through my head like ripples on ake that keep spreading, spreading, spreading.

    Blood on white marble.

    Six digits punched into the keypad.

    Screams in an empty hallway.

    ¡°But you found us,¡± she interrupts softly. ¡°That¡¯s what matters.¡±

    I reach out to touch Sofiya¡¯s tiny hand. Her fingers curl reflexively around mine, and another crack goes skittering through the rock of everything I once thought I was.

    ¡°I need to go back, you know.¡± I¡¯m wincing even as the words leave my lips, because they¡¯re exactly the wrong thing to say and yet I can¡¯t say anything but that. ¡°To find them. All of them.¡±

    Rowan¡¯s eyes snap to mine. ¡°You¡¯re leaving?¡±

    ¡°Not yet. But soon.¡± I open and close my mouth as I struggle to exin the war raging inside me. ¡°Every instinct I have is screaming to hunt them down. My father. The Solovyovs. Everyone who had a hand in taking you.¡±

    ¡°But?¡±

    ¡°But another part of me can¡¯t bear the thought of leaving you two alone.¡± I look down at our daughter, so small, so vulnerable. ¡°Even for a moment.¡±

    Rowan¡¯s gaze softens, though I can see the worry lingering behind her eyes. For a moment, she just watches me.

    Then she moves Sofiya to one arm, her movements still careful, still recovering. ¡°You can¡¯t be in two ces at once,¡± she says quietly.

    ¡°I know that. I mean, fuck¡ª logically, I know that.¡±

    ¡°But emotionally?¡± She reaches for my hand, her fingers cool against my skin.

    I squeeze her hand gently. ¡°I want to tear apart anyone who had anything to do with this. But I can¡¯t stand the thought of walking out that door.¡±

    ¡°What about Arkady? Your security team?¡±

    ¡°They¡¯re already working, but¡­¡± I trail off.

    She studies my face for a long moment, then nods as ifing to a decision. ¡°No more half-truths between us, Vince. No morepartmentalizing your life to protect me.¡±

    ¡°Rowan¡ª¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s what got us here in the first ce,¡± she interrupts. ¡°You keeping secrets, me in the dark.¡± Her voice grows firmer, more insistent. ¡°Tell me everything, Vince. All of it. No more protecting me from the truth.¡±

    I hesitate. My first impulse is to shield her, to carry this burden alone. It¡¯s what I¡¯ve always donepartmentalized my life, kept the darkness away from her as much as possible.

    But that strategy failed spectacrly. My father used my silence against me. Used my desire to protect Rowan as a weapon.

    And in that horrible room, Rowan proved she¡¯s stronger than I ever gave her credit for.

    ¡°You deserve to know,¡± I agree finally. ¡°Everything.¡±

    I stand and move to the kitchen, returning with water for her. She drinks gratefully while I gather my thoughts.

    ¡°My father¡¯s betrayal wasn¡¯t spontaneous,¡± I begin. ¡°He¡¯s been undermining our legitimization efforts for months. The Costa Rica development, the shipping contracts¡ªall of it was sabotaged on his orders.¡±

    ¡°I know. I found the evidence, remember?¡±

    ¡°Yes, but there¡¯s more.¡± I pace the room, unable to sit still with these truths weighing on me. ¡°When you were taken, it wasn¡¯t just about the baby. It was about control. My father believed he could use you to force me back in line. To abandon our ns for legitimacy and return to the old ways.¡±

    ¡°But the Solovyovs intervened.¡±

    I nod. ¡°They¡¯ve been watching us for months. Waiting for an opportunity.¡± My fists clench at my sides. ¡°They saw my father¡¯s men take you and seized their chance.¡±

    Sofiya stirs in Rowan¡¯s arms, making small mewling sounds. Rowan coos to reassure her, and our daughter settles back to sleep.

    ¡°What about Grigor?¡± she asks quietly. ¡°Does he know about me?¡±

    There¡¯s the question I¡¯ve been dreading. ¡°I don¡¯t think so. But it¡¯s only a matter of time. Especially now.¡±

    ¡°And when he finds out?¡±

    ¡°Best case scenario, he tries to use you as leverage against me. Worst case¡­¡±

    Rowan¡¯s jaw sets tight. ¡°Worst case, he tries to take me. And Sofiya.¡± Her voice is steady, her eyes clear. No trace of the fear I expected.

    ¡°Yes.¡±

    ¡°So we¡¯re caught between three powerful enemies. Your father. The Solovyovs. And my biological father, who doesn¡¯t even know I exist yet.¡± Sheughs, a brittle sound. ¡°You should¡¯ve told me I was marrying into a shitshow of a family, Vince.¡±

    ¡°I won¡¯t let any of them touch you,¡± I vow. ¡°Either of you.¡±

    ¡°I know that.¡± She looks down at Sofiya, then back at me. ¡°But we can¡¯t just hide forever. We need a n.¡±

    ¡°I have one.¡±

    ¡°Well, I¡¯m all ears.¡±

    I sit beside her again, needing to be close for this. ¡°First, we secure our position. Thispound is unknown to anyone in my organization except me. We have supplies, security, everything we need to stay safe while you recover.¡±

    ¡°And then?¡±

    ¡°Then I eliminate the threats. One by one. I already have men tracking down everyone involved in your abduction. Within a week, none of them will be breathing.¡±

    Rowan doesn¡¯t flinch at my words. The old Rowan might have. The woman who walked into my office all those months ago, innocent and wide-eyed.

    But this woman¡ªthis mother¡ªsimply nods.

    ¡°And your father?¡±

    ¡°A moreplicated problem.¡± I run a hand through my hair. ¡°Killing him outright would destabilize the entire organization. Create a power vacuum that could lead to war.¡±

    ¡°So what do you do?¡±

    ¡°I iste him. Cut him off from his support base and turn his captains against him. Then, when the time is right, I remove him permanently.¡±

    Sofiya emits another small whimper, and both of us instinctively look at her. Her tiny face scrunches briefly before rxing again.

    It¡¯s a strange thing, for your heart to suddenly exist outside of your body. I can see it now, touch it, smell it, hear it. It¡¯s right there¡ªnot in me, but over there, reachable, where anyone can simply pluck it away from me.

    It¡¯s a strange fucking thing, the twists and turns this life of mine has taken.

    ¡°That still leaves Grigor in the mix,¡± Rowan prompts after a moment.

    ¡°What happens there depends on him.¡± I choose my words carefully. ¡°If he discovers your identity but makes no move against us, we do nothing. If he tries to use you or im you?¡ª¡±

    ¡°You kill him, too.¡±

    It¡¯s not a question, but I answer anyway. ¡°Yes. I do.¡±

    Rowan is silent for a long moment, processing everything. I expect her to be overwhelmed, to break down now that the adrenaline of survival has worn off.

    Instead, she looks up at me with clear, determined eyes. ¡°I want to help.¡±

    ¡°Row¡ª¡±

    ¡°No, listen to me.¡± She pats Sofi¡¯s back gently. ¡°I¡¯m not the same woman I was before. I can¡¯t be, not after what happened. And I refuse to be a passive participant in my own life anymore.¡±

    ¡°You just gave birth. In captivity.¡±

    ¡°Exactly. And I survived. I protected our daughter.¡± Her voice grows stronger. ¡°I¡¯m not saying I want to go out there and start shooting people. But I need to be involved in the decisions. I need to know the ns. I need to be your partner in this, not just someone you protect.¡±

    I study her face. This is the woman who threatened to kill her captor with a syringe while holding our newborn child. She enduredbor alone in a filthy room and kept our daughter alive against impossible odds.

    She¡¯s earned the right to know.

    ¡°Okay,¡± I agree finally. ¡°Partners.¡±

    Her shoulders sag as relief passes over her. ¡°Thank you.¡±

    ¡°But you focus on recovering first. On taking care of Sofiya. Let me handle the immediate threats.¡±

    ¡°Fair enough.¡± She leans into me, and I wrap an arm around her shoulders. ¡°Just promise me one thing.¡±

    ¡°Anything.¡±

    ¡°Come back to us.¡± Her voice breaks slightly. ¡°Whatever you do out there, whatever kind of monster you have to be to keep us safe¡­e back to us whole.¡±

    I seal my lips to her forehead. ¡°I promise.¡±

    We sit motionless in the dark, our eyes fixed on the rise and fall of Sofiya¡¯s tiny chest. The crushing reality of our situation radiates through the room like a nuclear winter¡ªbut right here, right now, watching our daughter¡¯s perfect face, we¡¯ve carved out this single pristine moment.

    One breath of oxygen in the suffocating chaos we call our life.

    One heartbeat of serenity while the world outside plots our destruction.

    ¡°I want to show you something,¡± I say eventually, helping her to her feet.

    I lead her through the house to a room near the master bedroom. The door slides open silently, revealing a fully equipped nursery¡ªpale eggshell walls, a snow-white crib, stuffed animals arranged on shelves.

    Rowan gasps. ¡°When did you¡­?¡±

    ¡°I had it prepared when I bought the property.¡± I run my hand over the crib railing. ¡°Just in case.¡±

    Tears fill her eyes. ¡°It¡¯s perfect.¡±

    I take Sofiya from her arms. It still terrifies me, how small she is. How fragile. But I¡¯m learning.

    I ce her in the crib. She stirs briefly before settling again, one tiny fist escaping the nket to rest beside her face.

    Rowan leans against me. ¡°We should sleep while she does.¡±

    ¡°You sleep,¡± I tell her. ¡°I¡¯ll watch over you both.¡±

    She studies me for a moment, then nods. ¡°Okay. But just for tonight.¡±

    I help her to the master bedroom, where she practically copses onto the bed. Within seconds, she¡¯s asleep, breathing gently.

    I return to the nursery and pull a chair beside Sofiya¡¯s crib. From here, I can see both her and the doorway to our bedroom. I check my phone. It¡¯s glowing with messages from Arkady about the ongoing hunt for the Solovyovs, reports on my father¡¯s movements, updates on security measures at Akopov properties across the tri-state area.

    The world outside is still in chaos.

    But that¡¯s outside.

    In here, I have the only sounds I need. My woman. My daughter.

    The hunt can wait until morning.

 Filthy Lies: Chapter 11

    I kiss Sofiya¡¯s forehead onest time before I leave.

    ¡°I¡¯ll be back tonight,¡± I tell Rowan. She¡¯s propped up against the headboard, our daughter tucked in her arms. ¡°The security team has explicit instructions. No one enters without my authorization.¡±

    Rowan¡¯s eyes¡ªtired but alert¡ªfind mine. ¡°Where are you going?¡±

    I could lie. Make up some bullshit about supply runs or security sweeps. But we promised no more half-truths between us.

    ¡°To see my father.¡±

    Her body tenses immediately. ¡°Vince?¡ª¡±

    ¡°It needs to be done.¡± I check my weapon and slide it into its holster. ¡°This can¡¯t wait.¡±

    ¡°He tried to have me kidnapped while I was inbor.¡± The tremor in her voice betrays the trauma still lurking beneath her calm exterior. ¡°Are you sure this is wise?¡±

    No. I¡¯m not fucking sure of anything anymore.

    Not since finding her blood on our marble floor.

    What I am sure of is that someone must pay. And payment starts with the man who organized this in the first ce.

    ¡°If I don¡¯t address this now, he¡¯ll see it as weakness,¡± I exin, sitting on the edge of the bed. ¡°And weakness invites more attempts.¡±

    She squints as she studies my face. ¡°You¡¯re going to kill him.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m going to do what¡¯s necessary.¡±

    Rowan moves Sofiya to her other arm, wincing slightly. She¡¯s still healing, still raw from childbirth. The doctors said it would take weeks for her body to recover.

    But we don¡¯t have weeks; we have hours. Minutes, maybe. Mere fragments of safety before the next stormes fucking plowing in to upend everything.

    ¡°Just¡­ goddammit, Vince, juste back to us,¡± she says finally. ¡°That¡¯s all I ask.¡±

    I lean forward and kiss her softly, breathing in the scent of her¡ªmilk and soap, velvet and purity.

    ¡°Always,¡± I promise.

    As I drive toward my father¡¯s estate, I try to organize the chaos in my head. Every cell in my body screams for retribution. Blood on white marble, but this time, it will be his, and there will be rivers of it, oceans of it, enough to drown him and every man who ever helped carry out his bidding.

    But the rage is tempered with something I¡¯m far less familiar with.

    Responsibility.

    I owe things to people now. I have promises to uphold. And thatplicates everything.

    Because the man Rowan believes in wouldn¡¯t murder his own father in cold blood.

    But the man I¡¯ve been for thirty-one years wants exactly that.

    Which man wins?

    The gates of my father¡¯s estate¡ªmy childhood home¡ªswing open as I approach. The guards recognize my car. They¡¯ve been instructed to let me pass no matter what.

    They don¡¯t know that this might be thest time their boss draws breath.

    I park in front of the main house and shut off the engine. For a moment, I just sit there, hands gripping the steering wheel so tightly my knuckles bleach white.

    For Rowan. For Sofiya.

    Carve those words into my fucking bones¡ªthey¡¯re all that matters now.

    The house is oddly quiet as I enter. No staff visible. No security inside. Just the hollow echo of my footsteps across marble floors I¡¯ve walked since I was a boy.

    My father is waiting in his study, of course. Where else would he be? The same ce where he¡¯s delivered every disappointment, every punishment, every lesson in what it means to be an Akopov.

    I don¡¯t knock.

    He looks up from his desk as I enter. His silver eyebrows lift in mock surprise. ¡°Vincent. What an?¡ª¡±

    ¡°Save it,¡± I say, closing the door behind me. ¡°You know exactly why I¡¯m here.¡±

    He leans back in his leather chair, studying me. He doesn¡¯t appear worried.

    Either he¡¯s very confident or very, very stupid.

    ¡°I assume this is about your wife¡¯s unfortunate¡­ adventure.¡± He reaches for his crystal tumbler of whiskey, taking a leisurely sip.

    My gun is in my hand before I consciously decide to draw it. The barrel points steadily at his forehead.

    ¡°¡®Unfortunate adventure¡¯?¡± My voice, when it emerges, is dangerously soft. ¡°You had her kidnapped while she was inbor.¡±

    He sighs, as if I¡¯m overreacting. ¡°Put the gun away, son. Let¡¯s discuss this like civilized men.¡±

    ¡°There¡¯s nothing civilized about what happened.¡± I take a step closer, gun still raised. ¡°She could have died. Our daughter could have died.¡±

    ¡°But they didn¡¯t.¡± He sets down his ss. ¡°They¡¯re both safe now, aren¡¯t they?¡±

    ¡°No thanks to you.¡±

    ¡°On the contrary.¡± His eyes¡ªthe same cold blue as mine¡ªglint with something like amusement. ¡°Everything went ording to n.¡±

    The statement is so absurd, so detached from reality, that I almostugh. Instead, I take yet another step closer, pressing the barrel of my gun against his temple. His pulse beats steadily beneath the skin, unhurried.

    ¡°What fucking n?¡± I hiss. ¡°Exin it to me, old man. Exin how orchestrating my wife¡¯s abduction while she was inbor was part of any rational n.¡±

    He says nothing for several long ticks of the grandfather clock on the wall. Just stares at me, the same dead-eye gaze he¡¯s worn since my mother died.

    ¡°The n,¡± he begins carefully, ¡°was to prove a point.¡±

    ¡°What point?¡±

    ¡°That you need the family. All your talk of going legitimate, of breaking away, of doing things your own way¡ªit¡¯s a fantasy.¡± He doesn¡¯t shy away from the gun. ¡°I was going to have my men bring her here, where she¡¯d be safe. Protected. And then I was going to wait for you toe for her.¡±

    ¡°And?¡±

    ¡°And when you arrived, desperate and furious, I would show you that only the Akopov family¡ªonly our way of doing things¡ªcould have kept her truly safe.¡± His voice finally begins to fray at the edges. ¡°Proof that all your new ideas, your American wife with her corporate strategies and legal niceties, were inadequate.¡±

    The gun trembles in my hand. Not from hesitation¡ªfrom rage.

    ¡°You risked her life. Our child¡¯s life. For a fucking lesson? An I told you so?¡±

    ¡°The lesson was necessary,¡± he insists. ¡°You¡¯ve been slipping away, Vincent. Abandoning what made us strong. What made you strong.¡±

    ¡°But you fucked up, didn¡¯t you?¡± I snarl. ¡°Maybe I¡¯m not the one who needs lessons, Otets.¡±

    A sh of something¡ªnot quite guilt, not quite regret, but something adjacent to both¡ªcrosses his face. ¡°The Solovyovs weren¡¯t part of the n. They intercepted my men. Things went wrong.¡±

    ¡°¡®Things went wrong,¡¯¡± I echo tly. The mere presence of those words on my tongue is repulsive beyond measure. ¡°Do you have any idea what she went through?¡±

    ¡°That was unfortunate.¡±

    ¡°She gave birth in a filthy factory surrounded by men who wanted to use our baby as leverage. She nearly died. And all you can say is ¡®unfortunate¡¯?¡±

    My finger tightens on the trigger.

    One squeeze. That¡¯s all it would take.

    One squeeze and thirty years of Andrei Akopov¡¯s toxic influence on my life would end. One squeeze and Rowan would be safe from his maniptions. One squeeze and I could fulfill the promise I made to myself when I found her blood on our floor.

    But Rowan¡¯s face shes in my mind. Her voice.

    Come back to us whole.

    Would I be whole if I executed my own father? Would that be the kind of man who deserves her? Who deserves to raise Sofiya?

    And beyond the moral question lies the practical one. My father¡¯s death¡ªnow, under these circumstances¡ªwould trigger chaos within the Bratva. Power struggles, vendettas, blood on floors not just here but across the entire city, country, world. Precisely the kind of instability that would endanger my family further.

    I lower the gun slowly.

    ¡°You miscalcted,¡± I tell him, my voice frigid. ¡°For the first andst time.¡±

    He watches me warily. ¡°What do you mean?¡±

    ¡°I mean that, as of this moment, you are no longer in operational control of the Akopov organization.¡± I holster my weapon. ¡°You will retain your title. Your public position. Your ce at the head of the family table. But every decision, every order, every movement of men or money or resources will go through me first.¡±

    He barks augh. ¡°The council would never agree to this.¡±

    ¡°The council already has.¡±

    His eyes widen fractionally. ¡°What?¡±

    ¡°While you were orchestrating your little demonstration, I was securing their loyalty.¡± I give him a cold smile. ¡°They know about Costa Rica. They know about the shipping contracts. They know how you¡¯ve been systematically sabotaging our legitimate business ventures.¡±

    ¡°Those ventures are a mistake?¡ª¡±

    ¡°Those ventures are the future,¡± I cut him off. ¡°And the council sees that now. They understand what you refuse to get through your thick fucking head: We must adapt or die.¡±

    He stares at me. ¡°And if I refuse this arrangement?¡±

    ¡°Then I finish what I started just now.¡± I gesture to the spot where my gun had been pressed against his skull. ¡°And not one man alive will mourn your passing.¡±

    Silence yawns between us. The grandfather clock in the corner ticks away seconds that feel like hours. Outside, rain begins to fall, pattering against the windows in a gentle rhythm at odds with the tension in the room.

    Finally, my father nods. Once. Curtly.

    ¡°Very well.¡± He reaches for his whiskey again. ¡°I ept your terms. For now.¡±

    ¡°No, not ¡®for now.¡¯ Forever.¡± I lean in close enough to see the broken capiries in his eyes, the bloody remnants of a lifetime of power and fear. ¡°And understand this, Father: if you ever¡ªever¡ªmake a move against Rowan or Sofiya again, our blood rtion won¡¯t matter. I¡¯ll end you without hesitation or regret.¡±

    He studies me, searching for weakness. He finds none. ¡°You really would kill me for them, wouldn¡¯t you?¡±

    ¡°In a heartbeat.¡±

    He looks utterly pleased with that. ¡°You truly are my son.¡±

    ¡°No.¡± I straighten, buttoning my jacket. ¡°I¡¯m better than you ever were.¡±

    I turn and walk toward the door, our business concluded.

    ¡°Vincent,¡± he calls after me.

    I pause but don¡¯t turn around.

    ¡°The Solovyovs won¡¯t stop. And if Grigor Petrov discovers who your wife really is?¡ª¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll handle it,¡± I interrupt. ¡°All of it.¡±

    ¡°We could handle it together.¡±

    At that, I do turn. I look back at him, this man who has shaped so much of who I am. Who taught me to kill, to lead, tomand respect and fear in equal measure. This man who nearly got my wife and daughter killed for the sake of a lesson.

    ¡°Not anymore,¡± I tell him. ¡°Those days are over.¡±

    The rain has intensified by the time I return to my car. I sit behind the wheel for a long moment, letting the water drum against the roof, drowning out the chaos in my head.

    Part of me¡ªarge part¡ªis disappointed. My father deserves worse than thispromise. He deserves pain for what he put Rowan through. What he put our daughter through.

    But the other part¡ªthe part that¡¯s growing stronger each day¡ªrecognizes that this is the wiser path. For now, at least.

    I start the engine and head back to the safe house.

    Back to my family.

 Filthy Lies: Chapter 12

    Rowan is feeding Sofiya when I return, propped against pillows in our bed, looking exhausted but radiant. She nces up as I enter. Her eyes are immediately searching my face, my clothes, my hands for signs of what happened.

    ¡°You didn¡¯t kill him,¡± she concludes after a moment.

    ¡°No.¡± I remove my jacket and holster, setting them aside. ¡°I didn¡¯t.¡±

    ¡°Why not?¡±

    I sit on the edge of the bed to watch our daughter nurse. Her tiny fist rests against Rowan¡¯s breast, milk-drunk and at ease. ¡°Because the man you believe I can be wouldn¡¯t do that,¡± I answer honestly. ¡°And because his death right now would create more problems than it solves.¡±

    I exin the arrangement I¡¯ve made with my father. How he¡¯ll retain his symbolic position while I take control of operations. How the council has backed my y. How this uneasy d¨¦tente gives us breathing room while maintaining the stability of the organization.

    With each word, Rowan¡¯s expression grows more troubled.

    ¡°So he just gets away with it?¡± she finally asks, voice trembling with constrained fury. ¡°After what he did to us?¡±

    ¡°No. He doesn¡¯t get away with anything.¡± I reach out to stroke Sofiya¡¯s pillow-soft head. ¡°He loses the one thing he truly values: power. And he lives knowing that his next misstep will be hisst.¡±

    ¡°He orchestrated my kidnapping, Vince.¡± She swallows hard. ¡°While I was inbor. He put our daughter at risk before she even took her first breath.¡±

    ¡°I know.¡± The rage I¡¯ve been suppressing threatens to surface again. ¡°And believe me, Rowan, I wanted nothing more than to put a bullet in his head. To make him suffer for what he did to you both.¡±

    ¡°Then why didn¡¯t you?¡±

    I consider my answer carefully. ¡°Because that would have been the easy choice. The expected choice. What my father would have done in my position.¡± I meet her eyes. ¡°And because you¡¯ve shown me there can be another way.¡±

    Sofiya detaches from Rowan¡¯s breast with a small sound. Rowan automatically lifts her to her shoulder, patting her back gently to burp her.

    ¡°I¡¯m not asking you to forgive him,¡± I continue. ¡°I haven¡¯t. I won¡¯t. Fuck knows I¡¯ll never do that. But this arrangement protects us from the chaos his death would trigger right now. It gives us time to strengthen our position, to secure our territory, to fully prepare for whates next.¡±

    She¡¯s silent for a long moment. ¡°And what is next, Vince?¡± she finally asks. ¡°Where does this lead?¡±

    ¡°To a day when we don¡¯t have to look over our shoulders anymore.¡± I reach for her hand. ¡°When Sofiya doesn¡¯t need a security detail to go to the yground. When we can build something that isn¡¯t founded on blood and fear.¡±

    Rowan sighs and her chin droops to her chest. ¡°I want to hate thispromise, you know.¡±

    ¡°I know.¡±

    ¡°But I understand why you made it.¡± She squeezes my hand. ¡°I don¡¯t like it. But I understand it.¡±

    I nod, looking down at Sofiya¡¯s face. She yawns, tiny pink lips forming a perfect O. My chest intes with a feeling I still don¡¯t have a name for¡ªthis mixture of love and terror that threatens to overwhelm me every time I look at her.

    ¡°I¡¯m trying to be worthy of you both,¡± I whisper. ¡°I swear to fucking God, I¡¯m trying.¡±

    Rowan ces Sofiya in her bass, then crawls into myp. She takes my face between her palms. ¡°You did the right thing.¡±

    I close my eyes and savor her smell¡ªmilk and blood and life.

    I want to believe in what she¡¯s saying.

    But she¡¯s wrong.

    The right thing would¡¯ve been slitting my father¡¯s throat. Watching him drown in his own blood. Taking what¡¯s mine by force, notpromise.

    And that¡¯s the fucking problem.

    I¡¯ll always be torn between the monster they created and the man I want to be.

    For now, this fragile peace buys us time.

    But blood always demands more blood.

    Always.

 Filthy Lies: Chapter 13

    The nightmare always starts the same way.

    I¡¯m outside Vince¡¯s panic room, crawling on hands and knees, blood hot and wet between my legs. The code panel is just out of reach, my fingers stretching, straining.

    One number left. Just one.

    Then the contraction hits¡ªa vicious hammer fist of pain that makes my vision go white. I fall.

    And when it clears, they¡¯re there. Shadows with guns, speaking Russian. Hands grabbing me. Sofiya kicking inside me, desperate to escape.

    I wake gasping, sweat-soaked, my hands cupping my stomach even though Sofiya is no longer there.

    ¡°Just a dream,¡± I whisper to the dark. ¡°Just a dream.¡±

    But it wasn¡¯t just a dream.

    It happened.

    Two weeks ago, it all happened.

    I look over at the bass beside our bed. Sofiya sleeps, her tiny chest rising and falling in perfect rhythm. She has no idea how she came into this world. No memory of the concrete floor or the bloodstained mattress.

    Lucky her.

    I slide out of bed, careful not to wake Vince. He¡¯s a light sleeper these days. Keeps one eye open, even in rest. The dark circles under his eyes match mine. Neither of us has slept properly since it happened.

    In the bathroom, I ssh cold water on my face and avoid my reflection. I know what I¡¯ll see¡ªhollow eyes, sharp cheekbones, a woman still haunted by what she endured.

    Physical recovery is one thing. The doctors that Vince brings to check on me say I¡¯m healing well, all things considered.

    But the other part? The part where I close my eyes and feel phantom hands grabbing me? Where every unexpected noise sends my heart racing?

    That¡¯s a different story.

    When I return to the bedroom, Vince is sitting up, already reaching for his gun on the nightstand.

    ¡°It¡¯s just me,¡± I say quickly.

    He rxes, but only slightly. ¡°Nightmare again?¡±

    I nod as I slide back into bed. ¡°The same one.¡±

    His arm wraps around me. ¡°You¡¯re safe now. Both of you.¡±

    ¡°I know.¡±

    But do I? Does anyone in this life ever feel truly safe?

    ¡°Sofiya was making little noises in her sleep earlier,¡± I say as a means of changing the subject. ¡°She scrunches her nose just like you do when you¡¯re thinking.¡±

    His chest rumbles with a quietugh. ¡°Poor kid. Let¡¯s hope that¡¯s all she gets from me.¡±

    I turn to face him, studying his features in the dim light. ¡°She could do worse. You¡¯re not half-bad to look at.¡±

    He kisses my forehead, his beard scratching pleasantly against my skin. I like that he¡¯s growing it longer these days. ¡°You should sleep. Morninges too soon.¡±

    I want to. But sleep means more nightmares. More blood. More fear.

    ¡°Tell me something,¡± I whisper. ¡°Something good to think about.¡±

    Vince is quiet for a moment. His fingers trace idle patterns on my back. ¡°I¡¯ve been thinking about teaching Sofiya to swim when she¡¯s older,¡± he says finally. ¡°There¡¯s ake near one of our hunting lodges in Vermont. Clear blue water. Safe.¡±

    I close my eyes and imagine it. Vince teaching our daughter to float, to trust the water. His strong hands supporting her tiny body. The sun warming our skin.

    ¡°I¡¯d like that,¡± I murmur.

    With that picture in my mind, I drift back to sleep.<hr>

    Morning brings a different kind of tension.

    ¡°Agent Carver called,¡± Vince announces as I¡¯m nursing Sofiya in the living room. ¡°He wants to meet.¡±

    My stomach tightens. Special Agent David Carver of the FBI¡ªthe man who¡¯s been investigating Vince¡¯s business dealings for the past year. The man who questioned me after the FBI raid on Akopov Industries months ago. Not exactly the best friend of the Bratva, all things considered.

    ¡°Why now?¡± I ask.

    ¡°Your kidnapping caught their attention.¡± Vince¡¯s jaw tightens. ¡°Not the details, but enough for them to take a renewed interest in us.¡±

    ¡°What did you tell him?¡±

    ¡°Nothing yet.¡± He paces the room. Restless energy kes off of him in pulsating waves. ¡°I told him I¡¯d get back to him.¡±

    I adjust Sofiya at my breast. Her tiny hands scrabble at my skin. ¡°We knew this wasing. The FBI isn¡¯t exactly known for theirck of follow-through.¡±

    ¡°You don¡¯t have to talk to him. We can refuse.¡±

    I look up sharply. ¡°And make them even more suspicious? Make them think we have something to hide?¡±

    ¡°We do have something to hide, Rowan.¡±

    ¡°No,¡± I counter. ¡°The Solovyovs have something to hide. They¡¯re the ones who took me.¡±

    Vince stops pacing, his blue eyes locked on mine. ¡°And what about my father¡¯s involvement? The Bratva connection? Are you prepared to exin all that under federal deposition?¡±

    I take a deep breath. ¡°I think we need to be strategic about this. Selective cooperation.¡±

    ¡°There¡¯s no such thing.¡± His voice hardens. ¡°You give them an inch, they take a mile. That¡¯s how they operate.¡±

    ¡°So does refusing to talk. It only makes them dig deeper.¡± I switch Sofiya to the other breast. After a brief whine, shetches on and begins suckling again. ¡°What if we used this as an opportunity?¡±

    ¡°An opportunity for what?¡±

    ¡°To redirect their attention. Away from your legitimate business and toward the Solovyovs.¡±

    He sits beside me, expression guarded. ¡°Exin.¡±

    ¡°I tell them a version of the truth. That I was kidnapped by Russian criminals. That they wanted to use me and the baby as leverage in some kind of turf war. I don¡¯t mention your father or the Bratva directly.¡±

    But he¡¯s already shaking his head before I even finish. ¡°It¡¯s too risky,¡± he says. ¡°You slip up once, say the wrong thing, and they¡¯ll have enough to build a case against me.¡±

    ¡°You don¡¯t trust me?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s not about trust. It¡¯s about protection.¡±

    A small burp from Sofiya breaks the tension. We both look at her, this tiny miracle we created together.

    ¡°I know you want to keep us locked away from the world,¡± I say more gently. ¡°To build walls so high no one can ever reach us again. But Vincent, we can¡¯t live like that. No one can.¡±

    His handes up to cup Sofiya¡¯s head. His touch is infinitely tender despite the turmoil in his eyes.

    ¡°I almost lost you both,¡± he rasps. ¡°I can¡¯t¡­ I won¡¯t take that risk again.¡±

    I ce my hand over his. ¡°If I don¡¯t talk to Carver, he¡¯ll make his own conclusions. And those conclusions will ce you at the center of everything that happened.¡±

    Vince is silent for a long moment. Finally, he nods once. ¡°Alright. You meet with him¡ªat a location of my choosing, with my security nearby.¡±

    ¡°Agreed. And I tell him an edited version of the truth. Enough to redirect his attention to the Solovyovs without implicating you or your business.¡±

    ¡°No details about the Bratva. Nothing about my father.¡±

    ¡°Of course not. I¡¯ll keep it focused on the kidnapping itself.¡±

    He scrutinizes me. ¡°You¡¯re not the same woman you were before all this, are you?¡±

    I¡¯m not sure whether tough or cry. ¡°No,¡± I admit after a moment. ¡°I¡¯m not.¡±

    ¡°Good,¡± he says simply. ¡°The old Rowan wouldn¡¯t survive in this world.¡±

    He¡¯s not wrong. I am different. Harder edges where I used to bend, ted armor where I once had raw nerves. The transformation isn¡¯t just physical¡ªit¡¯s bone-deep, cellr.

    This new Rowan wears her changes like invisible tattoos.

    ¡°The meeting is set for tomorrow afternoon,¡± Vince continues. ¡°We¡¯ll go over your statement tonight. Practice what you¡¯ll say, prepare for his questions.¡±

    I nod, but a shadow of doubt creeps in. ¡°Vince¡­ how deep am I in your world now? Really?¡±

    His hand finds mine, fingers intecing. ¡°As deep as I am.¡±

    It¡¯s not the answer I wanted. But it¡¯s the truth.

    And these days, I¡¯ll take truth overfort every time.

 Filthy Lies: Chapter 14

    Agent Carver looks exactly as I remember¡ªtall, lean, with prating eyes and a perpetually skeptical expression. He sits across from me at a private dining room in an upscale Manhattan restaurant¡ªVince¡¯s choice of venue. Let no one say hecks taste.

    ¡°Mrs. Akopov,¡± he greets me, his gaze flickering briefly to my modest ck dress. ¡°You¡¯re looking well, considering the circumstances.¡±

    ¡°Thank you for meeting me here,¡± I reply coolly. ¡°I¡¯m still recovering, and being close to home is helpful.¡±

    He nods, opening a folder on the table. ¡°I understand you were abducted from your home two weeks ago, while inbor?¡±

    ¡°Yes.¡±

    ¡°And you gave birth while in captivity?¡±

    The memory pings¡ªpain, fear, blood on concrete. I force it down.

    ¡°Yes. My daughter was born in a¡­ facility of some kind. Industrial, I think. I wasn¡¯t exactly in a state to take detailed notes.¡±

    The tension in his face eases. ¡°Of course. Can you tell me what you remember about the people who took you?¡±

    I take a careful sip of water. Everything about this conversation is choreographed¡ªwhat I¡¯ll say, what I won¡¯t say, how much emotion to show or to hide. Vince and I practiced for hours.

    ¡°They spoke Russian,¡± I begin. ¡°The woman who watched me said the word ¡®Solovyov¡¯ at one point. I gathered they were some kind of criminal organization.¡±

    Carver¡¯s pen pauses above his notepad. ¡°Solovyov? You¡¯re certain?¡±

    I nod. ¡°I¡¯ve picked up a little Russian since marrying Vincent. Enough to understand that much.¡±

    ¡°And what did they want from you?¡±

    ¡°They said I was ¡®leverage.¡¯ That my husband would pay anything to get us back.¡±

    Carver studies me. The tiniest crinkle of his eyes at the corners belies the gears whirring in his head. ¡°Mrs. Akopov, are you aware that the Solovyov organization is a major criminal enterprise with ties to human trafficking, drugs, and weapons smuggling?¡±

    ¡°I know they¡¯re dangerous people,¡± I say carefully. ¡°That much was obvious. Y¡¯know, from the kidnapping part of things.¡±

    ¡°And are you aware that they have a long-standing rivalry with your husband¡¯s family?¡±

    The trap is obvious. I maintain eye contact, refusing to flinch. ¡°My husband runs a shippingpany and real estate development firm, Agent Carver. If criminals targeted me because they think he has money, that doesn¡¯t make him a criminal.¡±

    Carver¡¯s mouth twitches. ¡°Mrs. Akopov. Rowan. May I be frank?¡±

    ¡°Please.¡±

    ¡°I find it hard to believe you¡¯ve been married to Vincent Akopov for over six months and remainpletely unaware of his family¡¯s connections.¡±

    ¡°What connections would those be?¡±

    ¡°Your husbandes from a long line of Russian immigrants with ties to organized crime dating back generations. The Akopov family isn¡¯t just wealthy¡ªthey¡¯re powerful in the kind of ways that don¡¯t appear on tax returns. And they¡¯re dangerous in the kind of way that usually leads to unmarked graves, if you catch my drift.¡±

    My heart pounds, but I maintain myposure. ¡°Agent Carver, I¡¯ve just survived a traumatic kidnapping and given birth in captivity. If you have questions about my husband¡¯s business dealings, perhaps you should direct them to him or hiswyers.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m more interested in your role,¡± he demurs, leaning forward. ¡°Did you know that withholding information in a federal investigation is a crime?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m not withholding anything. I¡¯m telling you what happened to me.¡±

    ¡°Are you?¡± His eyes bore into mine. ¡°Or are you telling me what your husband instructed you to say?¡±

    A re of anger scythes through the carefully rehearsed script in my head. I take a breath to temper it.

    Then I veer off-course.

    ¡°Do you have children, Agent Carver?¡±

    He blinks, momentarily thrown. ¡°No.¡±

    ¡°Then you can¡¯t possibly understand what it¡¯s like to give birth on a filthy mattress while strangers with guns decide whether you live or die.¡± My voice remains level, but it carries a glistening edge that wasn¡¯t there before. ¡°You can¡¯t imagine holding your newborn daughter and wondering if she¡¯ll ever see her father, or if you¡¯ll both be killed once you¡¯ve outlived your usefulness.¡±

    I lean forward, matching his intensity. ¡°I¡¯m not a victim because of who I married, Agent Carver. I¡¯m a victim because criminals decided to use me as a pawn in whatever game they¡¯re ying. And if you want to solve actual crimes instead of pursuing personal vendettas, you might consider investigating the people who took me, not the man who saved me.¡±

    Carver sits back in his chair. Those eyes remain crinkled. ¡°You¡¯ve changed since west spoke, Mrs. Akopov. You seem¡­ different.¡±

    ¡°Trauma does that to a person.¡±

    ¡°So does indoctrination.¡±

    The usation sizzles between us. He waits to see if I¡¯ll take the bait.

    But I only take another sip of water as I let the silence stretch to its breaking point.

    ¡°Are we done?¡± I ask finally.

    ¡°For now.¡± He closes his folder. ¡°I¡¯ll be in touch if I have more questions.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m sure you will.¡±

    As I stand to leave, he makes one finalment. ¡°Just remember, Mrs. Akopov¡ªthepany you keep defines you. In the eyes of thew, there¡¯s very little difference between a criminal and someone who knowingly benefits from criminal activity. Lie down with the dogs and get fleas, as they say.¡± He tucks his folder under his arm. ¡°I hope you know what you¡¯re doing.¡±<hr>

    Vince is waiting in the car. ¡°How did it go?¡±

    ¡°About as well as we expected.¡± I sink into the leather seat, suddenly exhausted. ¡°He doesn¡¯t believe I¡¯m just an innocent bystander.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re not,¡± Vince says bluntly. ¡°Not anymore.¡±

    His words echo Carver¡¯s too closely forfort. I turn to look out the window as the city slides by, ss and steel melting into streaks of dark and light.

    ¡°Is that what I am now?¡± I ask quietly. ¡°A criminal by association?¡±

    Vince¡¯s hand finds mine, his grip firm. ¡°You¡¯re the mother of my child. My wife. My partner. Whateverbel the world wants to put on that is their problem, not ours.¡±

    ¡°But it is our problem.¡± I face him again. ¡°Carver all but said I could be charged as an aplice if he builds a case against you.¡±

    ¡°He¡¯s trying to scare you.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s working.¡±

    Vince doesn¡¯t look at me, but I see how his knuckles flex on the steering wheel. ¡°Tell me what you¡¯re really worried about, Rowan.¡±

    Question of the fucking year. What am I worried about? Not prison¡ªthat seems almost abstractpared to what we¡¯ve already faced. Certainly not social stigma or public opinion.

    ¡°I¡¯m worried about who I¡¯m bing,¡± I admit finally. ¡°The woman who sat across from Carver today and lied by omission¡­ She isn¡¯t who I thought I¡¯d be.¡±

    ¡°She¡¯s stronger than you thought you could be,¡± Vince counters.

    ¡°But is she still a good person?¡±

    Vince doesn¡¯t answer immediately, which I appreciate. A pat reassurance would ring false right now. I¡¯ve had enough gilded lies for a lifetime, thank you very much.

    ¡°I think,¡± he says slowly, ¡°that ¡®good¡¯ and ¡®bad¡¯ are luxuries for people who¡¯ve never had to fight for survival. They¡¯re fairy tales we tell people whose morality has never been tested by having a gun to their head¡ªor worse, a gun to their child¡¯s head.¡±

    He turns to look at me, his eyes bright blue and searingly honest.

    ¡°You protected our daughter when I couldn¡¯t. You survived when many wouldn¡¯t have. And now, you¡¯re doing what needs to be done to keep our family safe. If that¡¯s not ¡®good,¡¯ then fuck being good. I don¡¯t want it.¡±

    Augh escapes me¡ªquiet and tired, but genuine. ¡°Ever the philosopher.¡±

    His thumb strokes my palm. ¡°I¡¯m serious, Rowan. I¡¯ve spent my life doing things most people would consider unforgivable. I¡¯ve never imed to be good. But you¡­¡± His voice softens. ¡°You make me want to be better. And watching you navigate this impossible situation with such grace¡­ it humbles me.¡±

    Tears prick my eyes. ¡°I don¡¯t feel graceful. I feel like I¡¯m stumbling in the dark.¡±

    ¡°We both are.¡± He squeezes my fingers. ¡°The difference is, I¡¯m used to the dark. You¡¯re still learning how to see in it.¡±

    The car pulls up to our securepound. Through the window, I can see the gardens, the high walls, the armed guards.

    Our beautiful prison. Our necessary sanctuary.

    ¡°Agent Carver will be back,¡± I warn. ¡°And he won¡¯t be alone next time.¡±

    ¡°Let hime.¡± Vince¡¯s snarl is steel and smoke, lethal, dark. ¡°We¡¯ll be ready.¡±

 Filthy Lies: Chapter 15

    My phone vibrates while I¡¯m watching Rowan feed Sofiya. With that simple buzz, the quiet domesticity of the moment¡ªmy wife¡¯s sing-song humming, our daughter¡¯s tiny grunts as she nurses¡ªgoes up in fucking smoke.

    ¡°Vin.¡± Arkady¡¯s voice is taut. Warning bells immediately ring in my head. ¡°We have a situation at the medical facility.¡±

    ¡°What kind of situation?¡± I step out of the bedroom, keeping my voice pitched low so Rowan can¡¯t hear me over her lubies.

    ¡°Yuri Belyaev was caught trying to ess Rowan¡¯s medical records.¡±

    My blood freezes. Yuri Belyaev¡ªone of my father¡¯s most loyal captains. A man who wouldn¡¯t take a piss without Andrei¡¯s explicit, written permission.

    ¡°How do you know it was Rowan¡¯s records specifically?¡±

    ¡°Because the moron asked for them by name. ¡®Patient file for Rowan Akopov.¡¯ The docs alerted security immediately.¡±

    ¡°Where is the mudak now?¡±

    ¡°Being held at the warehouse on Canal. Thought you¡¯d want to handle this personally.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll be there in twenty minutes. Make sure he¡¯sfortable.¡±

    I don¡¯t bother exining. Arkady understands exactly what kind offort I mean.

    I end the call and take a deep breath,posing myself before returning to the bedroom.

    ¡°Everything okay?¡± Rowan asks, looking up. She¡¯s burping Sofiya, but her brow is furrowed as she nces at me.

    ¡°Business matter,¡± I say smoothly. ¡°I need to step out for a few hours.¡±

    ¡°Anything serious?¡±

    ¡°Nothing I can¡¯t handle.¡± I lean down to kiss her forehead, then Sofiya¡¯s. ¡°I won¡¯t be long.¡±

    ¡°Be careful,¡± she orders.

    ¡°Always am.¡± I force a smile I don¡¯t feel. ¡°Get some rest. You look tired.¡±

    She nods, already turning her attention back to Sofiya. The sight of them together¡ªmy entire world condensed into two beings¡ªfuels the cold fury building inside me.

    My father has broken our arrangement. Again.

    This time, there will be consequences.<hr>

    The warehouse on Canal Street has served as our interrogation site for three generations of Akopovs. The basement level is soundproofed, the drains built into the concrete floor designed for easy cleaning.

    Yuri sits tied to a metal chair in the center of the room, his wrists secured to the armrests with zip ties. His eyes widen when he sees me.

    ¡°Vincent,¡± he begins, ¡°this is a misunderstanding?¡ª¡±

    I strike him across the face before he can finish. The crack of my knuckles against his cheekbone echoes in the sparse room.

    ¡°Let¡¯s skip the part where you lie to me,¡± I suggest, shrugging off my suit jacket and handing it to Arkady. I roll up my sleeves methodically. ¡°We both know why you¡¯re here.¡±

    ¡°Your father only wanted information about her recovery,¡± Yuri sputters as blood trickles from his split lip. ¡°For the family¡¯s well-being?¡ª¡±

    Another blow silences him. This one loosens a tooth. I shake out my hand, the sting across my knuckles barely registering.

    ¡°My wife¡¯s medical records are not within my father¡¯s purview.¡± I circle behind him, letting him feel my presence without seeing me. ¡°Our arrangement was clear. He maintains his symbolic position while I handle operations. He doesn¡¯t get to monitor my family.¡±

    ¡°He worries about the heir,¡± Yuri gasps. ¡°About the bloodline.¡±

    I grab a fistful of his hair, yanking his head back until he¡¯s staring up at me. ¡°My daughter is none of his concern.¡±

    ¡°Vincent, please?¡ª¡±

    ¡°What else?¡± I release him abruptly. ¡°What other ways has my father been ¡®worrying¡¯ about my family?¡±

    Yuri doesn¡¯t answer right away. His eyes dart to the toolsid out on a metal table nearby. Pliers. A car battery with jumper cables. A hammer.

    We did not invent these methods, but I¡¯ll be damned if we haven¡¯t perfected them.

    ¡°I can do this all day, Yurochka.¡± I select the pliers and test their grip. The tiny plink of the two metal heads clicking together might as well be a scream. ¡°But I doubt you can.¡±

    Four hourster, I have my answers. And they¡¯re worse than I imagined.

    My father hasn¡¯t just been seeking information about Rowan and Sofiya. He¡¯s been systematically undermining my authority since our arrangement. Contacting my captains behind my back. Issuing contradictory orders. Suggesting to our associates that my judgment ispromised by my ¡°American wife.¡±

    Worst of all, he¡¯s been in contact with elements within the Solovyov organization. Not to align with them¡ªeven my father isn¡¯t that foolish¡ªbut to leverage their threat against me. To create chaos he can step in and ¡°solve¡± when I inevitably fail.

    By the time I¡¯m finished, Yuri is barely conscious. His face is unrecognizable. Two fingers broken. Electrical burns mark his torso where the jumper cables kissed his skin.

    I haven¡¯t enjoyed it. That¡¯s the thing about this kind of work¡ªit¡¯s not about pleasure. It¡¯s about necessity. About extracting information efficiently.

    But I can¡¯t deny the satisfaction of finally understanding the full scope of my father¡¯s betrayal.

    ¡°Call the council,¡± Imand Arkady as I wash blood from my hands in a rusty sink. ¡°Emergency meeting. Tonight.¡±

    ¡°All of them?¡±

    ¡°Everyst one.¡± I dry my hands on a rough towel. ¡°And make sure my father attends.¡±

    ¡°What about him?¡± Arkady nods toward Yuri.

    I study the broken man. Which weighs more: his usefulness or his crimes? ¡°Clean him up. Enough that he can kneel. I want the council to see him.¡±

    ¡°And after?¡±

    I meet Arkady¡¯s eyes. He already knows the answer. ¡°After, he¡¯ll serve as a message.¡±<hr>

    The council chamber falls silent as I enter. Fourteen men rise from their seats around the long oak table¡ªcaptains, lieutenants, the power brokers of the Akopov Bratva. My father sits at the far end, his silver eyebrows drawn together in displeasure.

    ¡°What is the meaning of this emergency session?¡± he demands.

    Instead of answering, I nod to Arkady, who opens the door. Two men drag Yuri into the room, forcing him to his knees in the center of the chamber. Folders containing evidence of my father¡¯s betrayal are scattered around him.

    My father¡¯s face betrays nothing, but I see the minute tensing of his shoulders.

    ¡°Gentlemen,¡± I address the room, ignoring him entirely. ¡°I¡¯ve called you here to witness a lesson in loyalty.¡± I circle Yuri slowly. ¡°This man¡ªa trusted captain within our organization¡ªwas caught attempting to ess my wife¡¯s medical records on my father¡¯s orders.¡± I gesture to the folders. ¡°Further investigation revealed a pattern of betrayal that threatens not just my family, but the stability of our entire operation.¡±

    Murmurs ripple through the room. Several council members pick up folders and scan the contents with grim expressions.

    ¡°My father and I had an arrangement,¡± I continue. ¡°He would maintain his symbolic position while I assumed operational control. This arrangement was meant to preserve our strength during a vulnerable transition.¡± I lock eyes with Andrei. ¡°Unfortunately, my father mistook my love for weakness.¡±

    ¡°These are baseless usations,¡± my father interjects smoothly. ¡°Yuri acted on his own initiative. I had no knowledge?¡ª¡±

    ¡°Shut the fuck up.¡± My voice carves right through his lies. ¡°You¡¯ve lost the privilege of speaking in this chamber.¡±

    The room goes deadly quiet. No one has ever spoken to Andrei Akopov this way before. Not in front of the council. Not even me.

    I draw my gun from its holster. Without hesitation, without ceremony, I press it to the back of Yuri¡¯s head and pull the trigger.

    The gunshot is deafening in the confined space. Yuri crumples forward, blood and matter sttering across the polished floor. Several council members flinch. Others remain stone-faced.

    They know the necessity of what¡¯s happening.

    I holster my weapon and face the council, Yuri¡¯s blood still warm on my hands. ¡°I¡¯ve shown mercy once,¡± I announce. ¡°There won¡¯t be a second time.¡±

    My father¡¯s expression is cial as I outline the new security protocols. From this moment forward, allmunications will flow through me. My father will be removed from all operational decisions. His security detail will be reced with men loyal to me. His movements will be monitored. His contacts restricted.

    He will be a prisoner in his own kingdom.

    ¡°Anyone found viting these protocols will face the same fate as Yuri,¡± I conclude. ¡°Any questions?¡±

    Silence answers me. One by one, the council members nod their understanding.

    ¡°This meeting is adjourned,¡± I dere. ¡°Arkady will provide each of you with detailed instructions regarding the new protocols.¡±

    As the men file out, I remain standing, Yuri¡¯s body at my feet. My father is thest to leave, pausing at the door to look back at me.

    ¡°You¡¯ve made your choice,¡± he says quietly.

    ¡°No, Father.¡± I meet his gaze. ¡°You made it for me.¡±<hr>

    I spend thirty minutes in the shower when I get home, scrubbing away every trace of blood, every molecule of gunpowder residue. The water runs scalding hot, turning my skin red, but I wee the pain. It helps mepartmentalize, helps me transition from the monster who executed a man in cold blood to the husband and father waiting for me in the other room.

    But some stains don¡¯t wash away so easily.

    Rowan is in the nursery when I find her, rocking Sofiya to sleep. The scene is so serene, so pure, it makes my chest ache. How can I deserve this after what I¡¯ve done tonight?

    ¡°There you are,¡± she whispers, looking up with a smile that falters when she sees my face. ¡°Everything okay?¡±

    ¡°Fine,¡± I say, keeping my voice light. ¡°Just a long meeting.¡±

    She studies me with those green eyes that see too much, that have always seen too much.

    ¡°Vince,¡± she says softly, ¡°what happened?¡±

    ¡°Nothing you need to worry about.¡± I cross the room and kiss the top of her head, careful not to disturb Sofiya. ¡°Business matters. Boring stuff.¡±

    But Rowan isn¡¯t fooled. She never is. Her hand reaches up to touch my face, fingers tracing the hard set of my jaw.

    ¡°I know that look,¡± she murmurs. ¡°I haven¡¯t seen it in a while, but I know it.¡±

    I turn away, unable to meet her gaze. ¡°It¡¯ste. You should get some rest.¡±

    ¡°Vince.¡± Her voice stops me at the doorway. ¡°Whatever it is, you can tell me. We promised no more secrets, remember?¡±

    I look back at my wife.

    And I lie to her.

    ¡°There¡¯s nothing to tell. Really.¡± I force a smile. ¡°Get some sleep. I¡¯ll be in shortly.¡±

    In the unlit living room, I stand by the window, staring out at the wild darkness beyond the security lights. Tonight, I became the man I swore to Rowan I was leaving behind.

    I had no choice. My father¡¯s betrayal left me no alternative.

    But how can I look Rowan in the eye and tell her what I¡¯ve done? How can I admit that the monster still lives inside me? That he always will?

    She worked so hard to soften me, to believe in the better man I could be. The man worthy of her. Worthy of Sofiya.

    Tonight, I failed them both.

    And the worst part is, I¡¯d do it again. Without hesitation. The need to protect them burns too fiercely, consumes toopletely. If eliminating threats means reverting to the man I was¡ªcold, calcted, merciless¡ªthen that¡¯s the price I¡¯ll pay.

    Even if it means hiding the truth from the woman I love.

    Even if it means bing, once more, the very thing she fears.

 Filthy Lies: Chapter 16

    He¡¯s slipping away. I see it in the granite set of his jaw, the frost crystallizing in those blue eyes¡ªcolder than they¡¯ve been in months.

    I¡¯m not fucking stupid.

    His hands were raw when he came home¡ªscrubbed clean, but I know the difference between shower-clean and evidence-clean.

    Tonight, Vince came home with blood on his soul if not his hands.

    No more secrets, he promised. We promised. But his lies hover between us like ghosts, these shapeless things I can almost touch.

    The Bratva is dragging him back into the darkness, piece by piece. That other life always waits for him like an addiction he can¡¯t quite kick.

    Vince has disappeared into his study, probably thinking I¡¯d fall asleep without him. He doesn¡¯t realize I haven¡¯t slept properly since the kidnapping. Every time I close my eyes, I¡¯m back in that room, bleeding on that filthy mattress, terrified my baby wouldn¡¯t survive.

    Some nights, the phantom pain in my womb still feels real enough to make me double over.

    But tonight isn¡¯t about my trauma. It¡¯s about whatever Vince isn¡¯t telling me.

    I rise silently and pad out of the room. I stop in the nursery as I go. It¡¯s a marvel that something so pure as our daughter coulde from our fucked-up circumstances. She¡¯s sleeping, one tiny fist curled beside her face like it¡¯s raised in victory.

    Running my fingers through my tangled hair, I decide enough is enough. Whatever demon is eating Vince alive, I¡¯m not letting it devour him in silence.

    I find him in his study, staring at the wall of security monitors. His back is to me, shoulders rigid beneath his white dress shirt. The ss of whiskey in his hand is untouched.

    ¡°What happened tonight?¡± I ask, skipping the pretense.

    He doesn¡¯t turn around. ¡°I told you. Business matters.¡±

    ¡°Bullshit.¡± I nt my fists on my hips. ¡°Answer the question.¡±

    He turns, and for a split second, I see unfiltered anguish before the mask slides back into ce. ¡°Rowan, drop it. Please.¡±

    ¡°No.¡± I step into the room and cross the distance between us. ¡°You came home with death in your eyes, Vince. I¡¯ve seen that look before.¡±

    His jaw clenches. ¡°Some things are better left alone.¡±

    ¡°Not between us.¡± I ce my hand on his chest, feeling his heart throbbing beneath my palm. ¡°No more secrets, remember? That was our deal after everything with your father.¡±

    The mention of Andrei makes something dangerous dance across Vince¡¯s face.

    ¡°What did he do?¡± I whisper, understanding suddenly crystallizing. ¡°What did he do this time?¡±

    Vince sets down his untouched whiskey with deliberate care. ¡°He tried to ess your medical records at the hospital. Sent one of his men to get them.¡±

    ¡°Why would he?¡ª¡±

    ¡°Information is power,¡± Vince says tly. ¡°The more he knows about your recovery, about Sofiya, the more leverage he has.¡±

    I wrap my arms around myself, suddenly cold despite the room¡¯s warmth. ¡°And you¡­ handled it?¡±

    Vince¡¯s eyes meet mine, unflinching. ¡°Yes.¡±

    One syble, nothing more, dripping with implications I¡¯m not sure I want unpacked.

    ¡°Did you kill someone?¡±

    For a while, he says nothing. Then, barely audible: ¡°Yes.¡±

    The world doesn¡¯t tilt. The ground doesn¡¯t open up beneath my feet. Life just keeps on ticking, and I just stand there, absorbing this truth like it¡¯s any other mundane confession. Like he¡¯s told me he forgot to pick up milk or pay a bill.

    ¡°Who?¡± I ask.

    ¡°Yuri Belyaev. My father¡¯s captain. The one who tried to ess your records.¡± Vince watches me carefully, waiting for horror, for revulsion. ¡°I made an example of him in front of the council. To show them what happens when someone threatens my family.¡±

    ¡°And your father?¡±

    ¡°Has been ced under what amounts to house arrest.¡± The set of Vince¡¯s jaw solidifies. ¡°It had to be done, Rowan. He left me no choice.¡±

    ¡°Why didn¡¯t you tell me?¡± I ask, softer now.

    Vince looks away. ¡°I didn¡¯t want you to see that side of me again. That man is a monster.¡±

    ¡°That man is my husband.¡± I take his face between my hands. ¡°And I didn¡¯t marry half of you, Vince. I married all of you. The parts that read me romance novels in bed and the parts that would cut a thousand throats down to keep us safe.¡±

    His breath catches, like my eptance is thest thing he expected. Maybe it¡¯s thest thing I expected, too.

    ¡°I¡¯ve tried so hard to be better,¡± he whispers. ¡°To be the man you deserve.¡±

    ¡°You already are.¡± I rest my forehead against his. ¡°And when that means protecting us, I don¡¯t get to judge the methods.¡±

    His arms wrap around me, pulling me against him with desperate strength. I feel his body trembling¡ªthe release of tension he¡¯s been holding since he walked through the door.

    ¡°I was sure you¡¯d hate me,¡± he mumbles into my hair.

    ¡°I could never hate you.¡± I pull back enough to look into his eyes. ¡°But I need the truth, Vince. Always. Even when it¡¯s ugly. Even when it¡¯s covered in blood. Maybe even especially then.¡±

    He kisses me then, hard and hungry, like a drowning man finding air. I kiss him back just as hard. God, how I want to erase the distance between us, to prove with my body what my words might not fully convey.

    That I understand him.

    That I ept him.

    That the line between monster and protector blurred into meaninglessness for me long ago.

    His hands are rough as they slide beneath my shirt. He grips my waist with bruising intensity. My still-healing body protests. And we can¡¯t¡ªnot yet. It¡¯s too soon.

    So for now, as we part reluctantly, I don¡¯t go far. I melt against him, my face pressed in the hollow of his throat, and I quietly inhale all the scents that mark him as mine.

    I shake my head without lifting it from his skin. ¡°Do you remember what you said to me that night in my apartment? After the car crash?¡±

    He breathes. Waits.

    ¡°You told me I could be furious with you, but at least I was alive to feel it.¡± I lean away and brush his silver-streaked hair back from his forehead. ¡°That¡¯s what tonight was about, as far as I¡¯m concerned. Keeping us alive, no matter what it took.¡±

    Vince¡¯s eyes darken. ¡°I would kill every person in the Bratva if it meant keeping you and Sofiya safe. I wouldn¡¯t hesitate.¡±

    ¡°I know.¡± I touch my lips to his. ¡°That¡¯s why I love you.¡±

 Filthy Lies: Chapter 17

    The sound of men¡¯s voices pulls me from sleep.

    Not just any voices¡ªthese voices are panicking. Tense, urgent, hushed but still carrying through our securepound.

    My eyes snap open to find Vince¡¯s side of the bed empty, the sheets cold. He¡¯s been up for a while.

    Something¡¯s wrong.

    I slide out of bed and jog to check on Sofiya in her bass. She¡¯s still asleep just as I left her. So I grab my robe and move to the bedroom door, pressing my ear against it until the sounds start to take shape.

    ¡°¡ªadditional teams on the north perimeter.¡± That¡¯s Vince¡¯s voice, controlled but barely.

    ¡°How many men?¡± Arkady¡¯s voice now.

    ¡°At least thirty. Maybe more in the woods.¡±

    ¡°Armed?¡±

    ¡°Heavily.¡±

    My heart rate spikes. I open the door and step into the hallway.

    The main living area of our securepound has transformed overnight. Armed guards at every window. Men I¡¯ve never seen before are busy checking weapons. Two of Vince¡¯s tech guys are hunched over monitors disying security camera feeds.

    Vince stands at the center of the mayhem, barking orders left and right. He doesn¡¯t look surprised to see me.

    ¡°What¡¯s happening?¡± I ask, crossing to him.

    ¡°We¡¯re fine.¡± He takes my hands. ¡°Is Sofiya?¡ª?¡±

    ¡°Still asleep. Vince, what¡¯s going on?¡±

    He hesitates, and I know whateveres next is bad.

    ¡°We have visitors.¡± He guides me to the kitchen, away from the others. ¡°Grigor Petrov and his men have established a perimeter around the property.¡±

    It takes a moment for the words to register.

    Grigor Petrov.

    My father.

    My biological father.

    ¡°He¡ªwhat?¡± I grip the counter behind me. ¡°How did he find us? I thought this ce was secret.¡±

    Vince pours coffee into a mug and hands it to me. His movements are rock-steady, but I can feel the tension radiating from him. ¡°It was. Not anymore.¡±

    I take a sip of coffee. ¡°Are they¡­ attacking?¡±

    ¡°Not yet. This is a show of force. A message.¡±

    ¡°What message?¡±

    Vince¡¯s eyes meet mine. ¡°Grigor wants to meet you. And Sofiya, too. He¡¯s given us three days to arrange it, or he¡¯ll consider our refusal a hostile action.¡±

    My breath catches. Three days to decide whether to meet the man who fathered me¡ªthe man who, until now, didn¡¯t even know I existed.

    ¡°Rowan¡­¡± he starts. Seeing that I¡¯m teetering, Vince takes the mug from my trembling hands. ¡°This changes nothing. We increase security, we refuse the meeting, and we wait them out.¡±

    I gawk at him. ¡°That¡¯s your n?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s the only n that keeps you and Sofiya safe.¡±

    ¡°You don¡¯t think he¡¯d hurt his own daughter and granddaughter, do you?¡±

    Vince¡¯sugh is short and bitter. ¡°You don¡¯t know Grigor Petrov.¡±

    ¡°Neither do you.¡± I push away from the counter. ¡°Not really. Not as my father.¡±

    ¡°He¡¯s not your father.¡± Vince¡¯s voice hardens. ¡°He supplied DNA. That¡¯s it.¡±

    ¡°But don¡¯t you think it¡¯s strange that he¡¯s not attacking yet? If he just wanted leverage against you, he¡¯d have tried to take us already.¡±

    ¡°This is what he does. He ys games.¡±

    ¡°Or maybe he genuinely wants to meet me.¡±

    Vince runs a hand through his hair, exasperation etched clear on his face. ¡°And you want to meet him, too? The head of a criminal organization that¡¯s been at war with my family for generations?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m curious,¡± I admit sheepishly. ¡°Wouldn¡¯t you be?¡±

    ¡°Not enough to risk your life. Or Sofiya¡¯s.¡±

    I take a deep breath. ¡°What if we negotiate terms? Meet on neutral ground, with security for both sides?¡±

    ¡°Absolutely not.¡±

    ¡°Vince¡ª¡±

    ¡°This is not up for discussion, Rowan.¡± His voice rises, then he checks himself, ncing toward the bedroom where Sofiya sleeps. ¡°I will not gamble with your safety.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s not gambling if we¡¯re careful.¡± I step closer to him. ¡°And it¡¯s not your decision alone.¡±

    His eyes narrow. ¡°What does that mean?¡±

    ¡°It means he¡¯s my biological father. So it¡¯s my choice whether I want to meet him.¡±

    ¡°Is it your choice alone to expose our daughter to danger?¡±

    That¡¯s a p in the face. ¡°Not fair.¡±

    ¡°None of this is fair!¡± He ms his palm against the counter. ¡°We¡¯ve barely recovered from your kidnapping, Rowan. Sofiya isn¡¯t even a month old. And now, Grigor fucking Petrov shows up demanding an audience?¡±

    ¡°He didn¡¯t kidnap me, Vince. Your father did.¡±

    The moment the words leave my mouth, I know I¡¯ve hit below the belt. Vince goes deathly still.

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± I whisper. ¡°That was¡ª I shouldn¡¯t have said that.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s the truth.¡± His voice is t. ¡°But it doesn¡¯t matter. It¡¯s irrelevant, ultimately. I won¡¯t let your na?vet¨¦ put my family in danger.¡±

    I pause as I hunt for the right words to exin the feeling that¡¯s been growing since I first learned about Grigor.

    ¡°I¡¯ve spent my entire life not knowing where I came from,¡± I whisper finally. ¡°Who I got my green eyes from, or my terrible singing voice, or my tendency to overthink everything. And now, that person is right outside our door.¡±

    Vince¡¯s gaze doesn¡¯t waver. ¡°And if it¡¯s a trap?¡±

    ¡°Then we handle it together. Like we¡¯ve handled everything else.¡±

    He turns away, bracing both hands on the counter. I can see the battle raging within him and I want like hell to be on his side to fight it.

    ¡°What if I lose you?¡± The question is so quiet I almost miss it.

    I go to him, wrapping my arms around his waist and pressing my cheek against his back.

    ¡°You won¡¯t.¡±

    ¡°You don¡¯t know that.¡± His body remains rigid. ¡°You don¡¯t know what these people are capable of.¡±

    ¡°I know what you¡¯re capable of.¡± I slip around to face him. ¡°And I know that together, we¡¯ve survived worse than a meeting with Grigor Petrov.¡±

    He cups my chin. ¡°I can¡¯t lose you, Rowan.¡± His voice breaks. ¡°Either of you. It would destroy me.¡±

    ¡°You won¡¯t lose us.¡± I rise on tiptoes to kiss him. ¡°I promise.¡±

 Filthy Lies: Chapter 18

    Secrets have a weight to them. A density. That¡¯s what nobody tells you¡ªhow heavy the truth is when it¡¯s finally dumped in yourp. Like those weighted nkets they sell on Instagram, except instead of soothing your anxiety, it suffocates you.

    For twenty-seven years, I existed in blissful ignorance. Margaret St. ir was my mother. Father unknown and irrelevant.

    Now, I discover I¡¯m the daughter of Grigor Petrov.

    And he wants to meet me.

    I have three days to decide if I say yes or not. That¡¯s not exactly a long time to figure out if I want to look into the eyes of the man whose DNA I carry, the man whose blood has made me a target in a war I never signed up for.

    Vince wants me to hide.

    Me? I want answers.

    So now, we wait, trapped in this limbo of paramilitary paranoia, as Vince quadruples security and treats ourpound like it¡¯s about to be the next mo. I can feel his fear¡ªnot for himself, but for Sofiya and me.

    I should be focusing on staying safe. On being a mother to our newborn daughter. Healing from the trauma of birth-by-kidnapping is kind of a full-time job, y¡¯know?

    But I can¡¯t stop thinking about the man in the woods. My father. The stranger with my eyes.

    Life has a sick sense of humor sometimes.

    It¡¯s been two days since Grigor¡¯s ultimatum. I¡¯m in the nursery, folding Sofiya¡¯s impossibly tiny onesies when my phone rings.

    Weirdly, it¡¯s Dr. Patel.

    My heart flutters with recognition, my hands suddenly clumsy as I answer. ¡°Hello?¡±

    ¡°Mrs. Akopov? This is Dr. Patel.¡± His voice is steady, professional. The voice of someone who¡¯s practiced delivering devastating news.

    I know what he¡¯s going to say before he says it.

    ¡°I¡¯m afraid I have some concerning news about your mother¡¯stest scans.¡±

    The onesie in my hands¡ªa ridiculous green thing with ¡°RAWR means I love you in dinosaur¡± printed on it¡ªdrops to the floor.

    ¡°H¡­how bad?¡± I ask.

    ¡°It¡¯s a very aggressive recurrence. The experimental treatment was working, but¡­¡± He pauses, clears his throat, tries again. ¡°Cancer is unpredictable, Mrs. Akopov. It found a way around our defenses.¡±

    My legs give out. I sink to the nursery floor, my back t against Sofiya¡¯s crib. This soft, gentle room, this carefully curated sanctuary of pastels and plush toys, suddenly feels like it¡¯s closing in on me.

    ¡°What are the options?¡±

    ¡°We can try a different protocol, but with this level of aggression¡­¡± Another pause. ¡°You might want toe see her. Soon.¡±

    The call ends. My phone slips from my hand and thuds against the plush cream carpet.

    My mother is dying.

    Well, my mother has always been dying, in a way. From the moment I was old enough to understand what cancer meant, I¡¯ve been preparing to lose her.

    But this time feels different. Final.

    And fuck me if the timing isn¡¯t cosmically cruel. My biological father demands to meet me just as the woman who raised me is slipping away.

    I don¡¯t realize I¡¯m crying until Sofiya starts fussing in response to my sobs. I wipe my face hastily, then lift her from the crib.

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry, baby girl,¡± I whisper, inhaling her newborn scent¡ªthat intoxicating mix of baby lotion and pure, untainted innocence. ¡°Mommy¡¯s okay.¡±

    I¡¯m not okay. Not even remotely.

    But for her, I¡¯ll fake it.

    I make myself functional. I feed Sofiya. I change her. I put her down for a nap with the white noise machine singing whale songs to her.

    Then I find my husband in his study, surrounded by security monitors and armed men.

    ¡°I need to see my mother,¡± I announce without preamble.

    Vince looks up, his eyes instantly cataloging my red-rimmed eyes, my trembling hands. ¡°What happened?¡±

    ¡°Dr. Patel just called me. The cancer¡¯s back and it¡¯s aggressive.¡±

    His face drops with genuine sorrow. For all his ws, Vince has always understood what my mother means to me.

    ¡°I¡¯ll arrange secure transport,¡± he says, already reaching for his phone.

    ¡°No.¡± I shake my head. ¡°I need to go now. Alone.¡±

    The room falls silent. Even the guards seem to hold their breath.

    ¡°Absolutely not.¡± Vince¡¯s tone brooks no argument. ¡°Grigor¡¯s men are still out there.¡±

    ¡°They won¡¯t touch me. I¡¯m his daughter, remember?¡±

    ¡°Rowan¡ª¡±

    ¡°My mother is dying, Vince!¡± My voice cracks. ¡°I need to see her. Without an armed escort. Without turning a hospital visit into fucking Zero Dark Thirty, okay?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s not safe.¡±

    ¡°Nothing is safe! Our entire life is a goddamn minefield!¡± I step closer to his desk, lowering my voice. ¡°Please. Let me do this one normal thing. Let me say goodbye to my mother without bulletproof ss between us.¡±

    He studies me, conflict raging behind his eyes.

    ¡°Okay,¡± he finally says. ¡°Arkady drives you. First sign of trouble, you call me.¡±

    It¡¯s more than I expected. I nod, not trusting my voice.

    ¡°Thank you.¡±

 Filthy Lies: Chapter 19

    Mount Sinai Hospital. How many hours have I spent in these sterile halls? How many cups of vending machine coffee have I choked down while waiting for test results?

    The oncology ward¡¯s familiar antiseptic smell hits me as I step off the elevator. I hurry down the hallway and pause outside my mother¡¯s door, steeling myself for what I¡¯ll find.

    She¡¯s asleep when I enter. She looks frail. Her cheekbones jut sharply beneath skin the shade of old paper.

    The experimental treatment had given her some weight, some color, some life. But it seems now like that was only borrowed, and it¡¯s time to pay it back with interest.

    She looks worse than ever before.

    ¡°Mom?¡± I touch her hand gently.

    Her eyes flutter open. Recognition dawns slowly, followed by a smile that breaks my heart. ¡°Row.¡±

    ¡°Hi, Mom.¡± I sit beside her and thread my fingers through hers. ¡°How are you feeling?¡±

    ¡°Like I¡¯ve been hit by a truck.¡± She coughs weakly. ¡°But seeing you helps.¡±

    I force a smile, though my chest feels like it¡¯s being crushed. ¡°Dr. Patel called me.¡±

    ¡°Ah.¡± She sighs. ¡°Bad news travels fast.¡±

    ¡°Why didn¡¯t you tell me?¡± I ask, unable to keep the usation from my voice.

    ¡°You just had a baby, sweetheart. You were kidnapped. You have enough to deal with.¡±

    Typical Margaret St. ir. Always protecting me, even when she¡¯s the one who needs protection.

    ¡°We can try something else,¡± I say, the desperation evident in my voice. ¡°Another treatment. Vince can?¡ª¡±

    ¡°Rowan.¡± She squeezes my hand with surprising strength. ¡°We both know how this story ends.¡±

    Tears blur my vision. ¡°It¡¯s not fair.¡±

    ¡°Life rarely is.¡± She tries to sit up, but the effort makes her wince. ¡°How¡¯s my granddaughter?¡±

    ¡°Perfect.¡± I pull out my phone, showing her recent photos of Sofiya. ¡°She has your smile.¡±

    Mom studies the pictures with a wistful smile. ¡°She¡¯s beautiful. There¡¯s something in her eyes, though¡­¡± She pauses, her gaze distant. ¡°Reminds me of her grandfather.¡±

    ¡°My grandfather, you mean? Like, your dad?¡±

    Mom meets my eyes with quiet certainty. ¡°No, sweetheart. I mean Grigor.¡±

    My heart stutters in my chest. ¡°You know about Grigor? But how?¡ª¡±

    ¡°Oh, Rowan.¡± She reaches for my hand, her grip surprisingly firm. ¡°Of course I know. I¡¯ve always known who your father is.¡±

    ¡°But¡ª Wait. How? When? Why didn¡¯t you ever tell me?¡± The questions tumble out, each one louder than thest.

    ¡°I knew this day woulde.¡± She sighs, pushing herself to sit straighter and ignoring my efforts to help. ¡°I met Grigor Petrov in the summer of 1995. I was waitressing at a Russian restaurant in Brighton Beach to pay for grad school.¡±

    I lean forward, hungry for every detail of this story I¡¯ve never heard.

    ¡°He came in every Thursday. Always sat in my section and always, always left ridiculous tips.¡± A faint smile touches her lips. ¡°He was charming. Almost too charming. The kind of man your grandmother warned me about.¡±

    ¡°Did you know who he was?¡± I ask. ¡°Or what he was?¡±

    ¡°Not at first. By the time I figured it out, I was already in love with him.¡± Her voice grows wistful. ¡°We had three months together.¡±

    ¡°What happened?¡±

    ¡°Reality intruded. There was an incident. A rival of his was found dead. The FBI started asking questions.¡± She looks away. ¡°Grigor wanted to marry me, to bring me into his world. But I¡¯d seen enough to know I couldn¡¯t live that life.¡±

    The irony isn¡¯t lost on me. Here I am, married to a Bratva pakhan, living exactly the life my mother fled.

    ¡°So you left him?¡±

    She nods. ¡°I disappeared. Moved to Albany.¡± She meets my eyes again. ¡°I was two months pregnant with you.¡±

    ¡°Did he know?¡± My voice barely rises above a whisper.

    ¡°No.¡± She shakes her head. ¡°I never told him. I thought I was protecting you.¡±

    My entire understanding of my past¡ªof myself¡ªwobbles beneath my feet.

    ¡°He knows now,¡± I tell her.

    Her eyes widen. ¡°How?¡±

    I give her the abbreviated version¡ªVince¡¯s investigation, the folder with my name, the revtion that I¡¯m Grigor¡¯s daughter.

    ¡°¡­ and now, he wants to meet me,¡± I finish. ¡°He¡¯s given us an ultimatum.¡±

    Mom closes her eyes briefly. ¡°Be careful, Rowan. Grigor isn¡¯t evil, but he¡¯splicated. He lives by a different code.¡±

    ¡°Did you love him?¡± I need to know, suddenly desperate to understand this piece of my history.

    ¡°With my whole heart.¡± No hesitation. ¡°He¡¯s the only man I ever truly loved.¡±

    ¡°Then why?¡ª¡±

    ¡°Because love isn¡¯t always enough.¡± She squeezes my hand again. ¡°Sometimes, we have to choose between what we want and what is right.¡±

    Then she falls back onto the pillows, too tired for more.

    But my mind is reeling. All those years of wondering. All those unanswered questions. The whole time, my mother knew. She always knew.

    And now, she¡¯s leaving me, just as the puzzle pieces are finally falling into ce.

    I stand and leave a kiss on her forehead. ¡°I love you, Mom.¡±

    She doesn¡¯t stir.

    I slip out of the room, but I pause at the end of the hallway. I don¡¯t know what to feel. Angry? Sad? Hopeful? Something else, something new? I¡¯m not sure.

    What I do know is that I¡¯m done running. Done hiding. Done living in reaction to secrets others have kept from me.

    It¡¯s time to write my own story¡ªfor myself, for Sofiya, for the family I¡¯ve built with Vince.

    Starting with meeting my father.

    I step into the hallway, alreadyposing the argument I¡¯ll make to convince Vince?¡ª

    And freeze.

    Standing ten feet away, clutching a bouquet of yellow daisies¡ªmy mother¡¯s favorites¡ªis Natalie.

    Our eyes lock. The daisies tremble in her grip.

    ¡°Hi, Row.¡±

 Filthy Lies: Chapter 20

    My feet root to the hospital linoleum.

    ¡°Natalie.¡±

    She stands frozen, clutching those yellow daisies¡ªmy mother¡¯s favorites. Her hair is longer than I remember, tied back in a messy ponytail. Dark circles shadow her eyes.

    ¡°I didn¡¯t know you¡¯d be here,¡± she says softly. ¡°I was just bringing these for your mom. The nurses told me she¡¯s not doing well.¡±

    The normalcy of her tone makes my blood boil. Like we¡¯re still friends. Like she didn¡¯t spend years lying to my face.

    ¡°How thoughtful,¡± I reply, my voice arctic. ¡°Spying on my dying mother now?¡±

    Natalie winces. ¡°I deserve that.¡±

    ¡°You deserve a hell of a lot worse.¡±

    A nurse passes, ncing curiously at us. I step closer to Natalie, lowering my voice.

    ¡°What are you doing here, Nat? Really?¡±

    She shifts her weight, eyes downcast. ¡°I¡¯ve been visiting Margaret every couple of weeks. Since before¡­ everything happened.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯ve been visiting my mother?¡± The betrayal somehow cuts deeper. ¡°Without telling me?¡±

    ¡°She was kind to me when my own mom died, Row. I couldn¡¯t just abandon her because¡­¡±

    ¡°Because you were exposed as a paid informant?¡± I finish for her. ¡°Because your entire friendship with me was a lie?¡±

    ¡°Not all of it,¡± she whispers.

    An orderly pushes an empty gurney past us. The squeak of its wheels against the floor sounds unnaturally loud in the charged silence.

    ¡°Let¡¯s not do this here,¡± I say finally. I nod toward a small waiting area down the hall. It¡¯s empty, with ufortable-looking chairs and a dead nt in the corner.

    Natalie follows me, still clutching those stupid daisies like a lifeline. We sit opposite each other, eyes not quite meeting.

    She sets the flowers on a nearby table and clears her throat. ¡°I¡¯m so sorry, Rowan. For all of it.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t want your apology. I want an exnation.¡± I cross my arms. ¡°Was anything real? Any of it?¡±

    Natalie takes a deep breath. ¡°It started in college. Junior year. My dad lost his job, and then my mama got sick. Brain tumor. The medical bills were crushing us.¡±

    I remember this part. Her mother¡¯s illness, the family¡¯s financial struggles. I¡¯d even helped her apply for hospital payment ns.

    ¡°One day, this guy approached me on campus. Said his employer had an opportunity for me. Easy money.¡± Sheughs bitterly. ¡°All I had to do was befriend a certain girl in my marketing ss and report back asionally. ¡®Nothing illegal,¡¯ he promised. ¡®Just keeping tabs.¡¯¡±

    ¡°And that girl was me,¡± I say tly.

    She nods. ¡°I didn¡¯t know why they were interested in you. They just said you were connected to something important.¡±

    My mind races back to college¡ªto the shy, broke girl who¡¯d sat next to me in Marketing 301 and somehow became my closest friend. The same girl who¡¯dter helped me get the job at Akopov Industries.

    ¡°Jesus, Natalie. You engineered our entire friendship?¡± The thought alone makes me sick.

    ¡°No!¡± Her voice cracks. ¡°I mean, yes, I approached you because they told me to. And yes, I rmended you for the job at Akopov because they wanted you there. But Row, somewhere along the way, I forgot I was being paid to be your friend.¡±

    ¡°How convenient.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s the truth.¡± Her eyes fill with tears. ¡°Remember when you caught the flu during finals week senior year? I stayed up all night making you soup and quizzing you for exams. That wasn¡¯t for them. That was for you.¡±

    I do remember. Natalie had camped out on my dorm room floor for three days, force-feeding me Tylenol and chicken soup.

    ¡°Who was paying you?¡± I demand, though I already know.

    ¡°I never met him directly. Not until after you were married.¡± She twists her hands in herp. ¡°I reported to an intermediary. A man named Arkady.¡±

    The pieces click into ce. Vince had been tracking me since college, long before I walked in on him and his secretary. Long before I fell in love with him. Everything¡ªmy entire adult life¡ªhad been orchestrated.

    ¡°What did you tell them?¡± My voice sounds hollow even to my own ears.

    ¡°Basic stuff at first. Your schedule, who you were dating. If you ever mentioned the name Akopov or anything about the Bratva.¡± She looks down. ¡°Later, it became more specific. They wanted to know if you seemed interested in Vincent. If you ever talked about him.¡±

    ¡°And did I?¡±

    A hint of a smile touches her lips. ¡°You know you did.¡±

    The humiliation burns hot on my cheeks. All thosete-night conversations¡ªme drunkenly confessing my inappropriate fantasies about my boss¡ªhad gone straight to Vince himself.

    ¡°So when he hired me as his assistant¡­¡±

    ¡°He already knew everything about you.¡±

    ¡°And you just¡­ went along with it? Watching me fall into their trap?¡± The anger rises in my throat. ¡°Is that why you didn¡¯te when I called you that day? Right before everything went to hell?¡±

    Natalie¡¯s face drains of color. ¡°What? No¡ªI dide, Rowan.¡± She looks down, fingers trembling. ¡°But I was toote. By the time I got there, you were gone. Arkady wouldn¡¯t tell me anything,¡± she continues, tears streaming now. ¡°I showed up at the Akopov estate screaming, demanding to know where you were. I threatened to go to the police with everything I knew about them.¡±

    ¡°You did?¡± My voice is barely audible.

    ¡°I thought they¡¯d killed you, Row. And that it was my fault for getting you involved with them in the first ce.¡±

    I don¡¯t know what to say, so I stay quiet.

    ¡°I tried to protect you,¡± Natalie insists. ¡°I left things out of my reports. Downyed how attracted you were to him. When they wanted me to encourage you to ept his assistant position, I actually tried to talk you out of it at first, remember?¡±

    I do remember. Natalie had seemed strangely concerned about me working directly for Vince.

    ¡°I even warned you about Vince¡¯s reputation,¡± she continues. ¡°I thought if you knew he was a womanizer, you might keep your distance.¡±

    I bark a bitterugh. ¡°Fat lot of good that did.¡±

    ¡°By then, I think he was already fixated on you. Nothing was going to stop it.¡± Natalie wipes a tear from her cheek. ¡°And then you got pregnant, and everything went crazy, and suddenly, you were married to him, and I couldn¡¯t?¡ª¡±

    ¡°And you still kept reporting to them?¡± I cut her off.

    She nods miserably. ¡°They had over eight years of leverage on me by then, Rowan. Videos of me epting money. Recordings of my reports. If it ever got out what I¡¯d done¡­¡±

    ¡°So you sacrificed me to save yourself.¡±

    ¡°I thought you were okay!¡± She leans forward earnestly. ¡°You seemed happy with him. You were having a baby. I told myself I wasn¡¯t really hurting you anymore.¡±

    The irony isn¡¯t lost on me. I¡¯d made simr justifications when I discovered Vince¡¯s criminal activities¡ªthat loving him wasn¡¯t wrong, so long as I wasn¡¯t directly involved in his darker world.

    ¡°And then you disappeared,¡± Natalie continues. Her voice breaks. ¡°I thought you were dead, Row. I thought I¡¯d helped get you killed.¡±

    The raw pain in her face gives me pause. Whatever else she might be lying about, this grief seems genuine.

    ¡°Natalie called my phone fifty-three times while you were missing,¡± a deep voice interrupts from the doorway.

    We both look up to find Vince standing there. His face is unreadable as he stares at Natalie.

    ¡°She also came to our house, demanding to know where you were,¡± he continues as he approaches. ¡°Arkady had to physically remove her from the property.¡±

    Natalie doesn¡¯t flinch under his gaze. ¡°I thought you¡¯d killed her.¡±

    ¡°And now?¡± His eyebrow arches.

    ¡°Now, I think you actually love her,¡± Natalie answers simply. ¡°Though I¡¯m still not sure that¡¯s a good thing.¡±

    An ufortable silence falls as I try to absorb everything. I look at Natalie¡ªmy friend, my betrayer¡ªand feel the tangled emotions warring within me. Rage at her deception. Pain at the years of lies.

    And underneath it all, a reluctant thread of understanding I can¡¯t bring myself to snip.

    After all, haven¡¯t I made my ownpromises for financial security? Haven¡¯t I closed my eyes to certain truths about my husband to preserve the life we¡¯ve built?

    ¡°Arkady¡¯s waiting in the car,¡± Vince says to me. ¡°We should go.¡±

    I nod and stand.

    ¡°Rowan.¡± Natalie rises, too, desperate. ¡°Please. I know I can¡¯t undo what I did, but our friendship was real. At least for me. And I swear, I tried to help you that day. I would have done anything to stop what happened.¡±

    I look at her¡ªreally look at her. The girl who held my hair back when I drank too much at college parties. The woman who brought me coffee during all-nighters before big presentations. The friend who¡¯d stood beside me through breakups and job interviews and my mother¡¯s cancer treatments.

    Maybe some of it was real.

    Maybe.

    But not enough.

    ¡°I can¡¯t do this right now, Natalie,¡± I say finally. ¡°I¡¯ve got a dying mother, a newborn daughter, and my biological father camping outside our house with an army. I don¡¯t have room for your guilt, too.¡±

    Her face crumples. ¡°I understand.¡±

    I move past her toward the door where Vince waits. But something makes me pause, my hand on the doorframe.

    ¡°The daisies,¡± I say without turning. ¡°Mom likes them in a blue vase. There¡¯s one in the cab under the sink in her room.¡±

    It¡¯s not forgiveness. It¡¯s barely even acknowledgment.

    But it¡¯s something.

    ¡°Take care of yourself, Nat,¡± I add softly. ¡°And thank you¡­ for trying to help me when it mattered.¡±

    Then I let Vince guide me out of the hospital, his hand warm and steady at the small of my back.

    Another day, another betrayal revealed, another crack in the foundation of who I thought I was.

    But at least this time, I¡¯m the one who gets to decide what happens next.

 Filthy Lies: Chapter 21

    The phone calles at 3 A.M.

    I¡¯m half-awake already, watching my women sleep. Sofiya¡¯s fist rests against Rowan¡¯s breast, like she¡¯s staking her im even in slumber. As if I needed proof that she¡¯s my daughter.

    Mine. Both of them are mine. They¡¯ve found peace I can¡¯t afford, not in this life. But that doesn¡¯t mean I can¡¯t watch them and breathe just the tiniest bit easier, knowing that my sacrifices help them sleep without nightmares.

    But thenes the call.

    The phone vibrates against the nightstand. I grab it before the sound can wake them. ¡°Speak,¡± I answer, voice low as I slip from the bedroom.

    Arkady wastes no time. ¡°Kevin Peterson is dead.¡±

    I frown. ¡°That¡¯s impossible. He¡¯s in Costa Rica.¡±

    ¡°He was in Costa Rica.¡± Arkady pauses. ¡°Until someone put three bullets in his head and dumped him in the ocean. Local fishermen found the body this morning.¡±

    I press my fingers to the bridge of my nose, feeling the beginning of a migraine. ¡°Who gave the order?¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s just it, boss. No one knows. It wasn¡¯t one of our people in Costa Rica. They¡¯re as surprised as we are.¡±

    ¡°Blyat¡¯.¡± I rub my temples. ¡°Get me everything. Security footage, witness statements, autopsy report. I want to know what he ate for breakfast three weeks ago.¡±

    ¡°Copy that.¡±

    I hang up and stare out the window at the pre-dawn darkness. This makes no sense. Kevin Peterson was supposed to be safe. I¡¯d given explicit instructions for him to be relocated, not eliminated.

    Someone in my organization has directly defied me.

    And it¡¯s not just about one middling former employee. It¡¯s about what I promised Rowan¡ªthat I could show mercy, that I could find solutions beyond violence.

    Now, I¡¯ll have to tell her I failed.

    Before I can process this, my phone rings again. Arkady again. Him calling back that quickly can only be bad.

    ¡°Tell me you have better news,¡± I answer.

    ¡°I wish.¡± His voice is grim. ¡°The financing for the Costa Rica project has fallen through. Completely. The banks have pulled out. All of them.¡±

    I feel my jaw tighten. ¡°All of them? We had five different institutions backing us.¡±

    ¡°All of them,¡± he confirms. ¡°Within hours of each other. Like it was coordinated.¡±

    ¡°This isn¡¯t a coincidence,¡± I growl. ¡°Get to thepound. Bring everything we have on the financing arrangements.¡±

    ¡°There¡¯s one more thing,¡± Arkady adds with a wince, like he¡¯s worried thisst straw will be what pushes me over the edge. ¡°Niki Barkov¡¯s men have been moving around Brighton Beach. Gathering. Like they¡¯re preparing for something.¡±

    Fuck.<hr>

    The sun is just beginning to rise when Arkady arrives in person, his face strained as he drops a stack of files on my desk.

    ¡°The lead bank¡¯s president ims they received information suggesting the project was a moneyundering operation,¡± he exins.

    ¡°What information?¡±

    ¡°Financial records and internalmunications, mostly. Some of it manufactured, some of it real but taken wildly out of context.¡± Arkady spreads out several documents. ¡°Whoever did this had ess to material only someone inside our organization would have.¡±

    I examine the financial records, anger building with each page I turn. These are sophisticated forgeries¡ªtransaction histories and wire transfers doctored to make legitimate business dealings look suspicious.

    ¡°This is professional work,¡± I mutter. ¡°Not Barkov. He¡¯s always been a blunt instrument, even before we sawed off his edges.¡±

    ¡°I agree.¡± Arkady leans against the desk. ¡°This is someone with intimate knowledge of our operations.¡±

    ¡°My father.¡±

    Arkady¡¯s expression darkens. ¡°Your father is still under house arrest. Hismunications are monitored.¡±

    ¡°Monitored, not eliminated. He still has loyalists.¡±

    ¡°True, but this doesn¡¯t feel like Andrei¡¯s style, either. Too passive.¡±

    I stand and pace to the window. The betrayal burns in my chest. I¡¯d shown mercy to Kevin Peterson¡ªagainst every instinct beaten into me since childhood¡ªbecause Rowan believed I could be better than my father.

    And now, Peterson is dead anyway, the Costa Rica project is in ruins, and I¡¯ll have to face her disappointment. After everything she¡¯s been through¡ªthe kidnapping, giving birth in captivity, discovering her biological father¡ªthis feels like one more failure I can¡¯t protect her from.

    ¡°The timing is too perfect,¡± I say. ¡°Kevin¡¯s death, the financing copse, Barkov¡¯s movements. Someone¡¯s making a y against us.¡±

    ¡°But who has that level of ess?¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s what we need to find out.¡± I turn back to him. ¡°Start with the people who knew about Kevin¡¯s relocation. That was a closely guarded operation.¡±

    Arkady nods. ¡°What about the banks? Should we try to salvage the financing?¡±

    I shake my head. ¡°Toote for that, and too pointless. We need to identify the leak before we can rebuild.¡±

    The sound of a door opening makes me look up. Rowan stands in the doorway, Sofiya clutched against her chest. She¡¯s wearing one of my t-shirts, her hair loose around her shoulders. Even exhausted, she¡¯s an angel.

    And I¡¯m about to disappoint her.

    ¡°What¡¯s going on?¡± she asks, taking in the scattered papers and our grim expressions.

    ¡°Arkady, give us a minute.¡±

    He nods and steps out, closing the door behind him.

    Rowan approaches my desk, shifting Sofiya to her other arm. ¡°Vince, what¡¯s happened?¡±

    Ie around the desk and guide her to the leather sofa against the wall. ¡°Kevin Peterson is dead.¡±

    Her eyes go huge. ¡°What? How?¡±

    ¡°Executed. Professional hit.¡±

    ¡°But¡­ but you sent him to Costa Rica. You gave him a chance.¡±

    ¡°Someone didn¡¯t agree with my decision.¡± I take her free hand in mine. ¡°There¡¯s more. The financing for the Costa Rica development has copsed. All five banks pulled out simultaneously.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s not a coincidence.¡±

    ¡°No, it¡¯s not.¡± I brush a strand of hair from her face. ¡°Someone with detailed knowledge of our operations has been feeding information to our enemies.¡±

    ¡°You think it¡¯s your father?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m not sure. But whoever it is, they¡¯re trying to undermine everything we¡¯re building.¡±

    Rowan is quiet for a moment as she processes. ¡°Kevin had a family,¡± she says finally. ¡°A mother in that care facility.¡±

    ¡°I know. We¡¯ll make sure she¡¯s taken care of.¡±

    Her eyes meet mine, and there¡¯s a weight to her gaze I wasn¡¯t expecting. Not disappointment, but something harder. Resolve.

    ¡°Find who did this, Vince.¡±

    ¡°I will.¡±

    ¡°No, you don¡¯t understand.¡± Her voice turns to steel. ¡°Find them and make an example of them. The kind that ensures no one ever thinks of crossing you again.¡±

    I stare at her, surprised. This is not the reaction I anticipated.

    ¡°You once showed mercy for my sake,¡± she continues. ¡°And someone threw that back in your face. Used it to make you look weak.¡± She nces down at our daughter. ¡°We can¡¯t afford to be seen as weak. Not anymore.¡±

    My heart clenches with a savage kind of satisfaction mixed with grief. The innocent woman I vowed to protect is dead, murdered by circumstance and necessity. In her ce stands a queen of darkness, drenched in blood and shadows, who sees the brutal truth of my empire with eyes every bit as cold as mine.

    ¡°I¡¯ll handle it,¡± I promise.

    My phone vibrates with a text. I check it, then look back at Rowan. ¡°Arkady¡¯s received some new information about Barkov¡¯s movements. I need to deal with this.¡±

    ¡°Go.¡± She stands, adjusting Sofiya against her shoulder. ¡°Just remember what I said.¡±

    I kiss her forehead, then Sofiya¡¯s, before heading to the door.

    Arkady is waiting in the hallway, phone in hand.

    ¡°What have you got?¡± I ask.

    ¡°One of Barkov¡¯s men was spotted meeting with someone at the Marina. Security cameras caught this.¡± He shows me a grainy image on his phone.

    The figure meeting with Barkov¡¯s associate is familiar¡ªtall, thin, with a distinctive way of standing. I¡¯ve seen him dozens of times over the years.

    My father¡¯s ountant.

    Not my father directly, but close enough. Someone with ess to all our financial records, all our business dealings, all our secrets.

    ¡°Get the car,¡± I tell Arkady. ¡°And call Dimitri. Tell him to bring his special toolkit.¡±

    ¡°What about Rowan? Should we increase security here?¡±

    I nce back at the closed study door. ¡°Double the guard rotation. No one gets within a mile of this ce without our knowledge.¡±

    As we head for the door, my determination grows fangs. I¡¯d attempted to be the merciful man Rowan thought I could be. But someone mistook my restraint for vulnerability.

    That ends today.

 Filthy Lies: Chapter 22

    ¡°She¡¯sing to live with us, and that¡¯s final.¡±

    I stand in the middle of Vince¡¯s study, arms crossed, feet nted. My voice doesn¡¯t waver. It¡¯s the same tone I used when I told that blonde Solovyov bitch she couldn¡¯t take my newborn daughter.

    It says, I¡¯m not asking permission.

    Vince looks up from hisptop. ¡°Rowan, the security concerns?¡ª¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t give a flying fuck about security concerns. My mother is dying, Vince. She won¡¯tst much longer in that hospital.¡±

    He closes hisptop. ¡°Thepound is a target right now. With Grigor¡¯s men still patrolling our perimeter, with whoever killed Peterson still out there?¡ª¡±

    ¡°All the more reason to have her here, where I can see her. Where I can spend whatever time she has left with her.¡±

    Something in my face must show just how serious I am, because Vince¡¯s shoulders drop.

    ¡°The east wing,¡± he says after a moment. ¡°We can convert the guest suite. It has separate ess for medical staff, and it¡¯s far enough from Sofiya¡¯s nursery that your mother won¡¯t be disturbed by crying.¡±

    Relief floods through me, loosening the knot that¡¯s been sitting in my chest since Dr. Patel¡¯s call.

    ¡°Thank you.¡±

    Vince rises from his desk and crosses to me. His hand cups my cheek, thumb brushing away a tear I didn¡¯t realize had fallen.

    ¡°I can¡¯t fix this for you,¡± he says softly. ¡°I wish I could.¡±

    I lean into his touch. ¡°Just help me make herfortable. That¡¯s all I ask.¡±

    ¡°Consider it done.¡±

    Three dayster, the east wing has been transformed. Hospital bed, medical monitors, oxygen tanks¡ªeverything Margaret might need. I¡¯ve added personal touches, too. Her favorite quilt at the foot of the bed. Family photos on the nightstand. Yellow daisies¡ªfresh ones every day¡ªin the bluest vase I could find.

    When the medical transport brings her from the hospital, I¡¯m shocked by how much she¡¯s declined in just a few days. Her once-vibrant eyes are sunken, cloudy.

    But she smiles when she sees the room I¡¯ve prepared.

    ¡°You¡¯ve been busy,¡± she remarks as the nurses help her settle into the bed.

    ¡°I wanted it to feel like home.¡±

    Once the nurses leave, promising to return in a few hours to check her vitals, I perch carefully on the edge of her bed.

    ¡°How are you feeling, Ma? Really?¡±

    Mom¡¯sugh turns into a cough. ¡°Like I¡¯m dying, sweetheart. No point sugarcoating it.¡±

    I swallow hard. ¡°Mom?¡ª¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s okay, Row. I¡¯ve made my peace with it.¡± She reaches for my hand with fingers like winter twigs. ¡°But before I go, there are things we need to discuss.¡±

    Something in her tone makes my stomach clench. ¡°What things?¡±

    ¡°Grigor, for one.¡±

    Just the name sends a chill down my spine. ¡°What about him?¡±

    ¡°You need to meet him, Rowan.¡±

    I shake my head. ¡°Mom, that¡¯s not?¡ª¡±

    ¡°Listen to me.¡± Her grip tightens with surprising strength. ¡°I¡¯ve spent your entire life protecting you from that world. And here you are anyway, married to a Bratva captain?¡ª¡±

    ¡°Pakhan,¡± I correct automatically.

    She smiles sadly. ¡°See? You¡¯re in it now, whether I wanted that for you or not. And if you¡¯re going to survive, you need to understand all sides of it. Including Grigor¡¯s.¡±

    ¡°Vince thinks it¡¯s too dangerous.¡±

    ¡°Of course he does. Grigor is his enemy.¡±

    ¡°And you think I should just¡­ what? Have a father-daughter reunion? Pretend we¡¯re normal?¡±

    Margaret¡¯s gaze grows distant. ¡°There was nothing normal about Grigor. But he wasn¡¯t evil, Rowan. Despite what Vincent has probably told you.¡±

    ¡°You loved him,¡± I say softly, remembering our conversation at the hospital.

    ¡°With my whole heart. He was¡­¡± She sighs. ¡°Complicated. Dangerous, yes. Capable of terrible things. But also capable of surprising tenderness.¡±

    ¡°Why are you telling me this now?¡±

    ¡°Because that little girl of yours¡ª¡± She nods toward the baby monitor where Sofiya¡¯s soft breathing can be heard. ¡°She¡¯s Grigor¡¯s flesh and blood, too. And someday, she might need his protection.¡±

    The thought sends a tremor rumbling through me. ¡°She has Vince.¡±

    ¡°And what if something happens to Vincent, hm?¡±

    I flinch. ¡°Don¡¯t say that.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m dying, Rowan. I don¡¯t have time for niceties.¡± She squeezes my hand again. ¡°In this world you¡¯ve chosen, you need all the allies you can get. Even unlikely ones.¡±

    I stand and pace to the window, wrapping my arms around myself. Outside, armed guards patrol the grounds. Beyond them, somewhere in the trees, Grigor¡¯s men wait.

    ¡°I wouldn¡¯t even know what to say to him,¡± I admit.

    ¡°You don¡¯t have to say anything.¡± Margaret¡¯s voice softens. ¡°Just listen. Learn. Understand where youe from.¡±

    I turn back to face her. ¡°You spent my entire life keeping me away from him. Why the change of heart?¡±

    ¡°Because I was trying to keep you out of the Bratva world altogether.¡± She gestures weakly at our surroundings. ¡°That ship has sailed, sweetheart. Now, I just want you to have every possible advantage in it.¡±

    The inte beside her bed buzzes. It¡¯s time for her medication.

    ¡°Think about it,¡± she urges as I move to help her with the pills. ¡°That¡¯s all I ask.¡±<hr>

    Later, after she¡¯s drifted to sleep, I sit in the rocking chair beside her bed watching her breathe. Each rise and fall of her chest terrifies me, because how can I know when it might be thest?

    I think about what she said. About Grigor. About Sofiya potentially needing his protection someday.

    The idea alone makes my skin crawl. But haven¡¯t I learned that survival sometimes requires difficult choices? Ufortable alliances?

    A soft knock on the door pulls me from my thoughts. Vince enters quietly, his eyes immediately assessing Margaret¡¯s sleeping form.

    ¡°How is she?¡± he asks.

    ¡°Weaker every hour,¡± I whisper. ¡°Butfortable, at least.¡±

    He nods, then holds out his hand to me. ¡°Can we talk? In private?¡±

    Something in his expression makes my heart stutter. I follow him to the small sitting area adjacent to Margaret¡¯s room, close enough that I¡¯ll hear if she wakes.

    ¡°What¡¯s wrong?¡±

    Vince runs a hand through his silver-streaked hair. ¡°Agent Carver served papers today. He¡¯s formally requesting your testimony in their ongoing investigation of Akopov Industries.¡±

    My blood runs cold. ¡°He can¡¯t just ¡®request¡¯ my testimony. I¡¯m your wife.¡±

    ¡°He can and he did. This isn¡¯t a casual chat over coffee like before. This is formal, Rowan. Federal agents. Sworn statements. Potential charges if they think you¡¯re lying.¡±

    ¡°Charges? What charges? I haven¡¯t done anything!¡±

    Vince¡¯s voice turns gentle. ¡°In their eyes, you¡¯re married to the head of what they believe is a criminal organization. That makes youplicit.¡±

    I sink onto the sofa, mind racing. ¡°If I refuse?¡±

    ¡°Then they¡¯ll issue a summons. And if you ignore that¡­¡± His voice trails off.

    ¡°They¡¯ll arrest me.¡±

    ¡°I won¡¯t let that happen.¡± The steel in his voice would beforting if I didn¡¯t know firsthand that even Vince Akopov can¡¯t control everything.

    ¡°When?¡±

    ¡°Next week. Tuesday.¡±

    I nod slowly, processing. ¡°Okay. We have time to prepare.¡±

    Vince sits beside me, taking my hand. ¡°I¡¯ve already called thewyers. We¡¯ll have a strategy session tomorrow. They¡¯ll coach you on what to say, what not to say.¡±

    ¡°I know how to handle Carver,¡± I say with more confidence than I feel.

    ¡°This isn¡¯t just Carver anymore. It¡¯s his superiors. The whole fucking Justice Department.¡± His grip tightens. ¡°They¡¯re using you to get to me, Rowan. You know that, right?¡±

    ¡°Of course I know that.¡± I pull my hand from his and stand. ¡°I¡¯m not naive, Vince. Not anymore.¡±

    His eyes follow me as I pace the small room. ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± he says finally.

    ¡°For what? You didn¡¯t do this.¡±

    ¡°For all of it. Your mother. Carver. Grigor.¡± He gestures broadly. ¡°This isn¡¯t the life you signed up for.¡±

    A bitterugh escapes me. ¡°Isn¡¯t it? I knew who you were when I married you.¡±

    ¡°Not all of it.¡±

    ¡°No,¡± I concede. ¡°Not all of it.¡±

    We sit in silence for a moment, surrounded by all the things we cannot say.

    ¡°She thinks I should meet him,¡± I blurt suddenly.

    Vince doesn¡¯t need to ask who I¡¯m talking about. ¡°And what do you think?¡±

    I sit beside him again, closer this time. ¡°I think she might be right. If only to understand what we¡¯re dealing with.¡±

    His jaw tightens, but he doesn¡¯t immediately reject the idea. Progress.

    ¡°If¡ªand I mean if¡ªwe were to consider this, it would be on our terms. Neutral ground. Security protocols in ce.¡±

    ¡°Of course.¡±

    ¡°I would be present the entire time.¡±

    ¡°I wouldn¡¯t have it any other way.¡±

    He studies my face. ¡°You¡¯re serious about this.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m serious about keeping Sofiya safe. If understanding Grigor helps with that, then yes, I¡¯m serious.¡±

    Vince is quiet for so long that I think he¡¯s going to refuse. Finally, he nods once.

    ¡°I¡¯ll make arrangements. But Rowan¡ª¡± His eyes lock with mine. ¡°If at any point I say we leave, we leave. No questions, no arguments.¡±

    ¡°Agreed.¡±

    From the next room, Margaret¡¯s voice calls weakly. I rise immediately. ¡°I should get back to her.¡±

    Vince catches my hand. ¡°We¡¯ll figure this out. All of it. Together.¡±

    I lean down and kiss his tattooed knuckles. ¡°Yeah,¡± I whisper into his palm. ¡°I know.¡±

 Filthy Lies: Chapter 23

    ¡°They¡¯re regrouping.¡±

    Arkady¡¯s voice crackles through the secure line. For a man who never worries, he sounds pretty fucking worried.

    ¡°Where?¡± I ask, moving to the window of my study. Outside, the morning sun casts long shadows across thepound.

    ¡°Warehouses in Red Hook. Our surveince caught at least thirty of those Solovyov fucks gatheringst night. Heavy weapons. Encryptedms. This isn¡¯t a defensive posture, Vin.¡±

    I watch as one of my security men passes below, rifle slung across his chest. ¡°How long?¡±

    ¡°Days, probably. A week at most.¡±

    I end the call and set the phone down slowly as I think. The Solovyovs are nothing if not predictable¡ªwounded pride demands retribution. They failed to keep Rowan and Sofiya as leverage. Now, they want blood.

    Mine, specifically.

    The door opens behind me. I don¡¯t need to turn to know it¡¯s Rowan. Her scent fills the room long before she does.

    ¡°Bad news?¡± she asks.

    I turn to face her. Sofiya sleeps against her shoulder, tiny fingers curled into that ever-present fist near her mouth. The sight still punches me in the gut¡ªthis perfect creature we created, slumbering with no idea of the chaos raging around her.

    ¡°The Solovyovs are mobilizing again.¡±

    Her arms tighten instinctively around our daughter. ¡°Here?¡±

    ¡°Not yet. But soon.¡± I cross to them, brushing a finger across Sofiya¡¯s cheek. ¡°We need to make a move before they do.¡±

    ¡°What kind of move?¡±

    ¡°Sofiya¡¯s christening. Next week.¡±

    Rowan blinks, confusion recing the fear in her eyes. ¡°We¡¯re doing her christening? Now? With everything that¡¯s happening?¡±

    ¡°Especially now.¡± I guide her to the leather sofa and sit beside her. ¡°It¡¯s time we remind everyone who we are.¡±

    ¡°And who are we, Vincent?¡± Her voice has that edge I¡¯vee to recognize¡ªthe warning before the storm.

    ¡°We¡¯re the Akopovs. Strong. Unafraid.¡± I take her free hand in mine. ¡°A family that lives normally despite threats. That christens their daughter ording to tradition, on schedule. That doesn¡¯t hide.¡±

    Her eyes narrow. ¡°You want to use our daughter as a statement.¡±

    ¡°I want to use the ceremony as a statement. There¡¯s a difference.¡±

    ¡°Is there?¡± Rowan adjusts Sofi¡¯s swaddle. ¡°Because it sounds like you¡¯re putting her in the crosshairs to prove a point.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m showing our enemies that we won¡¯t be cowed.¡±

    She scowls. ¡°This isn¡¯t about us not being ¡®cowed,¡¯ Vince. This is about you wanting to wave a red g in front of a bull.¡± She paces in front of me, voice tight but controlled so as not to wake our daughter. ¡°You¡¯re turning our baby¡¯s christening into a power y.¡±

    I lean forward, elbows on my knees. ¡°Everything in our world is a power y, Rowan. Every action, every appearance, every event is interpreted as strength or weakness.¡±

    ¡°She¡¯s an infant!¡±

    ¡°She¡¯s an Akopov.¡±

    The look Rowan gives me could freeze hell. ¡°No. I refuse to ept that.¡±

    ¡°ept it or don¡¯t, but it¡¯s reality, whether you like it or not.¡±

    ¡°Your reality, maybe.¡± She clutches Sofiya tighter. ¡°I want something different for her.¡±

    I rise slowly, maintaining careful distance to avoid escting the tension. ¡°So do I. But right now, we¡¯re surrounded by enemies who respect only one thing: strength.¡±

    ¡°But you think they¡¯ll respect a christening? They kidnapped me while I was midbor, Vince. What makes you think they¡¯ll draw the line at a damn church?¡± Her voice rises, and Sofiya stirs with a whimper. Rowan immediately softens her tone, kissing our daughter¡¯s head. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, angel. Mommy¡¯s sorry.¡±

    I watch them, this fierce protector and the tiny life she shields. My chest aches with a mixture of love and frustration.

    ¡°Rowan.¡± I step closer, keeping my voice low. ¡°I¡¯ve never asked you to understand all of my decisions. But I need you to trust that I would never, ever put Sofiya in danger.¡±

    ¡°Not intentionally.¡± Her green eyes lock with mine. ¡°But your perspective is warped, Vince. You were raised to believe strength is about making a show, about never backing down. I was raised to believe strength is about protecting what matters, whatever it takes.¡±

    ¡°They¡¯re not mutually exclusive.¡±

    ¡°Aren¡¯t they? Because right now, it feels like you¡¯re choosing the show over the protection.¡±

    Her words cut deep, not because they¡¯re cruel, but because there¡¯s truth in them. I was taught from childhood that perception is everything. Show weakness, and you be prey. Show strength, and predators hesitate.

    But Rowan wasn¡¯t raised in that world.

    I go to the window again, giving myself space to think. Below, the security team changes shifts, men with guns protecting the perimeter of our home. Is this the life I want for my daughter? Always surrounded by weapons and threat assessments?

    No. But it¡¯s the life she has. For now.

    ¡°What if wepromise?¡± I offer finally.

    Rowan¡¯s posture softens, but only slightly. ¡°I¡¯m listening.¡±

    ¡°A private ceremony. Small. Only essential family and a few strategic guests.¡±

    She considers this, gently swaying as Sofiya sleeps on. ¡°Define ¡®strategic guests.¡¯¡±

    ¡°Arkady. Dimitri. Heads of the allied families who need to see we¡¯re standing firm.¡± I pause. ¡°And Grigor.¡±

    Her eyes widen. ¡°My father?¡±

    ¡°His presence would send a powerful message. The Petrovs standing with the Akopovs, even symbolically, would make the Solovyovs think twice.¡±

    ¡°You hate Grigor.¡±

    ¡°I do. But I love you and Sofiya more than I hate him.¡±

    A small smile touches her lips. ¡°That¡¯s¡­ surprisingly mature of you.¡±

    ¡°I have my moments.¡±

    She joins me at the window, close enough that I can feel Sofiya¡¯s gentle breath against my neck. ¡°No publicity. No photos. Nothing that could appear in the press or on social media.¡±

    ¡°Agreed.¡± I kiss her forehead. ¡°And afterward, we elerate our ns to neutralize the Solovyov threat permanently.¡±

    She nods and leans over to rest against my chest. ¡°How did we get here, Vince? Sometimes, it just feels like we¡¯re stuck in a bad dream.¡±

    I wish I had aforting answer. Something that would erase the weariness in her voice. But I only have the truth.

    ¡°This is our life, Rowan. For now. But not forever.¡±

    ¡°You promise?¡±

    ¡°I swear.¡± I tilt her chin up to look at me. ¡°One day, we¡¯ll n Sofiya¡¯s birthday parties without security protocols.¡±

    Her smile is sad. ¡°I wonder if we¡¯ll even know how by then.¡±

 Filthy Lies: Chapter 24

    My right leg won¡¯t stop jittering.

    ¡°You don¡¯t have to do this,¡± Vince says for the hundredth time. His hand covers my bouncing knee. ¡°We can leave. Right now. Just say the word.¡±

    I take a deep breath and stare out the car window. The private dining room of the Four Seasons stands as neutral territory¡ªneither Petrov nor Akopov ground. Both sides have swept it for bugs, checked for snipers, and verified escape routes. War preparations for a joyful family reunion.

    ¡°I need to do this.¡±

    Vince¡¯s jaw tightens, but he nods. ¡°I¡¯ll be right beside you.¡±

    I peek at the back seat where Arkady sits with Sofiya¡¯s car seat situated between him and another guard. Sofi couldn¡¯t care less about any of the dramatics. She¡¯s fixated on Arkady¡¯s goofy grin and puffed-out cheeks, giggling every time he looks at her.

    If only life were still so simple.

    ¡°Ready?¡± Vince asks.

    No.

    ¡°Yes.¡±

    I scoop up my daughter, then we all get out of the car. We enter through a service corridor, avoiding the main restaurant. Six of Vince¡¯s men create a barrier around us. Sofiya promptly falls asleep against my chest. I thank God for the millionth time that she¡¯s such an easy baby.

    The dining room door looms ahead. Beyond it waits the stranger who gave me half my DNA and left me to figure out the rest on my own.

    ¡°Remember,¡± Vince murmurs, ¡°one word from you and we¡¯re gone.¡±

    I nod, suddenly unable to speak.

    Arkady opens the door, and Vince guides me inside, his hand protective at the small of my back.

    The room is elegant¡ªcrystal chandeliers, white tablecloths, delicate china waiting on a table set for four. But I notice none of that. My eyes lock immediately on the man standing by the window.

    My father.

    Grigor Petrov is tall¡ªtaller than I expected. Graying hair, impably styled. A sharp jaw covered with salt-and-pepper stubble.

    But it¡¯s his eyes that freeze me in ce.

    My eyes.

    The same shade of green I see in the mirror every morning.

    ¡°Rowan.¡± His voice is deeper than Vince¡¯s, but something in its cadence feels hauntingly familiar.

    ¡°Mr. Petrov.¡± My voice sounds distant, like it belongs to someone else.

    ¡°Please.¡± He gestures to the table. ¡°Sit.¡±

    Vince¡¯s hand tightens on my waist. I feel him radiating tension, ready to intervene at the slightest provocation.

    We sit across from Grigor. Vince positions himself just a hair in front of me.

    ¡°Thank you foring,¡± Grigor begins, his eyes never leaving my face. ¡°I have waited many years for this day.¡±

    ¡°Have you?¡±

    His smile is small, mncholy. ¡°You have her skepticism.¡±

    ¡°My mother taught me not to trust snakes. They tend to bite.¡±

    ¡°Yes, Margaret was always wise like that.¡± He folds his hands on the table. ¡°How is she?¡±

    ¡°Dying.¡±

    Grigor nods solemnly, like that¡¯s exactly what he expected. ¡°I am sorry to hear this. She is a remarkable woman.¡±

    ¡°You don¡¯t know her.¡±

    ¡°I knew her once. Better than most.¡±

    Vince shifts beside me. ¡°We¡¯re not here to discuss the past.¡±

    Grigor¡¯s eyes flicker to Vince, cold and assessing, before returning to me.

    ¡°You look like her,¡± he says, ignoring Vincepletely. ¡°Around the mouth, the chin. But the eyes¡­¡± His voice goes dreamy. ¡°Those are mine.¡±

    Sofiya stirs against my chest. Grigor¡¯s gaze drops to the bundle in my arms, and something transforms in his face. The hard lines soften. The bitterness in his eyes gives way to something that looks suspiciously like wonder.

    ¡°My granddaughter, yes?¡±

    I find myself instinctively angling Sofiya away from his view. Vince¡¯s hand finds my knee under the table, a warm, steady reassurance.

    ¡°Why now?¡± I ask. ¡°You¡¯ve had twenty-seven years to find me. Why wait until now?¡±

    Grigor leans back in his chair, studying me. ¡°I did not know you existed until you were nearly five years old.¡±

    My breath catches. ¡°What?¡±

    ¡°Margaret never told me she was pregnant when she left.¡± His eyes grow distant with memory. ¡°She simply disappeared one day. I searched, of course. But your mother was clever. She knew how to vanish.¡±

    I shake my head. ¡°She said you wanted to marry her, to bring her into your world.¡±

    ¡°I did.¡± His hands spread in a gesture that reminds me viscerally of myself. ¡°I loved her. But Margaret wanted a different life.¡±

    ¡°So how did you find out about me?¡±

    A server enters with water, and conversation pauses. The silence looms taut and awkward until the door closes again.

    ¡°Chance,¡± Grigor continues. ¡°One of my men saw Margaret in Albany with a little girl. A girl with my eyes.¡± He drinks from his water ss. ¡°I had her investigated, discreetly. When I confirmed you were mine, I had to decide what to do.¡±

    ¡°And what did you decide?¡±

    ¡°To respect Margaret¡¯s choice.¡± His voice grows quiet. ¡°She left my world to protect you from it. I would not undo that sacrifice by forcing my way back in.¡±

    I feel my skepticism rising. ¡°You expect me to believe that a man like you just walked away?¡±

    ¡°No.¡± He reaches for a leather portfolio beside him. ¡°I did not walk away. I simply kept my distance.¡±

    He opens the portfolio and slides a photograph across the table.

    It¡¯s me. Maybe six years old, missing my two front teeth, holding an ice cream cone in Albany¡¯s Washington Park.

    I do a stunned double-take. ¡°How did you get this?¡±

    Instead of answering, he slides another photograph forward.

    Me at my high school graduation, epting my diploma.

    Another¡ªmoving into my college dorm room.

    ¡°You¡¯ve been watching me my entire life.¡±

    ¡°Protecting you,¡± he corrects. ¡°From a distance.¡±

    I feel lightheaded, the room spinning as decades of my existence rearrange themselves around this new information.

    ¡°The telescope,¡± I whisper.

    Grigor¡¯s eyebrows raise. ¡°Pardon?¡±

    ¡°For my twelfth birthday. I got this amazing telescope. Mom said it was from a distant rtive.¡± I stare at him. ¡°That was you?¡±

    A small, satisfied smile crosses his face. ¡°You wanted to be an astronaut. I heard you needed proper equipment.¡±

    ¡°And the prom dress? Senior year? When Mom¡¯s treatment wiped out our savings?¡±

    Grigor nods. ¡°It suited yourplexion.¡±

    I feel Vince tense beside me, his breathing pattern changing. This is new information to him, too.

    ¡°Why?¡± I demand. ¡°Why do all that and never introduce yourself?¡±

    ¡°Because Margaret was right.¡± Grigor¡¯s eyes flick to Vince, then back to me. ¡°My world is dangerous. The farther you stayed from it, the safer you were.¡±

    Vince makes a sound¡ªsomething between a scoff and augh.

    ¡°You find this amusing, Akopov?¡± Grigor¡¯s voice turns to ice.

    ¡°I find it pretty fucking ironic, actually.¡± Vince leans forward. ¡°You stayed away to protect her, yet here she is anyway¡ªmarried to me, mother to my child, directly in the line of fire.¡±

    ¡°Yes.¡± Grigor¡¯s eyes narrow. ¡°Here she is. Perhaps if you had stayed away as well, she would be safe now.¡±

    My hand shoots out, grabbing Vince¡¯s wrist before he can respond. ¡°Stop. Both of you.¡±

    To my surprise, they do.

    I take a deep breath. ¡°You still haven¡¯t answered my question. Why now? After all these years of watching from the shadows, why step into the light?¡±

    Grigor¡¯s eyes drop to Sofiya. ¡°Because now, there is more at stake than just you. Now, there is a child. My blood. The next generation. And family must be protected¡ªespecially in our world.¡±

    ¡°Our world?¡± I repeat. ¡°You imed you wanted me far from your world.¡±

    ¡°That time has passed.¡± Grigor gestures to Vince, to the guards at the door. ¡°You have chosen your path, whether I wished it for you or not. And now, you need every protection avable.¡±

    I feel Sofiya stir again, making those little snuffling sounds that precede waking. On instinct, I rock gently, soothing her.

    ¡°May I?¡± Grigor asks, his eyes on Sofiya.

    Vince¡¯s entire body coils with tension. ¡°Not a fucking chance.¡±

    But something in me¡ªsome reckless curiosity¡ªoverrides caution. ¡°It¡¯s okay,¡± I tell Vince.

    Carefully, I adjust the nket so Grigor can see Sofiya¡¯s face. I don¡¯t hand her over¡ªI¡¯m not that trusting¡ªbut I allow him this glimpse of his granddaughter.

    Grigor¡¯s expression transforms again. Thest of the hardness melts away. In ce of the mob boss is simply an old grandfather admiring his kin for the first time.

    ¡°She¡¯s perfect,¡± he murmurs.

    ¡°Yes. She is.¡±

    Grigor reaches slowly into his jacket pocket. Vince¡¯s hand immediately goes to his hip, where I know his gun rests.

    But Grigor only pulls out a small velvet box. ¡°For her,¡± he exins, cing it on the table. ¡°A reminder of where shees from.¡±

    I make no move to take it. ¡°And where is that, exactly?¡±

    ¡°From people who protect what is theirs.¡±

    I stare at the box for a long moment before finally reaching for it. Inside rests a delicate gold bracelet sized for an infant¡¯s wrist. A small charm hangs from it¡ªa green emerald set in gold.

    I close the box and set it aside, neither epting nor rejecting the gift. ¡°I didn¡¯te here for presents.¡±

    ¡°No.¡± Grigor sits back. ¡°You came for answers.¡±

    ¡°I came because my mother asked me to.¡± I meet his gaze directly. ¡°Before she dies, she wanted me to understand where Ie from.¡±

    ¡°And do you?¡±

    I look at this man¡ªthis stranger with my eyes, this criminal who sent anonymous gifts, this shadow who watched over me from a distance he deemed safe.

    ¡°I¡¯m starting to.¡± I look at Vince, who¡¯s still wary, then back to Grigor, whose posture is exactly the same as my husband¡¯s.

    Both men are doing what they think is right to protect the people they loved. Two chips from the same block of ice.

    ¡°I have to ask,¡± I say. ¡°You knew I was working at Akopov Industries. You knew I was near Vince. Why not warn me? Why let me walk into that world blind?¡±

    Grigor considers the question. ¡°Would you have believed me? A stranger iming to be your father, warning you away from a job opportunity?¡±

    ¡°No,¡± I admit. ¡°Probably not.¡±

    ¡°I considered it,¡± he continues. ¡°When I learned where you were working, I had people watching more closely. But by then¡­¡± He nces at Vince. ¡°It was already toote.¡±

    Vince¡¯s jaw tightens. ¡°What¡¯s that supposed to mean?¡±

    ¡°It means, Akopov, that you had already marked her.¡± Grigor¡¯s voice holds no usation, just statement of fact. ¡°I recognized the look.¡±

    ¡°What look?¡±

    ¡°The one I once had for Margaret.¡± His eyes return to me. ¡°By the time I could have intervened, you were already falling into his orbit. And I know enough about women with St. ir blood to know they cannot be directed against their will.¡±

    I find myself chuckling despite everything. ¡°On that, we can agree.¡±

    Sofiya chooses that moment to wake fully, her tiny fists waving as she lets out a cranky wail. I stand immediately.

    ¡°She¡¯s hungry,¡± I exin. ¡°We should go.¡±

    Grigor rises as well. ¡°Of course.¡±

    An awkward silence falls. What¡¯s the protocol for saying goodbye to the biological father you just met? A handshake seems too formal, a hug too intimate. I settle for meeting his eyes directly.

    ¡°Thank you,¡± I say. ¡°For exining. For the photographs.¡±

    He nods once. ¡°I would like to see you again. Both of you.¡±

    Vince¡¯s hand finds the small of my back. ¡°We¡¯ll consider it.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t recall asking you, Akopov.¡±

    ¡°But you need my permission all the same.¡± Vince steps closer to Grigor, his voice dropping. ¡°Don¡¯t mistake this meeting for an alliance. You may be her blood, but I am her husband. I am Sofiya¡¯s father. Remember that.¡±

    Grigor doesn¡¯t back down. ¡°As you are remembering that I could have eliminated you years ago, had I chosen.¡±

    ¡°You certainly could have tried.¡±

    Their faces are inches apart now, decades of Bratva rivalry crackling between them. Sofiya¡¯s cries grow louder, and my patience thins.

    ¡°Enough. Both of you.¡± I step between them, Sofiya clutched to my chest. ¡°We¡¯re leaving.¡±

    Grigor steps back first. ¡°Think about what I said, Rowan.¡±

    ¡°I will.¡±

    Without another word, we leave, Vince¡¯s arm tight around my waist, guards falling into formation around us. In the car, Sofiya finally quiets after I nurse her, her little eyes drifting closed as milk-drunk contentment overtakes her.

    ¡°You¡¯re quiet,¡± Vince observes, watching me from across the car.

    ¡°Processing.¡±

    ¡°He¡¯s manipting you.¡±

    I sigh, stroking Sofiya¡¯s cheek. ¡°Is he? Or is he just a father who thought he was doing the right thing by staying away?¡±

    Vince¡¯s face darkens. ¡°Don¡¯t tell me you believe that story.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t know what to believe anymore.¡± I stare out the window at the passing city. ¡°But I saw it, Vince. I saw myself in him.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re nothing like him.¡±

    ¡°Aren¡¯t I?¡± I turn to face him. ¡°The determination. The protectiveness. The willingness to do whatever it takes to keep my family safe.¡± I reach for his hand. ¡°Those parts of me that you love so much¡ªtheye from somewhere.¡±

    Vince¡¯s fingers intertwine with mine, his grip almost painfully tight. ¡°You got the best parts without the cruelty.¡±

    ¡°Maybe.¡± I lean my head against his shoulder. ¡°Or maybe I just express it differently.¡±

    ¡°What do you mean?¡±

    ¡°Grigor thought distance was protection. You think constant vignce is protection.¡± I look up at him. ¡°Two sides of the same coin, really.¡±

    His brow furrows. ¡°You¡¯reparing me to Grigor Petrov?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m observing simrities in how you both love.¡± I bring his hand to my lips. ¡°And appreciating that you chose a more direct approach.¡±

    ¡°Meaning?¡±

    ¡°Meaning that while Grigor watched from afar, you stepped into the center of my life.¡± I smile against his knuckles. ¡°For better or worse, you chose me up close. Messy. Real. Present.¡±

    The tension in his shoulders eases. ¡°Always.¡±

    As the car speeds toward home, I realize I¡¯m clutching the velvet box with Sofiya¡¯s bracelet. I hadn¡¯t meant to take it, yet here it is, warm in my palm.

    Perhaps some connections can¡¯t be denied, no matter howplicated they might be.

    ¡°What are you thinking?¡± Vince asks, studying my face.

    ¡°That I never expected to find my father.¡± I rest my cheek against Sofiya¡¯s head. ¡°And I certainly never expected him to have been there all along.¡±

    ¡°Do you wish you¡¯d known sooner?¡±

    I consider this for a long moment, watching the city blur outside our windows. ¡°No,¡± I decide finally. ¡°I think everything happened when it needed to happen.¡±

    Vince¡¯s arm is warm andforting around me. ¡°Including us?¡±

    I smile, finding his eyes¡ªblue meeting my green, Akopov meeting Petrov, present meeting past.

    ¡°Yes,¡± I whisper. ¡°Especially us.¡±

 Filthy Lies: Chapter 25

    The knock on the doores when I¡¯m putting Sofiya down for her afternoon nap.

    ¡°Sleep tight, little one,¡± I whisper. ¡°Mama loves you.¡±

    Another knock, more insistent this time.

    I slip out of the nursery and close the door gently behind me. Thepound is crawling with security, so whoever¡¯s knocking has already been cleared.

    Still, I¡¯m surprised to find Anastasia Kusov standing in my foyer when I round the corner.

    She looks¡­ disheveled. Not a word I¡¯d typically associate with the polished Bratva princess who once sneered at me across a Michelin-starred dinner table.

    Her normally perfect blonde hair is pulled back in a messy ponytail. Her eyes are rimmed with red, mascara slightly smudged. She¡¯s wearing jeans¡ªLevi¡¯s, not designer¡ªand a simple white blouse.

    I blink. ¡°¡­ Anastasia?¡±

    ¡°I need to talk to you.¡± Her voice cracks. ¡°I didn¡¯t know where else to go.¡±

    I hesitate. Anastasia and I have an unusual rtionship, to say the least. It¡¯s not exactly tense. But I wouldn¡¯t go so far as calling us friends, either.

    ¡°Come in,¡± I say finally, gesturing toward the living room. ¡°Can I get you something to drink? Coffee? Wine?¡±

    ¡°Wine. Please. A lot of it.¡± She copses onto the sofa, a gesture so uncharacteristically vulnerable that rm bells start ringing in my head.

    ¡°Is everything okay?¡± I ask as I pour her a generous ss of Cabe.

    ¡°No.¡± She epts the wine and immediately chugs a long swallow. ¡°Everything ispletely fucked.¡±

    I raise my eyebrows. I¡¯ve never heard Anastasia swear before. ¡°What happened?¡±

    She stares into her wine ss for a long moment before looking up at me with haunted eyes. ¡°Daniel is Daniil Petrov.¡±

    Oh.

    ¡°I know,¡± I say carefully.

    She justughs bitterly. ¡°You knew? For how long?¡±

    ¡°Vince told me a little while ago.¡± I settle into the armchair across from her. ¡°I assumed you knew, too, considering your rtionship.¡±

    ¡°Well, I didn¡¯t.¡± She takes another sip of wine. ¡°I found outst night. He¡¯s been lying to me for years. Pretending to be this¡­ this normal American surgeon when all along he¡¯s been Grigor Petrov¡¯s son.¡±

    ¡°How did you find out?¡±

    ¡°I overheard him on the phone, speaking Russian.¡± Sheughs like it hurts her to do anything but that. ¡°Fluent, native Russian. About Bratva business.¡±

    I study her carefully. ¡°And now, you¡¯re here because¡­?¡±

    ¡°Because you¡¯re the only person who might understand.¡± Anastasia looks at me directly. ¡°You married a Bratva man knowing exactly what he is.¡± She sets her ss down. ¡°How? How do you reconcile it?¡±

    I suppress augh. Of all the people I expected toe seeking rtionship advice, Anastasia Kusov was at the bottom of the list.

    ¡°It¡¯s not about reconciling,¡± I say after a moment. ¡°It¡¯s about¡­ eptance.¡±

    ¡°eptance of what? That the man I love ispletely full of shit and our entire romance is a lie?¡±

    ¡°That the man you love exists in a world where lying about his identity might be necessary.¡± I lean forward. ¡°Daniel¡ªor Daniil¡ªis a Petrov. You¡¯re from a Bratva family that¡¯s allied with the Akopovs. Those families have been enemies for generations.¡±

    ¡°So he couldn¡¯t trust me with the truth?¡±

    ¡°Could you have trusted him with it when you first met? Really?¡±

    She falls silent, considering.

    ¡°Daniil risked everything to be with you,¡± I continue. ¡°He crossed family lines, betrayed his father¡¯s trust, put himself in constant danger¡ªall for you.¡±

    ¡°He still lied.¡±

    ¡°Yes. He did.¡± I refill her wine ss. ¡°The question is whether that lie negates everything else.¡±

    Anastasia takes another sip of wine, smaller this time. ¡°How do you do it?¡± she asks softly.

    ¡°Honestly?¡± I adjust in my seat. ¡°Some days, I don¡¯t know. There are mornings I wake up wondering if this is really my life¡ªif I¡¯m really raising a baby in apound with armed guards, married to a man who kills people in boardrooms.¡±

    She nods, waiting for me to continue.

    ¡°But then there are moments¡ªVince reading Sofiya a bedtime story, or when he looks at me when he thinks I don¡¯t notice¡ªthat make everything else fade away.¡± I shrug. ¡°I¡¯m not saying it¡¯s easy. It¡¯s not. It¡¯s messy and terrifying and sometimes, I think I must be insane to have chosen this.¡±

    ¡°Then why stay?¡±

    ¡°Because I love him,¡± I say simply. ¡°Even with all the danger and lies andplications, life with Vince is infinitely better than life without him.¡±

    Anastasia keeps staring into her wine as if it¡¯s hiding answers from her. ¡°Daniel¡ªor Daniil, whatever; God, my brain is a mess¡ªwants me to meet his father. Officially. As his fianc¨¦e.¡±

    ¡°Meeting with Grigor,¡± I muse. ¡°I can rte to that particr terror. We sat down yesterday.¡±

    Her eyebrow floats upward. ¡°Oh? What was it like?¡±

    ¡°Surreal.¡± I toy with my fingernails as I think back on yesterday¡¯s meeting. ¡°Like looking into a mirror and seeing parts of yourself you never recognized before.¡±

    ¡°Were you afraid?¡±

    ¡°Yes. But not of him, exactly. More of what he represented¡ªthis whole side of myself I never knew existed.¡±

    Anastasia nods, understanding. ¡°I¡¯m terrified,¡± she admits. ¡°Loving a Petrov changes everything.¡±

    ¡°Love tends to do that.¡± I smile wryly. ¡°It reshapes your entire world, whether you¡¯re ready or not.¡±

    She absorbs that with yet another slow nod, never taking her eyes off her wine. Just twisting the stem in her hands back and forth, back and forth.

    ¡°I thought I was special,¡± she muses quietly. ¡°I thought our situation¡ªmine and Daniel¡¯s¡ªwas uniquelyplicated. But hearing you talk about Vincent¡­¡± She shakes her head. ¡°We¡¯re not so different, are we?¡±

    ¡°No,¡± I agree. ¡°We¡¯re not.¡±

    ¡°I was so angry when I found out,¡± she confesses. ¡°I threw things. I screamed. I told him to get out.¡±

    ¡°Understandable.¡±

    ¡°But the moment he walked out the door, I felt like I couldn¡¯t breathe.¡± Her voice drops to a whisper. ¡°I¡¯ve spent my entire life following rules, meeting expectations. Daniel¡ªDaniil; shit, that¡¯s gonna take some getting used to¡ªis the one thing I¡¯ve ever chosen for myself.¡±

    ¡°Sounds familiar,¡± I say with a small smile.

    She looks up at me. ¡°Did I make a mistakeing here?¡±

    ¡°No,¡± I shake my head. ¡°Strangely enough, I think I might be the only person who could understand.¡±

    ¡°I thought you hated me.¡±

    ¡°I did, at first. When I thought you were going to marry Vince.¡± Iugh softly. ¡°But that feels like a lifetime ago.¡±

    ¡°Before Sofiya.¡±

    ¡°Before a lot of things.¡±

    We sit inpanionable silence for a moment, the tension between us dissolving into something approaching camaraderie. Two women bound not by friendship but by circumstance¡ªby the shared experience of loving men whose worlds should have remained closed to us.

    ¡°She¡¯s beautiful, by the way,¡± Anastasia says. ¡°Your daughter.¡±

    ¡°Thank you.¡± I smile. ¡°She has Vince¡¯s eyes.¡±

    ¡°And your strength, I imagine.¡±

    ¡°God help us all if that¡¯s true.¡±

    Anastasiaughs for real this time¡ªa genuine sound that transforms her face. As she does, I can see what Daniel must see in her. There¡¯s a person beneath the wless makeup. There¡¯s a heart, a real one, a big one.

    ¡°I should go,¡± she says, setting down her wine ss. ¡°Daniel is waiting for my answer about meeting his father.¡±

    ¡°And what will you tell him?¡±

    She stands, smoothing invisible wrinkles from her jeans. ¡°That I need time to think. But¡­¡± She pauses. ¡°I think I already know what I¡¯m going to do.¡±

    ¡°Which is?¡±

    ¡°Love him anyway.¡± She shrugs, a gesture so casual it seems out of ce on her elegant frame. ¡°What other choice is there, really? A life without him would be colorless.¡±

    I walk her to the door. But she lingers there for a moment.

    ¡°Thank you,¡± she says at the threshold. ¡°For not turning me away. For being honest.¡±

    ¡°Anytime.¡± I mean it, to both her surprise and mine.

    ¡°I hope¡ª¡± She hesitates. ¡°I hope we can see more of each other. You and Vincent, me and Daniel. Despite everything.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯d like that.¡±

    After she leaves, I return to the nursery. Sofiya is still sleeping soundly. I stand there watching her, thinking about what just happened.

    She asked if I regretted loving Vincent. In answering her, I¡¯d been more honest than I expected to be. Because there are moments¡ªfleeting, terrible moments¡ªwhen I do question the path I¡¯ve taken.

    What kind of mother raises her child in a world of armed guards and blood feuds?

    What kind of wife stands by a man capable of such violence?

    What kind of woman am I to have chosen this life?

    But then I remember the hospital room where Vince held Sofiya for the first time, his hands trembling, his eyes full of wonder and terror.

    Vince isn¡¯t perfect. Our life together isn¡¯t perfect. But it¡¯s ours. We¡¯ve fought for it, bled for it, nearly died for it.

    It¡¯s ours.

    I lean down and leave a gentle kiss on Sofiya¡¯s forehead.

    ¡°Your daddy will be home soon,¡± I whisper. ¡°And whatever happens, little one, we¡¯ll face it as a family.¡±

    My daughter smiles in her sleep.

 Filthy Lies: Chapter 26

    ¡°For thest time, we are not using white fucking roses.¡± Vince¡¯s voice carries through the entire east wing.

    I roll my eyes at Sofiya, who¡¯s perfectly content on her ymat, cooing at the ceiling mobile. ¡°Your daddy¡¯s a bit of a diva about flowers,¡± I whisper. ¡°Didn¡¯t see that oneing.¡±

    Christening preparations have turned my normally unppable husband into a man obsessed with details. The ceremony is three days away, and Vince has opinions about everything¡ªthe guest list, the security protocols, the refreshments, and apparently, the floral arrangements.

    ¡°Ca lilies,¡± he insists to someone on the phone. ¡°They¡¯re elegant, distinctive, and nobody fucking dies at christenings with ca lilies.¡±

    I scoop up Sofiya and head toward his study. When I peek inside, Vince is pacing, phone to his ear, his free hand gesturing sharply as if the florist can see him.

    ¡°No, not ivory. Pure white. And make sure¡ª¡± He spots me and his expression softens. ¡°Just handle it. I¡¯ll call you back.¡±

    He hangs up and crosses to us, pressing a kiss to Sofiya¡¯s head before dropping one on my lips.

    ¡°Everything okay?¡± I ask.

    ¡°Fucking dandy.¡±

    ¡°The flowers would suggest otherwise.¡±

    He runs a hand through his silver-streaked hair. ¡°Details matter, Rowan. Every aspect of this ceremony sends a message.¡±

    ¡°About how particr we are about lilies?¡±

    ¡°About our ability to maintain standards despite threats.¡± He takes Sofiya from me, bouncing her gently.

    My phone buzzes in my pocket. I pull it out to see a text from an unknown number.

    Need to talk. Urgent information about Andrei. Meeting you would help. ¨C Nat

    My stomach drops.

    ¡°What is it?¡± Vince asks, noticing my expression.

    I hesitate, then show him the text.

    His jaw immediately tightens. ¡°Ignore it.¡±

    ¡°What if it¡¯s important?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s a trap.¡± He hands Sofiya back to me. ¡°Andrei¡¯s using Natalie to get to you.¡±

    ¡°Or she actually has information we need.¡± I scroll through the message again. ¡°You said yourself that Andrei¡¯s been suspiciously quiet.¡±

    ¡°Exactly why we shouldn¡¯t take risks.¡±

    ¡°Vince¡ª¡±

    ¡°No.¡± His voice hardens. ¡°The christening is in three days. The Solovyovs are mobilizing. We¡¯ve just established fragile peace with your father. This is not the time.¡±

    I bounce Sofiya gently as she starts to fuss. ¡°She tried to help me when I was kidnapped.¡±

    Vince¡¯s hands clench at his sides. ¡°This is different.¡±

    ¡°How?¡±

    ¡°Because now, there¡¯s an explicit connection to my father mentioned.¡± He steps closer, his eyes boring into mine. ¡°This has his fingerprints all over it.¡±

    I¡¯m about to reply when Arkady appears in the doorway. ¡°Sorry to interrupt,¡± he says. ¡°But we have issues with the guest list. Two of the family heads are requesting additional security clearances.¡±

    Vince sighs. ¡°I¡¯ll handle it.¡±

    He gives me a look that says our conversation isn¡¯t over, then follows Arkady out.

    I stare at my phone again, Natalie¡¯s message glowing on the screen.

    She betrayed me for years.

    She also might have information that could protect my family.

    I text back: What kind of information?

    The replyes almost instantly: He¡¯s working with Barkov. nning something for the christening. I can prove it, but only in person. Please.

    My blood runs cold. Barkov has been a thorn in our side. If he¡¯s working with Andrei¡­

    I make a decision, knowing Vince won¡¯t like it.

    Fine. Tomorrow. Text me when and where.<hr>

    ¡°I still think this is a terrible idea.¡± Dimitri adjusts his earpiece as he drives, his eyes constantly checking the mirrors.

    ¡°It¡¯s gonna be fine, Dima.¡± I smooth my hand over Sofiya¡¯s carrier, though she¡¯s not with us. I left her with Mrs. Christianson, one of our most trusted household staff. Being separated from her makes my skin crawl, but bringing her to meet Natalie would be an even worse risk.

    ¡°The boss is going to kill me,¡± Dimitri mutters. ¡°Then probably resurrect me just so he can kill me again.¡±

    ¡°Vince will understand.¡±

    ¡°Will he?¡±

    Fair question. I¡¯m not so sure, honestly.

    When I left thepound, I told Vince I was visiting my mother¡ªwhich wasn¡¯t entirely a lie. I did stop by her room, kiss her forehead, and whisper that I¡¯d be back soon. She was sleeping, as she does most of the time now, her body surrendering to the cancer that¡¯s consuming it.

    But afterward, instead of returning to the nursery, I met Dimitri at the service entrance. He¡¯s one of the few guards I trustpletely¡ªa man who has put himself between me and danger more than once.

    The fact that he agreed to drive me, even while protesting, tells me he sees some merit in what I¡¯m doing.

    The caf¨¦ Natalie selected is in Tribeca¡ªsmall, nondescript, with multiple exits. Not the choice of an amateur. Dimitri parks across the street, scanning the area through prized windows.

    ¡°Two guys on the corner,¡± he notes. ¡°Another watching from that bakery. They¡¯re hers?¡±

    I check the positions of the men Natalie described in her text. ¡°Yes. Security she hired.¡±

    ¡°Amateurs.¡± Dimitri scoffs. ¡°I made the one with the donut immediately.¡±

    ¡°Not everyone has your level of talent, Dima.¡±

    ¡°Clearly.¡± He turns to face me. ¡°I go in first. Check every inch. You wait here until I signal.¡±

    ¡°Fine.¡±

    Dimitri enters the caf¨¦, moving with the casual confidence of someone who can kill in seventeen different ways without taking his eyes off his cappino. Three minutester, he signals through the window¡ªall clear.

    I enter and pause one step inside to let my eyes adjust to the dimness. The caf¨¦ is nearly empty. She sits at a corner table, her back to the wall, watching the door.

    She looks different than at the hospital¡ªmore put together, but still not the polished girl I remember from college. Her hair is tucked under a baseball cap, her makeup minimal.

    ¡°Row.¡± She stands when she sees me.

    ¡°Security sweep¡¯s already done, so save the pleasantries.¡± I slide into the chair opposite her. ¡°You said you have information.¡±

    Natalie nods, ncing at Dimitri, who hovers nearby. ¡°Your guard dog stays?¡±

    ¡°My guard dog¡¯s name is Dimitri, and yes, he stays.¡±

    She epts this with a small nod. ¡°I¡¯ve been working for Vincent, you know.¡±

    This takes me back. ¡°What?¡±

    ¡°After you disappeared¡ªafter the kidnapping¡ªI went a little crazy.¡± She fiddles with her coffee cup. ¡°I thought you were dead, and I couldn¡¯t live with myself. So I went to Arkady. Told him I¡¯d do anything, absolutely anything, to help find you.¡±

    ¡°I didn¡¯t know that.¡±

    ¡°Why would you? After what I did¡­¡± She trails off. ¡°Anyway, once they found you, I just kept working. Watching. Listening. Trying to make up for years of being on the wrong side.¡±

    ¡°And Vince agreed to this?¡±

    ¡°He didn¡¯t object.¡± She takes a deep breath. ¡°That¡¯s how I learned about Barkov. And Andrei.¡±

    ¡°What about them?¡±

    ¡°They¡¯re nning to disrupt the christening,¡± Natalie exins. ¡°Not an attack, exactly. More like¡­ a statement.¡±

    ¡°What kind of statement?¡±

    ¡°The kind that proves Vince can¡¯t protect his family.¡± She fiddles with her bracelets anxiously. ¡°Andrei wants to humiliate him. Show everyone that Vincent is weak.¡±

    My stomach tightens. ¡°Why would Barkov work with Andrei? After what Vince did to him?¡ª¡±

    ¡°Money.¡± Natalie shrugs. ¡°And revenge. Barkov wants payback. Andrei wants to undermine Vince¡¯s authority. It¡¯s a marriage of convenience.¡±

    ¡°How did you get this information?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ve gotten¡­ close to someone in Barkov¡¯s organization.¡± She looks away. ¡°Don¡¯t ask for details.¡±

    I wouldn¡¯t be surprised if Natalie¡¯s closeness involved a bedroom. She¡¯s always been resourceful, and she¡¯s never shied away from using her looks when necessary.

    ¡°Why tell me? Why not go directly to Vince?¡±

    ¡°Would he have believed me?¡± She meets my eyes. ¡°Would he have even agreed to see me?¡±

    She¡¯s right. Vince would have dismissed the information outright if it came directly from her.

    ¡°Besides,¡± she continues, ¡°I wanted¡­¡± She swallows hard. ¡°I wanted a chance to talk to you. Without your mom dying in the next room.¡±

    ¡°About what?¡±

    ¡°About how sorry I am.¡± Her voice cracks. ¡°I know it doesn¡¯t change anything. I know what I did is unforgivable. But I need you to know that the friendship we had¡ªit became real for me. Somewhere along the way, I forgot I was being paid.¡±

    The set of my jaw hardens. ¡°Not enough to stop taking the money, though.¡±

    She winces. ¡°I was trapped by then. They had years of evidence against me. If it had gotten out what I¡¯d done¡­¡±

    ¡°So instead, you betrayed me.¡±

    ¡°Yes.¡± She doesn¡¯t try to soften it. ¡°And I will regret it every day for the rest of my life.¡±

    I stare at her, searching for the friend I thought I knew. The girl who held my hair back when I drank too much. The woman who brought me coffee during all-nighters. The friend who checked in on my mother when I couldn¡¯t.

    Was any of it real?

    ¡°I believed in us, you know,¡± I say softly. ¡°When everyone else in my life was temporary¡ªboyfriends, roommates¡ªyou were my constant. I thought we¡¯d be friends forever.¡±

    ¡°So did I.¡± Tears glimmer in her eyes. ¡°That¡¯s what kills me, Row. Somewhere along the way, it stopped being an assignment. You became my person. And by the time I realized that, I was in too deep to get out.¡±

    ¡°You could have told me the truth.¡±

    ¡°Would you have forgiven me?¡±

    I consider this. ¡°I don¡¯t know.¡±

    Dimitri shifts nearby, a subtle reminder that time is passing. If I stay away too long, Vince will get suspicious.

    ¡°The information about Barkov,¡± I say, redirecting. ¡°What exactly are they nning?¡±

    Natalie pulls out a thumb drive and slides it across the table. ¡°Everything I know is on here. But the short version is that they¡¯re nning to have agents at the christening¡ªposing as waitstaff, security, other guests. They¡¯ll create some kind ofmotion. Nothing violent, but enough to show the world that even at his daughter¡¯s christening, Vincent Akopov can¡¯t maintain control.¡±

    I pocket the drive. ¡°If this checks out, it¡¯s valuable,¡± I admit.

    ¡°I know.¡±

    ¡°It doesn¡¯t erase what you did, though.¡±

    ¡°I know that, too.¡±

    I study her face, searching for deception. All I see is remorse and a desperate hope that appears genuine.

    ¡°I need to ask you something,¡± I say finally. ¡°When you heard I was kidnapped¡ªwhen you thought I might be dead¡ªwas your reaction real?¡±

    ¡°God, yes.¡± Her voice breaks. ¡°Row, I was hysterical. Ask Arkady. Ask any of them. I threatened to go to the FBI, to the press¡ªanything to find you. I didn¡¯t sleep for days.¡±

    I believe her. Which makes everything moreplicated.

    Because it means Natalie isn¡¯t simply a viin in my story. She¡¯s a person who made terrible choices, but still cared. Who betrayed me, but tried to help when it mattered most.

    Can I forgive her? No. Not yet.

    Can I cut her outpletely? Also no.

    ¡°I need to get back,¡± I say, standing. ¡°Vince will be looking for me.¡±

    ¡°Of course.¡± Natalie stands, too. ¡°Rowan, I know I don¡¯t deserve it, but I have to ask¡­ can you ever forgive me?¡±

    I pause and consider it. ¡°I don¡¯t know,¡± I answer honestly. ¡°What you did¡­ it changed everything. You knew about my feelings for Vince, about my job, about my mom¡¯s illness¡ªand you reported it all back to them.¡±

    ¡°I did.¡±

    ¡°But you also tried to help me when I needed it most.¡± I take a deep breath. ¡°So maybe, someday, we find a way forward. Not as the friends we were¡ªthat¡¯s gone. But something new. Something built on honesty this time.¡±

    Hope flickers in her eyes. ¡°I¡¯d like that.¡±

    ¡°It starts with this information being legitimate.¡± I tap my pocket where the thumb drive sits. ¡°If you¡¯re manipting me again?¡ª¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m not. I swear on my life.¡±

    I nod once. ¡°Then we¡¯ll see.¡±

    It¡¯s not forgiveness. It¡¯s barely even trust.

    But it¡¯s another step forward.

    ¡°Take care of yourself, Nat,¡± I say, turning to leave.

    ¡°You, too.¡± Her voice is soft behind me. ¡°And Rowan? He really does love you, you know. Vince, I mean. I¡¯ve seen it firsthand. Whatever else happens, that part is real.¡±

 Filthy Lies: Chapter 27

    The morning of Sofiya¡¯s christening feels surreal. One of those dreams where everything is normal but slightly off-kilter at the same time.

    I stand before the mirror in our bedroom as I pluck and primp at the ivory dress I finally settled on. It¡¯s modest enough for church but still elegant.

    My eyes are another story. They look tired, probably because that¡¯s exactly what I am.

    I barely sleptst night. Nerves and anticipation kept me tossing until Vince finally growled, pulled me against his chest, and ordered me to rest.

    He¡¯s never been one to take his own advice, though. He¡¯d been up at dawn, checking security protocols, confirming routes, doing whatever it is Bratva husbands do before their daughter¡¯s christening.

    ¡°You look beautiful.¡±

    I turn to find Vince in the doorway. He¡¯s dressed in a tailored charcoal suit that makes his blue eyes impossibly bright. He¡¯s freshly shaved, though he¡¯s kept the beard I¡¯ve grown to love, just trimmed it to perfection.

    ¡°Thanks.¡± I drop the second pearl earring back onto the vanity. ¡°I¡¯m a little nervous.¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t be.¡± Hees to me and picks up where I left off with the earring fastening. ¡°Everything¡¯s under control.¡±

    ¡°Is it?¡± I gesture vaguely toward the window, where an extra squadron of armed men patrol our property. ¡°Because this doesn¡¯t exactly feel like a normal christening day.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s not.¡± His face remains unreadable. ¡°But Sofiya will be protected, no matter what.¡±

    I sigh. ¡°I know. I just¡­ Sometimes, I just wish we could do normal things.¡±

    Instead of responding, Vince reaches into his pocket and pulls out a velvet box. ¡°I have something for you.¡±

    My eyebrows rise in surprise. ¡°A gift? Now?¡±

    ¡°It seemed appropriate.¡± He holds the box out to me.

    I take it, feeling its weight in my palm. When I open it, my breath catches.

    It¡¯s a ne unlike anything I¡¯ve ever seen. A delicate tinum chain suspends a pendant shaped like a double-pronged trident¡ªthe Akopov family crest¡ªencrusted with tiny diamonds. At its center sits a brilliant sapphire, the exact shade of Vince¡¯s eyes, surrounded by smaller emeralds that match the color of mine.

    ¡°Vince, it¡¯s stunning.¡±

    He moves behind me and drapes it into ce around my neck. His fingers brush against my skin, sending goosebumps down my arms.

    ¡°I had it made especially for you.¡±

    The pendant rests against my corbone, catching the light. A dozen little sunbeams go arcing out in every direction.

    ¡°I don¡¯t know what to say,¡± I mumble, cheeks hot.

    ¡°Say you¡¯ll wear it today.¡± His hands rest on my shoulders. ¡°And every day after.¡±

    Something in his tone makes me turn to face him. ¡°Every day? It¡¯s a bit formal for diaper changes and midnight feedings, don¡¯t you think?¡±

    A small smile ys at his lips, but doesn¡¯t reach his eyes. ¡°Humor me.¡±

    I study his face, seeing the tension he¡¯s trying to hide. ¡°What aren¡¯t you telling me?¡±

    Vince¡¯s jaw twitches. ¡°The ne contains a tracking device.¡±

    ¡°Excuse me?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s state-of-the-art. Undetectable by standard security measures. Military-grade GPS.¡±

    I touch the pendant, suddenly seeing it differently. ¡°So it¡¯s not really a family heirloom? It¡¯s a monitoring device disguised as a gift?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s both.¡± His hands find mine. ¡°I simply had it modified.¡±

    ¡°Jesus, Vince.¡± I pull away, pacing across the room. ¡°You couldn¡¯t just give me a normal present? Would that really have been so hard?¡±

    ¡°Yes.¡± His voice is unapologetic. ¡°Because I will use every tool, every resource, every possible advantage to keep you and Sofiya safe.¡±

    ¡°You give ¡®paranoid¡¯ a whole new meaning.¡±

    He follows me and pins me against a wall. I huff in irritation, but he doesn¡¯t budge. ¡°Rowan, listen to me. After what happened¡ªafter finding your blood on our floor, after nearly losing you both?¡ª¡±

    My anger detes. I¡¯ve seen Vince terrifying. I¡¯ve seen himmanding. I¡¯ve seen him tender.

    But I¡¯ve rarely seen him afraid.

    ¡°Vince.¡± I cup his cheek. ¡°We¡¯re not going anywhere.¡±

    ¡°You can¡¯t promise that.¡±

    ¡°No.¡± My thumb traces his jawline. ¡°But I can promise to fight like hell to stay with you. And that¡¯s just as good.¡±

    His eyes hold mine, ocean-deep blue filled with everything he struggles to say.

    ¡°I¡¯m scared, too, you know,¡± I admit softly. ¡°Every day. For you, for our girl, for myself even. But I can¡¯t live in that fear.¡± I touch my forehead to his. ¡°We can¡¯t. Or what¡¯s the point of any of this?¡±

    His hands slide to my waist, steadying us both. ¡°The point is standing right here.¡±

    ¡°Then let¡¯s focus on that today.¡± I pull back to meet his eyes. ¡°Not on threats or dangers or what-ifs. Just on our daughter, and this moment, and how far we¡¯vee.¡±

    Something in him softens, just slightly. ¡°I¡¯ll try.¡±

    I reach up to tap the ne with a fingertip. ¡°I¡¯ll wear it. Not because I need to be tracked, but because it means something to you.¡±

    With a relieved grin, he bends down to kiss me¡ªa gentle press of lips that carries all hisplicated gratitude.

    ¡°I know I¡¯m not easy to love,¡± he murmurs against my mouth.

    ¡°No.¡± I smile. ¡°You¡¯re not. But you¡¯re worth it.¡±

    I kiss him again, deeper this time, letting all the morning¡¯s tension dissolve into something warmer, more urgent. His hands tighten on my waist as mine slide beneath his jacket to feel the solid strength of him beneath.

    ¡°Mrs. Akopov,¡± he growls, ¡°we have a christening to attend.¡±

    ¡°We have time,¡± I counter, fingers working at his tie.

    ¡°Do we?¡±

    ¡°For this? Always.¡±

    His mouth finds the pulse point below my ear, sending fire racing through my veins. I realize we¡¯re both seeking the same reassurance.

    We¡¯ve said it with words.

    But there are other ways to get a point across.

    I drop to my knees without warning, letting my ivory dress pool around me like spilled milk. The plush carpet cushions my descent as I work his belt loose with determined fingers.

    His eyes darken, pupils expanding until there¡¯s no blue left at all. ¡°Rowan.¡± My name is a warning on his lips. ¡°We don¡¯t have time?¡ª¡±

    ¡°Shut up,¡± Imand, shocking us both. ¡°For once, you¡¯re not in charge.¡±

    His cock springs free, already hard and heavy in my palm. I look up at him through myshes, maintaining eye contact as I take him into my mouth without preamble.

    The sharp intake of his breath is all the encouragement I need.

    I¡¯ve learned what he likes. How to use my tongue against the sensitive underside. How to hollow my cheeks and apply just the right pressure. How to take him deep until tears spring to my eyes and my throat constricts around him.

    His hands find my hair, careful not to disturb my styled curls but desperate for something to anchor him.

    I feel powerful here, on my knees before the most dangerous man I know. His body trembles, but he lets me do as I please.

    The only time Vincent Akopov ever truly surrenders control.

    I pull back and swirl my tongue around the tip. ¡°You¡¯re always protecting everyone,¡± I whisper against his heated flesh. ¡°Always nning. Always three steps ahead.¡± I take him deeper, feeling him hit the back of my throat. ¡°Let go. Just for a minute.¡±

    A groan tears from his chest as his fingers tighten in my hair. I taste the salt of him, feel the throb of his pulse against my tongue. His vulnerability is intoxicating.

    I work him relentlessly, using every trick I¡¯ve learned to drive him to the edge. His thighs shake beneath my hands, and I know he¡¯s close.

    ¡°Rowan,¡± he gasps. ¡°I¡¯m going to?¡ª¡±

    I dig my nails into his thighs and take him impossibly deeper, giving him permission without words. Hees with a strangled sound, his body rigid as he empties down my throat.

    I swallow every drop.

    When I finally release him, his chest is heaving, his face flushed with rare color. I rise gracefully, smoothing down my dress as if I¡¯ve merely been adjusting the hem.

    ¡°Better?¡± I ask, reaching up to straighten his tie.

    He catches my wrist, bringing my hand to his mouth and pressing a kiss to my palm with such reverence it makes my heart stutter.

    ¡°What did I do to deserve you?¡± he murmurs.

    ¡°Nothing good,¡± I reply with a wicked smile. ¡°But maybe that¡¯s the point.¡±

    Heughs as thest of the tension finally leaves his shoulders. ¡°We¡¯re going to bete.¡±

    ¡°Worth it.¡± I check my lipstick in the mirror, reapplying where needed. ¡°Besides, they can¡¯t start without us.¡±

    As I turn to leave, his hand catches mine, squeezing once. No other words are needed. Just that.

    A sharp knock interrupts the sweet moment. Arkady¡¯s voicees through the door, strained and urgent. ¡°Vin, we have a situation. Solovyov men have been spotted near the church. And Agent Carver¡¯s vehicle was identified two blocks away.¡±

    The calm aftermath shatters instantly. Vince¡¯s face hardens back into the mask I know too well.

    ¡°We¡¯ll be right out,¡± he calls. He turns to look at me. ¡°It was nice while itsted.¡±

    ¡°They came to a christening?¡± I ask, incredulous.

    ¡°So much for ¡®some lines can¡¯t be crossed,¡¯¡± he mutters in disgust.

    ¡°Do we cancel?¡±

    ¡°No.¡± Vince¡¯s voice goes hard. ¡°We proceed exactly as nned. If we cancel, they win. Unless¡­¡± He looks at me and frowns.

    I want to cancel. Hell, I want to wrap up in his arms and his scent and stay here forever. So long as I have him and my baby, we¡¯re all okay.

    But I can¡¯t do that. And keeping those things requires action.

    So there will be no hiding for us today. No letting office doors close in our face, metaphorically speaking.

    ¡°No,¡± I say. ¡°Fuck them. We go out with our chins high.¡±

    Vince¡¯s smile is delicious. ¡°That¡¯s my girl.¡±

    I cross to Sofiya¡¯s crib where she¡¯s been snoozing in her christening gown, unaware of the storm brewing around her. As I lift her into my arms, she blinks awake, those blue eyes¡ªVince¡¯s eyes¡ªfocusing on me with perfect trust.

    ¡°Ready for your big day, little one?¡± I whisper, kissing her forehead.

    She yawns and snuggles against me, the warmth of her tiny body grounding me in what really matters.

    Vince appears beside us, one hand on Sofiya¡¯s head, the other at the small of my back. ¡°Let¡¯s go introduce our daughter to God,¡± he says. ¡°And remind everyone else who her father is.¡±

 Filthy Lies: Chapter 28

    I¡¯ve never seen so many guards disguised as guests in my life.

    One of the ¡°ushers¡± hands me a program with a smile that doesn¡¯t quite reach his vignt eyes. The tattoos on his hands are a little bit of a giveaway, too.

    ¡°Rx,¡± Vince murmurs against my ear. ¡°You¡¯re too tense.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s riching from you.¡± I hoist Sofiya in my arms. She looks like a tiny angel in her christening gown, a handkerchief-sized thing of whitece and satin ribbons.

    I feel the weight of the ne Vince gave me pressing against my corbone. The sapphire glints in the church light.

    Protection disguised as devotion. That¡¯s Vince¡¯s specialty.

    ¡°Everything is under control,¡± he assures me, one hand at the small of my back as he guides us down the aisle.

    The church is beautiful. Bare stone ceilings soar and terminate in glowing stained ss windows. Flowers line the altar¡ªca lilies, of course. Pure white, just as Vince demanded.

    Despite the sacred space, I can¡¯t help noticing how the guests have arranged themselves. Like mas of the same pole, they repel each other into natural groupings.

    Grigor Petrov sits with his men on the left side, three rows back. My biological father looks refined in a tan suit, his silver hairbed back from his forehead. When he catches my eye, he offers a slight nod. I return it automatically.

    Across the aisle, Andrei watches this exchange with hawkish intensity. Vince¡¯s father may be under house arrest, but he¡¯s been granted permission to attend his granddaughter¡¯s christening.

    It¡¯s a show of Vince¡¯s mercy, theoretically. I tend to think my husband just wants to keep his eyes on the man.

    ¡°Your father and mine look ready to tear each other apart,¡± I whisper to Vince.

    ¡°Let them try.¡± His hand presses more firmly against my back. ¡°Arkady has men positioned to intervene.¡±

    ¡°Gee, that¡¯sforting.¡±

    Near the front, I spot Anastasia and Daniel¡ªor Daniil, I should say. They sit with careful space between them, though I notice their hands linked discreetly beneath a program. Their secret remains mostly intact, despite Anastasia now knowing the truth.

    ¡°They¡¯re brave,¡± I note, nodding toward them.

    Vince follows my gaze. ¡°They¡¯re reckless. But I respect it.¡±

    As we approach the altar, a gentle hush falls over the congregation. The priest waits with a benevolent smile, prayer book in hand. He has no idea that half the men in his church are armed and dangerous.

    I wonder what God makes of all this. A sacred ceremony surrounded by sinners and killers. Hopefully, He has a sense of humor.

    ¡°The godparents?¡± the priest asks.

    Arkady steps forward. ¡°Just one, singr. I¡¯m doing this mission solo. Until some luckydy catches my eye, that is.¡±

    I groan andugh at the same time. Vince just shakes his head and sighs at his best friend¡¯s antics.

    ¡°Er, right. Yes. Well¡­¡± The priest squirms awkwardly for a moment before regathering his mojo. ¡°We are gathered today to wee this child into God¡¯s family,¡± he begins.

    Sofiya wriggles in my arms and tries to tug at the ne around my neck. I kiss her soft knuckles until she gives up the fight.

    The ceremony continues with ancient words and rituals. Oil on Sofiya¡¯s forehead. Water blessed and waiting. Solemn oaths spoken aloud.

    ¡°Do you reject Satan and all his empty promises?¡± the priest asks at one point.

    I look down at my daughter¡¯s innocent face, then around at the dangerous men watching from every corner of the church. How do I answer that? Our entire life is built on filthy promises made in shadow.

    ¡°I do,¡± I respond.

    When it¡¯s time to present Sofiya for her baptism, Vince and I step forward together. As the priest takes our daughter from my arms, something opens inside me. A sudden, crystal rity washing over me like the holy water about to touch Sofiya¡¯s head.

    This child¡ªconceived in passion, carried in fear, born in captivity¡ªrepresents something none of us expected.

    Hope.

    Pure, unblemished hope in the midst of all our darkness.

    Vince and I have both done terrible things. We¡¯ve lied and betrayed and hurt. We¡¯ve made choices that would horrify most normal people.

    And yet, here she is. Perfect. Untouched by our sins.

    As water cascades over Sofiya¡¯s dark curls, she lets out a startled cry that echoes through the church. Then, to my surprise, she settles immediately, blinking up at the priest with curious blue eyes.

    ¡°I baptize you in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit,¡± the priest intones.

    Tears spring to my eyes unexpectedly. This moment feels sacred in a way I didn¡¯t anticipate. Not because of the ceremony itself, but because of what it represents. A beginning. A chance for something pure to grow from ourplicated soil.

    I nce at Vince and find him watching our daughter with naked adoration. Just a father in love with his child. For as long as that momentsts, he¡¯s almost as pure as her.

    When the priest hands Sofiya back to me, I clutch her close, inhaling her sweet baby scent.

    ¡°She is now sealed with the Holy Spirit,¡± the priest announces, making the sign of the cross over Sofiya¡¯s head.

    As if on cue, Sofiya yawns dramatically, drawing softughter from the congregation. Even Grigor¡¯s stern face cracks into a smile.

    For one perfect, suspended heartbeat, everything feels right. The warring factions, the dangerous men, theplicated history¡ªall of it fades into the background. There is only this: my daughter¡¯s warm weight in my arms, my husband¡¯s steady presence beside me, and the wild, fierce love that binds us together.

    I meet Vince¡¯s eyes and find my own joy reflected there.

    ¡°We did it,¡± I whisper.

    He nods, pressing a kiss to my temple. ¡°We did.¡±

    As we turn to face the congregation, I search for my mother among the faces. Though she¡¯s too weak to attend, I know she¡¯s with us in spirit. I silently promise to tell her everything about this day. She¡¯d love the lilies, I think.

    Grigor catches my eye again. He almost looks wistful. I wonder if he¡¯s thinking of my own birth, of the daughter he never knew.

    On the other side, Andrei sits rigid and unreadable. His eyes flit from Grigor to Vince to Sofiya. Impossible to say what he¡¯s thinking.

    The tension between them vibrates across the space like a plucked guitar string. Two patriarchs, two empires, separated by blood and decades of hatred, momentarily united by this tiny, squawking bundle in my arms.

    The priest raises his hands in blessing. ¡°Go in peace to love and serve the Lord.¡±

    ¡°Thanks be to God,¡± the congregation responds.

    As if peace were that simple. As if any of us could just walk away from the tangled web we¡¯ve woven.

    We move down the aisle, me carrying Sofiya, Vince¡¯s hand at my waist. Guests rise as we pass, offering congrattions and blessings.

    Arkady appears at Vince¡¯s shoulder, whispering something I can¡¯t hear. Vince¡¯s posture stiffens slightly, but his face reveals nothing.

    ¡°What¡¯s wrong?¡± I ask under my breath.

    ¡°Nothing,¡± he replies, too quickly. ¡°Arkady¡¯s just being thorough.¡±

    I know a lie when I hear one, but now isn¡¯t the time to press. We continue toward the church doors, where sunlight streams in, bright and promising.

    We¡¯re halfway down the aisle when the first shot rings out.

    The sound is unmistakable¡ªa sharp crack that echoes through the holy space like a thunderp.

    Then another.

    And another.

    Vince¡¯s body shields mine instantly, pushing me down between the pews. Sofiya wails in my arms. She¡¯s so new to this, but even she knows enough to be afraid.

    ¡°Stay down!¡± Vince orders, his gun already drawn.

    The church erupts into controlled chaos. Guards materialize from every corner, weapons appearing from beneath jackets and hymnal shelves.

    Grigor¡¯s men form a protective circle around him. Andrei¡¯s do the same. Daniil pulls Anastasia to the floor, covering her body with his.

    More gunfire outside. Closer now.

    ¡°The baby?¡± Vince asks, his eyes wild with fear I¡¯ve rarely seen.

    ¡°She¡¯s okay.¡± I clutch Sofiya tighter. ¡°What¡¯s happening?¡±

    ¡°Solovyovs,¡± he spits.

    Arkady appears beside us, crouched low. ¡°We need to move. Now. There¡¯s a secure room beneath the vestry.¡±

    I press my cheek against Sofiya¡¯s head, feeling her tiny heart racing against mine. The ne Vince gave me suddenly feels heavier. The peace I felt just moments ago has shatteredpletely, reced by the all-too-familiar surge of adrenaline and fear.

    ¡°I¡¯ve got you,¡± I whisper to Sofiya as Vince and Arkady create a human shield around us. ¡°Mama¡¯s got you.¡±

    As we hurry toward safety, I can¡¯t help thinking how quickly we¡¯ve returned to what I¡¯m trying so hard to run from.

    Wee to the world, Sofiya Akopov.

    Where even baptismes with bullets.

 Filthy Lies: Chapter 29

    My training kicks in before conscious thought does.

    ¡°Move! Now!¡±

    I herd Rowan and Sofiya toward the vestry, where we nned the secure room just in case this exact thing happened. Arkady nks their other side while my security team takes positions at the doors.

    Sofiya wails against Rowan¡¯s chest. The sound is a fucking scalpel to the soul.

    ¡°Stay with them,¡± I order Arkady. ¡°I need to coordinate the response.¡±

    Rowan grabs my arm. ¡°Vince?¡ª¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll be right back. I promise.¡± I meet her eyes. ¡°Keep our daughter safe.¡±

    She nods, clutching Sofiya tighter. I watch them disappear into the vestry with Arkady before pulling my gun and moving toward the main entrance.

    Dimitri¡¯s voice crackles through my earpiece. ¡°Perimeter secured, boss. We intercepted them at the gates. Six hostiles down. Three captured.¡±

    ¡°Casualties on our side?¡±

    ¡°Two injured. Nothing fatal.¡±

    ¡°Hold positions. I¡¯ming out.¡±

    The scene outside is barely-tethered chaos. My men have established a defensive perimeter around the church. Two ck SUVs with shattered windshields are stopped at awkward angles near the entrance. Bodies lie motionless on the pavement.

    Dimitri approaches, blood sttered across his white dress shirt. ¡°We got them before they reached the door.¡±

    ¡°The guests?¡±

    ¡°Secure inside. No civilians harmed.¡±

    I scan the scene, counting bodies, assessing the damage. Something doesn¡¯t add up.

    ¡°This was sloppy,¡± I say. ¡°The Solovyovs are better than this.¡±

    ¡°Maybe they got desperate.¡±

    ¡°Or maybe they wanted to be caught.¡± I approach one of the captured men. He¡¯s zip-tied to a fence post, blood trickling from a head wound.

    I recognize him. Marat Solovyov. Not a foot soldier, but a lieutenant. A made man. Someone who shouldn¡¯t be on a suicide mission.

    ¡°Fancy seeing you here, Marat,¡± I say, crouching to his level. ¡°Came to celebrate my daughter¡¯s christening?¡±

    He spits blood onto the pavement. ¡°Fuck you, Akopov.¡±

    ¡°You know, I expected better from the Solovyovs. This attack was amateur. Predictable.¡± I press the barrel of my gun under his chin. ¡°Almost like you wanted to fail.¡±

    Fear mes in his eyes.

    ¡°Who sent you?¡± I demand.

    ¡°You know who.¡±

    ¡°I want to hear you say it.¡±

    He grins through bloody teeth. ¡°Your time is over, Akopov. The old alliances are shifting.¡±

    Movement in my peripheral vision catches my attention. I turn slightly to see my father emerging from the church, nked by his guards. He surveys the scene with no reaction whatsoever.

    Our eyes meet briefly before he turns away. Something about his posture, his timing, raises the hairs on the back of my neck.

    When I nce back at Marat, I see that he¡¯s looking in the exact same direction I just was.

    Something about that doesn¡¯t sit right, either.

    I stay frozen in ce, watching as my father adjusts his suit and walks away as if nothing happened. He returns to his guards, who escort him back toward the church.

    Arkady appears beside me, silent as a ghost. ¡°Rowan and Sofiya are secure.¡±

    ¡°Good.¡± I¡¯m still frowning, though. ¡°Arkady¡­ tell me you saw that.¡±

    ¡°I did.¡± He follows my gaze to Andrei¡¯s retreating form. ¡°Looks like our suspicions were right.¡±

    ¡°He¡¯s working with them.¡± I have to practically spit the words just to rid myself of them. ¡°My own father orchestrated an attack on his granddaughter¡¯s christening.¡±

    Arkady says nothing. Nothing he could say would help.

    ¡°Get Marat to the warehouse. I want to know everything.¡± I holster my weapon. ¡°And make sure my father doesn¡¯t leave. Not yet.¡±

    ¡°What about the ceremony?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s over.¡± I turn back toward the church. ¡°Get everyone out safely. The reception is cancelled.¡±

    ¡°And Rowan?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m going to her now.¡±<hr>

    The secure room beneath the vestry is small but well-equipped. When I enter, Rowan sits on a bench against the wall, Sofiya against her chest. Our daughter has stopped crying, her tiny face pressed into her mother¡¯s neck.

    Rowan looks up to see me. ¡°You¡¯re okay.¡±

    ¡°We all are.¡± I sit beside them and cup Sofiya¡¯s head. Her warmth grounds me, pulls me back from the murderous thoughts swirling in my head. ¡°The threat is contained. We can leave soon.¡±

    ¡°What happened out there?¡±

    I consider telling her the truth immediately but decide against it. Not here. Not with Sofiya finally calm and the danger barely passed.

    ¡°Solovyov¡¯s men. A sloppy attack that failed.¡±

    Rowan studies my face. ¡°There¡¯s more.¡±

    ¡°Yes.¡± I meet her gaze directly. ¡°But it can wait until we¡¯re home.¡±

    She nods, understanding the unspoken.

    I help her up and, arms linked, we reemerge back into the daylight. As I¡¯m loading Sofi and Rowan into the car, though, I see my father once more.

    He doesn¡¯t look back at me. He¡¯s nked by his guards, his back straight and proud. Not the posture of a guilty man.

    But I know what I saw.

    I know what it means.

    I know what muste next.

 Filthy Lies: Chapter 30

    I¡¯m sitting cross-legged on our bed, watching Vince wear a path in the carpet. Sofiya is finally asleep in her nursery after the chaos of the day. I wish I could join her. My body is tired, but my mind is wide awake. The fear that has be our normal shows no signs of letting go of me anytime soon.

    ¡°We need to end this shit,¡± mutters Vince.

    ¡°And how exactly do you propose we do that?¡± I ask.

    Vince stops pacing long enough to re at me. ¡°We eliminate the threat.¡±

    ¡°Which threat? Your father? Mine? The Solovyovs? The FBI? The list keeps growing, Vince. Honestly, I¡¯m losing track.¡±

    He runs his hands through his silver-streaked hair, leaving it standing in disarray. ¡°My father first. He¡¯s working with the Solovyovs. He orchestrated an attack at our daughter¡¯s christening.¡±

    ¡°You don¡¯t know that for sure.¡±

    ¡°I know what I saw.¡± His voice rises, then he catches himself, ncing toward the door. Toward Sofiya¡¯s room. ¡°He wasmunicating with them. Right there in the fucking church.¡±

    I take a deep breath. ¡°Let¡¯s say you¡¯re right. What happens after you ¡®eliminate¡¯ your father? Another enemy will just take his ce. And another after that.¡±

    ¡°So we do nothing?¡± Vince throws his hands up. ¡°We just wait for the next attack?¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s not what I¡¯m saying.¡±

    ¡°Then what are you saying, Rowan? Because I¡¯m running out of patience.¡±

    I stand up, facing him directly. ¡°I¡¯m saying we have more than two options. This isn¡¯t just about choosing between killing your father or continuing this endless war.¡±

    ¡°Enlighten me.¡± His tone drips with sarcasm, but I can see the desperation hiding beneath it.

    ¡°We build our own power base,¡± I state firmly. ¡°Not aligned with your father. Not aligned with mine. Something entirely new.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s not how this works.¡±

    ¡°Why not?¡± I step closer to him. ¡°Why do we have to y by their rules? My father stayed away for years. Your father is losing control. The old alliances are shifting¡ªMarat said it himself.¡±

    ¡°You don¡¯t understand?¡ª¡±

    ¡°No, you don¡¯t understand!¡± I¡¯m shouting now, months of fear and frustration boiling over. ¡°We can¡¯t keep living like this, Vince! Bulletproof ss and security teams and tracking devices disguised as jewelry? Fuck that! Our daughter deserves better.¡±

    He grabs my shoulders, his fingers digging in, just shy of painful. ¡°You think I don¡¯t know that? You think I want this for her? For you?¡±

    ¡°Then help me find another way.¡± I reach up to cup his face between my palms. ¡°We¡¯re caught between these old men fighting old wars. But we have something they don¡¯t.¡±

    ¡°What¡¯s that?¡±

    ¡°Each other.¡± I hold his gaze. ¡°And more importantly, we have something worth fighting for that goes beyond pride or power.¡±

    His eyes flicker toward the nursery again.

    ¡°So we double down on what we¡¯ve been doing. The Costa Rica development,¡± I continue. ¡°The shipping contracts. The real estate ventures. We elerate all of it. We build legitimate power that can¡¯t be taken away by a bullet or a betrayal.¡±

    ¡°My father will never allow it.¡±

    ¡°So we don¡¯t ask for permission.¡± I release his face and step back. ¡°We use the FBI investigation to our advantage. We give them just enough to redirect their attention to the Solovyovs.¡±

    ¡°And Grigor?¡±

    I pause, considering. ¡°We leverage his desire to know his granddaughter. We don¡¯t align with him, but we don¡¯t make him an enemy, either.¡±

    Vince shakes his head, but I can see him turning the idea over. ¡°It¡¯s not that simple.¡±

    ¡°Nothing worth having ever is.¡± I sit on the edge of the bed, suddenly exhausted. ¡°I¡¯m just tired of reacting, Vince. We¡¯re always sitting around and waiting for the next disaster, the next kidnapping, the next knife in our backs. Aren¡¯t you sick of that?¡±

    He¡¯s quiet for a long moment, staring at nothing. Then he looks at me, and his entire aura shifts.

    Hees to sit beside me, the mattress dipping beneath his weight. His hand finds mine. The touch feels electric, awakening something in me that¡¯s been dormant since Sofiya¡¯s birth and the trauma of her delivery.

    ¡°You make a terrifying pakhansha, you know that?¡± A smile ys at the corners of his mouth.

    ¡°I learned from the best.¡±

    He leans in, his lips brushing my ear. ¡°Is that apliment?¡±

    ¡°Take it however you want,¡± I whisper back.

    The electric current between us morphs from frustration into raw need, a darker kind of intensity that makes my blood sing. His fingers trail up my arm, marking my skin with shivers that brand me as his.

    ¡°Careful,¡± I warn halfheartedly. ¡°I just had a baby six weeks ago.¡±

    ¡°We don¡¯t have to?¡ª¡±

    I silence him with a kiss, slow and deliberate. ¡°I¡¯m just saying be gentle. For now.¡±

    His eyes darken. ¡°I can be gentle.¡±

    And he is. His hands explore my body with reverent care, rediscovering familiar curves now changed by motherhood. When he cups my breast, I can¡¯t help but gasp¡ªthey¡¯re tender still, sensitive in new ways.

    ¡°Too much?¡± he asks immediately.

    ¡°No.¡± I guide his hand, showing him what feels good. ¡°Just¡­ just different.¡±

    We undress each other slowly, almost cautiously. For all the passion that¡¯s always burned between us, this feels like something new.

    Our naked bodies align, his muchrger frame hovering above mine. I¡¯m nervous suddenly, remembering thest time something was inside me¡ªSofiya wing her way into the world while Iy on that filthy mattress.

    Vince must see the sh of fear in my eyes, because he stops. ¡°We can wait,¡± he offers. ¡°There¡¯s no rush.¡±

    ¡°No,¡± I say, wrapping my arms around his neck. ¡°I need this. I need you.¡±

    He takes his time, preparing me with gentle fingers until I¡¯m arching against him, silently begging for more. When he finally pushes inside, the stretch is ufortable but wee¡ªa reiming of my body after all it¡¯s been through.

    ¡°Okay?¡± he checks, holding perfectly still.

    I nod, unable to form words. He begins to move. It¡¯s nothing like our usual encounters¡ªno dirty talk, no hair pulling, none of the rough passion that defined us before.

    But somehow, this gentleness is exactly what I need. What we both need.

    His forehead rests against mine, our breath mingling as we move together. I feel tears prick behind my eyelids.

    ¡°I love you,¡± I whisper. ¡°So much it terrifies me sometimes.¡±

    ¡°I know.¡± His voice is rough as he grunts and grinds. ¡°Me, too.¡±

    We find our rhythm, two bodies speaking anguage beyond words. When Ie, it¡¯s like a heat wave washing over me rather than the usual explosion. Not that it¡¯s any less powerful¡ªit still leaves me gasping against his shoulder.

    Hees and then lies on top of me. I like the pressure of him, his scent, his hair, his bulk, his hand still cupping my hip.

    Eventually, he rolls over to settle beside me, one arm draped possessively across my waist. ¡°I¡¯ll think about your proposal,¡± he says into my hair. ¡°About building our own path.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s all I ask.¡± I leave a kiss on his chest, right over his heart.

    His breathing gradually deepens as exhaustion ims him. I listen to the steady rhythm, counting each inhale and exhale like a prayer of gratitude.

    But sleep still eludes me.

    As I lie in the darkness, Vince¡¯s heavy arm belted across my body, I can¡¯t stop thinking about the impossible situation we¡¯re in. Caught between my father and his. Between thew and thewless. Between past and future.

    But the longer I dwell on it, the more something else emerges. I wouldn¡¯t call it certainty, but it¡¯s something like that.

    I am the daughter of Grigor Petrov. The wife of Vincent Akopov. I carry blood from one family and have pledged loyalty to another. My existence itself is a bridge between warring kingdoms.

    Maybe that¡¯s not just a liability.

    Maybe it¡¯s power.

    I carefully extract myself from Vince¡¯s embrace and slide out of bed. He doesn¡¯t stir. I pull on a silk robe and move to the window, gazing out at thepound¡¯s security lights cutting through the darkness.

    I¡¯ve spent so long reacting to the men in my life. Following their lead. epting their protection. Even my proposal tonight was framed around Vince¡¯s actions, Vince¡¯s decisions.

    But I¡¯m not just an essory in this story. Not anymore.

    In the ss, my reflection stares back at me. I make my decision then. I won¡¯t wait for Vince to consider my proposal. I won¡¯t stand by while my father and his square off, using Sofiya and me as pawns.

    I¡¯ll reach out to Agent Carver myself. Offer selective cooperation in exchange for immunity and protection. I¡¯ll contact Grigor, not as a daughter seeking approval but as a partner offering alliance. I¡¯ll speak with the Costa Rica investors directly, without Vince¡¯s looming presence intimidating them.

    I¡¯ll build bridges while the men in my life are busy burning them.

    Vince murmurs something in his sleep, his hand searching the empty space where I should be. I return to bed. His arm wraps around me automatically, pulling me close.

    ¡°Everything okay?¡± he mumbles, not fully awake.

    ¡°Everything¡¯s fine,¡± I whisper. ¡°Go back to sleep.¡±

    He does. He trusts me.

    I want to prove him right.

 Filthy Lies: Chapter 31

    I want to believe thatst night fixed everything. We fucked like we were trying to heal each other¡¯s wounds with our bodies.

    But it didn¡¯t work. It never does.

    The gap between us has nothing to do with flesh and everything to do with trust.

    I extract myself from Vince¡¯s sleeping form. My body is still creaky and tender, and the shower¡¯s scalding water can¡¯t burn away the decision taking shape in my mind.

    I dress silently, watching Vince¡¯s chest rise and fall. Last night, I told him I¡¯d be his partner in nning our independent future. This morning, I¡¯m going rogue.

    Love and betrayal¡ªthey¡¯re conjoined twins in our world.

    ¡°Mm,¡± he grunts wearily when I¡¯m almost to the door.

    I curse silently and turn around. ¡°You¡¯re sleeping in.¡±

    He rubs his eyes as he shoves himself upright. ¡°And you¡¯re scurrying around.¡±

    ¡°Guess we¡¯re trading ces today.¡±

    In more ways than one, I think but don¡¯t say.

    I touch his cheek. ¡°I¡¯m gonna go check in on Mom.¡±

    He nods, but before I can turn to go, he grabs my wrist so he can kiss the soft skin on the underside. My pulse flutters like it always does when he¡¯s this tender.

    Then, with another sigh, he releases me.

    I almost wish he wouldn¡¯t. There¡¯s a crazed part of me that¡¯s silently begging him to drag me back to bed and tease me until all thoughts of this crazy game of high-stakes politics go up in smoke.

    Kiss me until you and I are all that matters.

    Love me until the rest of the world is irrelevant.

    But he doesn¡¯t.

    He releases me.

    And so I walk away.<hr>

    I smell death on my mother before I even step into her room.

    Not the stench of actual dposition¡ªnot yet¡ªbut that faint hint of an extinguishing me. The subtle difference between a person dying and a person allowing themselves to die.

    The hospital corridor feels like a purgatory I¡¯ve walked a thousand times before. Each step costs me, not in money, but in pieces of my soul I¡¯ll never get back.

    Mom¡¯s gotten smaller since I saw herst. Cancer is greedy that way¡ªit takes and takes, never satisfied until it¡¯s consumed everything. Her skin stretches like tissue paper over the failing architecture of her bones.

    She spent the night at the hospital for an exploratory procedure. Results are still pending, but the doctors didn¡¯t seem hopeful.

    She¡¯s sleeping now, which is good, because the truth is that I didn¡¯te to see her. The hospital was just perfect cover for what I really needed to do today.

    But I still have a few minutes to kill, so I linger by Mom¡¯s bedside. Her skeletal hand reminds me of a bird¡¯s w. Only when I¡¯m sure she¡¯s not waking anytime soon do I carefully ease myself from the chair.

    As the door clicks behind me, I shed the role of dutiful daughter like a skin I¡¯ve outgrown. It won¡¯t serve me for whates next.

    A trio of nurses passes me in the corridor. I offer them a watery smile¡ªthe universal expression of someone with a dying loved one. It¡¯s a perfect mask because it¡¯s not entirely false.

    I check my phone: 10:22 A.M. I slink past the ward security camera, keeping my face angled low just like Vince taught me. There¡¯s a blind spot at the emergency stairwell. I count to thirty, watching for any of the usual surveince signs Vince¡¯s men employ.

    Nothing.

    I take the stairs down two flights to the basement level.

    The smell hits me first¡ªformaldehyde, so intentionally, scaldingly clean, but it still can¡¯t quite mask the underlying scent of death.

    The morgue. A fitting ce to meet, considering that what I¡¯m about to do would result in my funeral if Vince ever found out.

    Agent Carver stands beside a steel examination table, his reflection distorted in its polished surface. He¡¯s not alone. ¡°Mrs. Akopov,¡± he says, voice neutral. ¡°This is AUSA Reynolds.¡±

    I assess the unfamiliar woman next to him¡ªmid-forties, immacte pantsuit, and eyes sharp enough to fillet me where I stand.

    ¡°Let¡¯s be clear,¡± I blurt. ¡°If either of you is wearing a wire, I¡¯m walking out.¡±

    Reynolds¡¯s mouth twitches. ¡°Bold demand from someone who¡¯s married to the FBI¡¯s most wanted Bratva heir.¡±

    I shrug off my jacket and lift my shirt just high enough to prove I¡¯m not wearing one myself. ¡°Your turn.¡±

    Theyply after a moment of tension.

    No wires.

    ¡°I don¡¯t have much time,¡± I say, perching on a metal stool. ¡°So I¡¯ll make this quick. I can give you the Solovyov organization. Names, operations, evidence of their trafficking operations¡ªenough to cripple them for good.¡±

    Carver¡¯s eyebrows inch toward his hairline. ¡°And in exchange?¡±

    ¡°Immunity. Full and irrevocable for me, my daughter, my mother. And a path for Vince to transition Akopov operations to legitimate business with minimal prosecution.¡±

    Reynoldsughs. It sounds like a door creaking in a horror movie. ¡°You think we¡¯d let Vincent Akopov walk? After everything he¡¯s done?¡±

    I shrug, as nonchnt as I know how to be. ¡°I think you want the Solovyovs more. I think you want Barkov and his corruptionwork. I think you¡¯re smart enough to recognize that sometimes you need to let one shark swim free if you want to catch the whole school.¡±

    The morgue¡¯s fluorescent lights buzz overhead, casting everyone in a sickly glow. One of the body drawers isn¡¯t fully closed. I spot pale toes with a tag dangling between them.

    ¡°What makes you think Vince would honor any transition ns?¡± Carver asks.

    I allow myself a small smile. ¡°Because I understand what motivates him now. He cares about legacy¡ªnot the bloody one his father wants, but building something his daughter can inherit without shame.¡±

    ¡°So why are you here without his knowledge?¡± Reynolds presses.

    It¡¯s supposed to be a gotcha question. But I counter with honesty¡ªthe most disarming weapon in a world of liars. ¡°Because I love him too much to watch him struggle between who he was raised to be and who he wants to be. I¡¯m cutting the fucking Gordian knot for him.¡±

    Carver studies me, still wary. ¡°You do realize you¡¯re ying a dangerous game? If your husband discovers this meeting?¡ª¡±

    ¡°If my husband discovers this meeting, he¡¯ll be furious that I took this risk. But deep down, he¡¯ll understand why I did it.¡± I stand, straightening my shirt. ¡°I¡¯m not asking for your answer today. Take the proposal to your superiors or whoever has to sign off on your bullshit. When you¡¯re ready to talk terms, reach out.¡±

    As I turn to leave, Reynolds calls out, ¡°You¡¯re nothing like what I expected, Mrs. Akopov.¡±

    I pause at the door, thinking of just how right she is.

    ¡°That¡¯s because that woman doesn¡¯t exist anymore.¡± My hand rests on the cold metal handle. ¡°She died during childbirth in a Solovyovpound with a dirty syringe in her hand.¡±

    Then I push through the door, heart hammering against my ribs like it¡¯s trying to escape. The old Rowan would have been paralyzed by fear at what I¡¯ve just done.

    This new version of me¡ªVince¡¯s wife, Sofiya¡¯s mother, Grigor¡¯s daughter¡ªfeels only a chilling rity.

    I check my appearance in the reflection of a vending machine. It takes a moment to school my expression back to solemn, quiet grief before heading back to my mother¡¯s room.

    The real grief willeter¡ªwhen Vince discovers what I¡¯ve done. Whether he¡¯ll see it as protection or betrayal is the gamble I¡¯ve just made with our future.

    I just hope I¡¯ve yed the right hand.

 Filthy Lies: Chapter 32

    The first security camera stills hit my desk before Rowan even makes it back from the hospital.

    My wife¡ªmy pregnant, kidnapped, terrorized wife who I thought was visiting her dying mother¡ªstanding in the fucking morgue with Agent Carver and some stone-faced bitch in a pantsuit.

    Blood rushes to my head so fast I nearly ck out.

    ¡°Where did you get these?¡± I ask Dimitri, my voice lethal in its softness.

    ¡°Security team picked her up on hospital cameras. Followed her movements.¡± He hesitates, clearly wondering if he¡¯ll be the one I kill today. ¡°She went to Mrs. St. ir¡¯s room, then to the morgue. Fourteen minutes unounted for down there.¡±

    Fourteen minutes. Less than a quarter of an hour to betray everything we¡¯ve built.

    I thumb through the grainy images. Rowan lifting her shirt, proving she¡¯s not wired. Carver and his colleague doing the same. My beautiful wife gesturing in what looks like exnation, her face determined, fierce.

    ¡°Audio?¡± I ask, already knowing the answer.

    ¡°No, sir. Hospital basement, so no sensors in ce, just the stills.¡±

    I nod once, dismissing him. When the door closes, I let the red haze of rage wash over me.

    I¡¯ve killed men for less than what my wife has done today. I¡¯ve destroyed entire families for smaller betrayals.

    I reach for my gun, an automatic response when my territory is threatened.

    But Rowan isn¡¯t territory. She¡¯s¡­ fuck. She¡¯s everything.

    I force myself to breathe, to think beyond the impulse tosh out. What was she thinking? After everything we¡¯ve been through¡ªafter I¡¯ve killed and bled and burned the world to keep her safe¡ªshe goes behind my back to the fucking feds?

    I¡¯m still seething when the surveince team forwards a follow-up report. Carver¡¯s call logs, intercepted. A call to his superior immediately after meeting Rowan.

    Key phrases captured: ¡°Solovyov organization,¡± ¡°immunity deal,¡± ¡°Akopov transition to legitimate operations.¡±

    Just like that, the rage dies with a whimper.

    She didn¡¯t sell us out.

    She tried to save us.

    I want to rejoice in it. She¡¯s so much smarter than I give her credit for, and every time I think I¡¯ve correctly revised my opinion, it turns out I¡¯ve just underestimated yet again.

    But I can¡¯t rejoice. There¡¯s too much guilt for that.

    Because I¡¯ve turned her into this¡ªthis clever, dangerous creature who ys both sides against the middle. Who walks into the lion¡¯s den armed with nothing but her wits and walks back out intact.

    Pride wars with possessiveness. She shouldn¡¯t have gone alone. Shouldn¡¯t have kept this from me.

    But she did it for us.

    Just like I¡¯ve done a thousand unspeakable things for the same reason.

    ¡°Arkady,¡± I call into the inte. ¡°I need a few arrangements made. Tonight.¡±<hr>

    By the time I hear her car pull into thepound, I¡¯ve channeled my fury into something more productive.

    The bedroom has been transformed. Crystal sses gleam in the candlelight. The security monitors have been hidden behind a Japanese silk screen. Her favorite wine¡ªa ridiculously expensive Bordeaux¡ªbreathes on the table.

    I¡¯ve even managed to source wildflowers that match the ones from our wedding. They won¡¯t erase her betrayal, but they¡¯ll soften the blow of whates next.

    Because make no mistake¡ªwe will be having a conversation about boundaries. About trust. About who the fuck calls the shots in this rtionship.

    But first, I want to remind her why she chose me, and why she must trust me enough to risk everything.

    I hear her voice in the foyer, speaking softly to Dimitri about Sofiya. The baby monitor on the table confirms our daughter is already asleep. Perfect timing.

    When Rowan appears in the doorway, the guilt on her face is so raw it takes my breath away. She expected to find me working, not¡­ this.

    ¡°Vince¡­?¡± Her voice wavers. She¡¯s still wearing the clothes from the surveince photos, but her hair is down now, falling in caramel waves around her shoulders. ¡°What¡¯s all this?¡±

    ¡°Surprise.¡± I hand her a ss of wine, watching her closely. ¡°I thought we deserved a night to ourselves.¡±

    Her eyes dart around the room, suspicious. Looking for the trap.

    Smart girl.

    ¡°Is there an asion I forgot?¡± she asks carefully.

    ¡°Just celebrating my brilliant, beautiful wife.¡± I touch her cheek, thumb tracing her jawline. Her pulse hammers beneath my fingers. ¡°How was your mother?¡±

    The flinch is almost imperceptible.

    Almost.

    ¡°About the same.¡± She takes a long sip of wine. ¡°Maybe a little worse.¡±

    I nod, ying along. ¡°I¡¯m sorry to hear that.¡±

    We stand there in charged silence, the air between us crackling with secrets. She knows I know something. She just hasn¡¯t figured out how much.

    I guide her to the table where dinner waits. She sits, fingers fidgeting with her napkin.

    ¡°This is¡­ unexpected.¡± She tries for a smile. ¡°But nice.¡±

    ¡°When was thest time we had a proper meal together? Just the two of us?¡± I pour more wine into her ss. ¡°Before Sofiya, certainly.¡±

    ¡°Before a lot of things.¡± Her green eyes search mine. ¡°Vince, is everything okay?¡±

    ¡°That depends.¡± I reach across the table and capture her hand. ¡°On whether my wife trusts me enough to be honest with me.¡±

    The blood drains from her face. ¡°What do you mean?¡±

    ¡°Tell me about your meeting today, Rowan.¡±

    For a second there, I think she might deny it. Might spin another lie to cover the first.

    But that¡¯s not my Rowan. Not anymore.

    ¡°How did you know?¡± she asks, voice barely audible.

    ¡°I know everything.¡± I bring her hand to my lips, pressing a kiss to her knuckles. ¡°The question is why you thought you needed to keep it from me.¡±

    She withdraws her hand slowly. ¡°Would you have let me go if I¡¯d told you?¡±

    ¡°No.¡±

    ¡°Well, that¡¯s why.¡±

    Her honesty disarms me. No excuses. No frantic justifications. Just the simple truth that she did what she thought was necessary, consequences be damned.

    Just like me.

    ¡°What exactly did you offer Carver?¡± I keep my voice neutral despite the molten rage still simmering beneath the surface.

    ¡°Information on the Solovyovs in exchange for immunity for us and a path to legitimacy for your operations.¡± She meets my eyes directly. ¡°I didn¡¯t give them anything they could use against you. I just¡­ opened a door.¡±

    I take a slow sip of wine, considering. ¡°And why would you do that without consulting me first?¡±

    ¡°Because sometimes, you¡¯re so busy protecting us that you forget to protect yourself.¡± Her voice strengthens. ¡°I¡¯m tired of watching you try to be both the man your father created and the man I fell in love with. And I thought, if I could eliminate one threat, maybe you¡¯d have room to breathe.¡±

    Something in my chest cracks open, spilling warmth through veins that have run cold for decades.

    ¡°You could have been arrested,¡± I remind her. ¡°Taken from Sofiya. From me.¡±

    ¡°It was a calcted risk.¡±

    ¡°It was fucking stupid,¡± I snap, the facade cracking. ¡°You have no idea the games these people y, the traps they set.¡±

    ¡°I didn¡¯t promise them anything concrete. I didn¡¯t sign anything. I opened a channel ofmunication that we can exploit if needed.¡±

    I study her face¡ªthe stubborn set of her jaw, the defiance in her eyes.

    She¡¯s not sorry. Not really. She¡¯s only sorry she got caught.

    I don¡¯t have it in me to be mad at her.

    ¡°Come here,¡± I order, pushing back from the table.

    She hesitates, then rises, moving around to stand before me. I pull her onto myp, one hand gripping her hip, the other tangling in her hair to tug her head back.

    ¡°If you ever¡ªever¡ªput yourself at risk like that again,¡± I growl against her throat, ¡°I will lose my fucking mind, Rowan. Do you understand me?¡±

    She shivers, not with fear but with something darker. ¡°Yes.¡±

    ¡°You think you¡¯re protecting me?¡± I bite the sensitive juncture where her neck meets her shoulder, hard enough to mark her. ¡°You think I need your protection?¡±

    Her breath hitches. ¡°Sometimes, yes.¡±

    I stand abruptly, lifting her with me. Dinner forgotten, I carry her to the wall and pin her there, my body pressed against hers.

    ¡°I protect what¡¯s mine,¡± I tell her, voice rough. ¡°Not the other way around.¡±

    I expect defiance. Argument.

    Instead, her pupils dte, swallowing the green of her irises. ¡°Then protect me,¡± she whispers. ¡°Right now.¡±

    A tangled knot inside me rips loose¡ªall the rage and fear and twisted pride I¡¯ve been fighting since seeing those surveince photos.

    I capture her mouth in a bruising kiss. I don¡¯t hold back or go easy on her. She doesn¡¯t deserve that.

    She responds in kind, her hands wing at my shirt, ripping buttons in her haste. I tear her blouse open, buttons scattering across the floor like tiny diamonds. Her breasts have changed since motherhood¡ªfuller, more sensitive. When I cup one roughly, she gasps into my mouth.

    ¡°Tell me if I hurt you,¡± I order against her lips.

    ¡°You won¡¯t.¡±

    But I might. The darkness coiling inside me wants to punish her for today, to remind her that while she might act independently, she still belongs to me.

    Body and soul.

    I hike her skirt up around her waist, finding her already wet through her panties. The discovery only fuels my possessiveness. Even in betrayal, her body responds to me.

    ¡°This is mine,¡± I growl, tearing the delicate fabric aside. ¡°No matter what games you y with the FBI, no matter what risks you take, this belongs to me.¡±

    Her head falls back against the wall. ¡°Yes.¡±

    I free myself from my pants, lifting her easily. Her legs wrap around my waist and her heels dig into my back.

    ¡°Look at me, Rowan.¡±

    Her eyes meet mine, zed with need.

    ¡°I need to hear you say it. That you¡¯re mine. That no matter what schemes you concoct, no matter what risks you take, you belong to me first.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m yours,¡± she breathes. ¡°Always yours, Vince.¡±

    I enter her in one smooth thrust, watching her face contort with pleasure. She¡¯s tight, almost virginal again, but she takes me with a tortured gasp.

    ¡°Who makes the decisions that affect our family?¡± I ask, remaining motionless inside her.

    Her eyes sh with defiance. ¡°We both do.¡±

    I withdraw almost entirely, the head of my cock teasing her entrance. ¡°Try again.¡±

    She bites her lip, fighting the urge to push against me. ¡°You do,¡± she finally concedes.

    ¡°That¡¯s right.¡± I thrust back in, rewarding her submission. ¡°I do. Because every choice has consequences, Rowan. Every risk puts Sofiya in danger. Puts you in danger.¡±

    I begin to move in earnest, each thrust punctuating my words. She clings to me desperately. Her nails dig crescents into my shoulders as I fuck her against the wall, hard and deep.

    ¡°And if something happened to you¡ª¡± I can barely form the words. ¡°If they took you from me?¡ª¡±

    ¡°They won¡¯t,¡± she gasps. ¡°I¡¯m right here. I¡¯m not going anywhere.¡±

    I im her mouth again, silencing her promises. She can¡¯t know that. Can¡¯t guarantee it.

    But right now, in this moment, I can feel her. Taste her. Mark her as mine in the most barbaric way possible.

    Her first orgasm takes us both by surprise, her body clenching around mine as she cries out against my mouth. I don¡¯t slow. Just drive her through it and toward another peak immediately.

    ¡°Mine,¡± I repeat. ¡°Fucking mine.¡±

    ¡°Yours,¡± she agrees.

    It¡¯s what I wanted. But it¡¯s not enough¡ªI need more. I need her to feel my ownership in her bones.

    I drag her from the wall and throw her face-down onto the table. Wine sses shatter. The Bordeaux spills across white linen like blood, staining everything it touches.

    I don¡¯t care. The only red I want to see is the marks my palms will leave on her skin.

    ¡°Hands behind your back,¡± Imand, pressing her cheek against the table.

    Sheplies immediately, crossing her wrists at the small of her back. I pin them there with one hand while my other hand tangles in her hair, smashing her head down on the table. The position arches her back, presenting her ass to me like an offering.

    ¡°You think you can go behind my back?¡± I thrust back into her, harder than before. ¡°You think you know better than me how to handle the FBI?¡±

    She moans, unable to form words as I pound into her. The table shudders beneath us, creaking with each savage thrust.

    I tighten my grip on her hair, yanking her head back just enough to see her profile¡ªeyes closed, mouth open in ecstasy.

    ¡°Answer me,¡± I bark, pping her ass hard enough to leave a handprint.

    ¡°No¡ªah¡ªVince¡ª¡± Her voice fractures as I hit a spot deep inside her.

    ¡°No, what?¡± Another p, harder this time. The pale skin of her ass reddens instantly under my palm.

    ¡°No, I shouldn¡¯t¡ª¡± She gasps as I drive even deeper. ¡°I shouldn¡¯t have gone alone.¡±

    ¡°You shouldn¡¯t have gone at all.¡± I release her hair, reaching around to find her clit. My fingers circle the swollen nub, feeling how slick she is from her first orgasm. ¡°This is what happens when you y with fire, Rowan. You get burned.¡±

    I rub her clit in time with my thrusts, feeling her body tremble on the edge of another climax. Then, right when she¡¯s almost there, I stop, denying her at thest second.

    ¡°Please,¡± she whimpers, trying to push back against me. ¡°Please, Vince, I¡¯m so close?¡ª¡±

    ¡°You don¡¯t get toe until I say so.¡± I withdrawpletely to leave her empty and wanting. ¡°You don¡¯t get to decide when you talk to the feds, and you don¡¯t get to decide when youe.¡±

    She just moans helplessly.

    ¡°You want toe?¡± I trace the curve of her spine with my fingertips, savoring the way goosebumps rise in their wake. ¡°Then tell me you were wrong.¡±

    She squirms beneath me, still bent over the table, still denied. The brutal heat of her desperation makes my cock throb.

    ¡°I was wrong,¡± she whimpers.

    ¡°Not enough.¡± I p her ass again, harder, watching the perfect handprint bloom like a crimson flower on her skin. ¡°Tell me why you were wrong.¡±

    Her breathing is ragged, her body trembling. ¡°Because I should have trusted you. Because I should have told you.¡±

    I press my thumb against her wetness, collecting the slick evidence of her arousal. Then I move higher, to the tight ring no one has ever touched.

    ¡°I¡¯m going to mark every part of you tonight,¡± I tell her, circling her hole with my thumb. ¡°Remind you who you belong to.¡±

    She stiffens slightly beneath me. I lean over her, lips against her ear.

    ¡°Rx,¡± Imand, voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. ¡°Open for me like you should have opened up about your little meeting. No more secrets between us, Rowan. No locked doors. No hidden parts.¡±

    Her breathing quickens, but she forces herself to rx.

    ¡°That¡¯s it,¡± I encourage, pressing my thumb against the resistance. ¡°Let me in. Let me own every inch of you.¡±

    The tip of my thumb breaches her, and she gasps¡ªpain and pleasure and surprise and need all mingled together.

    ¡°Does it hurt?¡± I ask, not because I¡¯ll stop, but because I need to know exactly what she¡¯s feeling.

    ¡°Yes,¡± she admits. ¡°But don¡¯t stop.¡±

    That¡¯s my girl. That¡¯s my fucking warrior queen.

    I press deeper, feeling her body stretch to amodate the intrusion. With my free hand, I reach around to touch her clit again, giving her pleasure to bnce the difort.

    ¡°This is what happens when you y games with me, Rowan.¡± I work my thumb deeper in her ass, feeling her body clench around me. ¡°I push into ces that make you ufortable. I expose everything you try to hide.¡±

    She moans, a broken sound torn from somewhere deep inside her.

    ¡°But what you need to remember¡ª¡± I twist my thumb slightly, making her cry out, ¡°¡ªis that I will always give you pleasure with the pain. I will always take care of what¡¯s mine.¡±

    My fingers work her clit as my thumb presses into her ass. The dual sensation has her trembling, gasping my name frantically.

    ¡°Please, Vince, please let mee?¡ª¡±

    ¡°Not yet.¡± I withdraw my thumb only to press back in, establishing a rhythm that has her writhing beneath me. ¡°You need to understand what it means to be mine. Every part of you. Every decision. Every fucking breath.¡±

    I line my cock up with her entrance again, sliding all the way in with one brutal thrust. The sensation of being inside her while my thumb invades her ass is mind-blowing, for both of us.

    ¡°Take all of me,¡± I snarl. ¡°Every part. Just like I take all of you.¡±

    She¡¯s sobbing now with overwhelm. I can feel her getting closer to the edge again, her body tightening around me.

    ¡°This is what it means to be mine, Rowan.¡± I thrust harder, deeper. ¡°It means I own every part of you. Your pussy. Your ass. Your mind. Your heart.¡± Each word is punctuated with a brutal thrust. ¡°Every. Fucking. Inch.¡±

    Her walls flutter around me, her body desperate for release.

    ¡°You went to the feds thinking you could protect me,¡± I growl in her ear. ¡°But who protects you, Rowan? Who keeps you safe when you¡¯re being fucking stupid?¡±

    ¡°You do,¡± she gasps.

    ¡°That¡¯s right.¡± I press my thumb in again, feeling her stretch around me. ¡°I do. Now,e for me. Show me who you belong to.¡±

    I rub her clit hard and fast as I pound into her, my thumb still buried in her ass. The invasion isplete¡ªI¡¯ve imed every part of her. Marked her inside and out. And as she shatters beneath me, her body convulsing with the force of her climax, I know one thing with absolute certainty:

    She is mine. Every secret, every scheme, every dark corner of her soul.

    Mine to protect.

    Mine to punish.

    Mine to love.

    And I¡¯ll take down anyone who tries to steal her from me¡ªeven if that person is Rowan herself.

 Filthy Lies: Chapter 33

    I wake up marked, inside and out.

    Vince¡¯s ownership of my body throbs between my legs, across my butt, and in the unfamiliar ache of ces I¡¯d never given anyone beforest night. Bruises bloom like violent flowers wherever his fingers gripped too hard. My lips feel swollen, sensitive from his punishing kisses.

    Old me might¡¯ve been upset.

    New me? Not so much.

    For all his brutality, Vince gave me exactly what I needed¡ªa reminder that, while I might take risks for our family, I¡¯m never truly alone in this war. That someone sees me. Knows me. Wants me, despite everything I¡¯ve done and be.

    I slip from the bed where he sleeps like the dead, his powerful body finally surrendered to exhaustion after iming me three more times throughout the night.

    In the bathroom, I examine my reflection. My neck and breasts are a constetion of love bites. My wrists bear the imprints of his fingers. Between my legs, I¡¯m tender, used in ways that make me blush even now.

    But it¡¯s my eyes that have changed the most. There¡¯s a brightness there I haven¡¯t seen since before Sofiya¡¯s birth.

    It¡¯s a fragile thing, though. A candle in the warpath of a tornado. If I want to keep it burning, I have to do something.

    We can¡¯t keep living like this¡ªcowering inpounds, jumping at shadows, watching Vince grow more ruthless by the day as he tries to shield us from every threat. We need to remember what we¡¯re fighting for.

    And I know exactly how to remind him.

    I dress carefully in a loose sundress that covers most of the evidence ofst night, then pad silently to Sofiya¡¯s nursery. My daughter sleeps peacefully, oblivious to the blood and betrayal that surrounded her entry into this world.

    I gather supplies while she nurses: sunscreen, tiny sunhats, beach toys I¡¯d ordered weeks ago but never found asion to use. By the time Vince stumbles into the kitchen, sleep-rumpled and wary, I¡¯m packing thest of a pic lunch.

    ¡°What¡¯s all this?¡± he asks, voice still hazy from sleep¡ªand from snarling my name as he came inside mest night.

    I lift my chin defiantly. ¡°We¡¯re going to the beach today. All three of us.¡±

    His eyebrows shoot up. ¡°Have you lost your fucking mind?¡±

    ¡°Probably.¡± I continue packing the cooler. ¡°But I¡¯ve already spoken to Arkady. The security detail is arranged. The Hamptons property has been swept and secured since dawn.¡±

    Vince crosses his arms, bringing my attention to muscles that held me down countless timesst night. ¡°And you arranged all this without consulting me because¡­?¡±

    ¡°Because you would have said no.¡± I meet his gaze directly. ¡°And after yesterday, I think we both need a reminder of what all this violence and paranoia is supposed to be protecting.¡±

    It¡¯s his turn for a brightness to re up in those eyes. It¡¯s still distant, but I see it. He can¡¯t hide it from me.

    ¡°A family vacation? Now? When my father and the Solovyovs are actively trying to kill us?¡±

    ¡°A single day,¡± I correct him. ¡°One day of pretending we¡¯re just parents who love their daughter. One day for you to experience something normal with Sofiya.¡± I pause, leaning against the counter thoughtfully. ¡°One day for you to make the memories you never got to have as a child.¡±

    His jaw clenches, and I know I¡¯ve hit a nerve. Maybe an unfair nerve, but a nerve nheless.

    As big and tough and tattooed as he may be, Vincent Akopov is still the motherless boy who never built sandcastles or sshed in waves. The child of violence who grew into a man of violence¡ªbut he could still be something else for his daughter.

    If he chooses the light instead of the darkness.

    ¡°It¡¯s a security risk,¡± he says, but itcks conviction.

    ¡°Compared to my meeting with Carver? This is nothing.¡± I reach up to touch his stubbled cheek. ¡°Please, Vince. Let me give you this. Let me give us this.¡±

    His hand covers mine, pressing it harder against his face. ¡°One day,¡± he finally agrees. ¡°With triple security and emergency protocols in ce.¡±

    I rise on tiptoes to kiss him, tasting the surrender on his lips. ¡°Thank you.¡±<hr>

    The Hamptons property sits isted on a private stretch of beach. Waves crash against pristine sand just steps from the deck.

    Vince carries Sofiya as I spread nkets near the water¡¯s edge, close enough to hear the rhythm of waves but far enough to keep our baby safe.

    Armed men patrol the perimeter, nearly invisible among the dunes and surrounding forest. Arkady sits on the deck with binocrs in one hand and a sniper rifle in the other, scanning the horizon.

    All necessary precautions.

    But for now, I choose not to see them.

    Instead, I watch Vince lower himself to the nket with Sofiya cradled against his chest. His eyes gaze out at the infinite blue of sky and sea with the wonder of someone seeing colors for the first time.

    ¡°When was thest time you went to a beach?¡± I ask.

    He shakes his head like I¡¯m better off not knowing. ¡°I¡¯ve been to beaches. Usually for business. Sometimes for disposal.¡±

    ¡°But never just to¡­ be?¡± I press.

    ¡°No.¡± He touches the sand beside him, letting grains filter through his fingers. ¡°My mother wanted to take me, once. Had it all nned. But my father had other ideas about how a boy bes a man.¡±

    The shadow that crosses his face tells me everything I need to know about those ¡°ideas.¡±

    ¡°Well,¡± I say, keeping my voice light, ¡°Sofiya¡¯s first real beach day is yours, too, then.¡±

    I reach for our daughter so that Vince has no choice but to lie here and rx. He¡¯s tense at first, like I figured he would be.

    But as the hours pass, something in him uncoils.

    He removes his shoes, then his shirt. Lets the sun touch skin that rarely sees daylight. Walks to the water¡¯s edge and stands in the surf, face tilted toward the horizon with an expression of such unexpected peace that my heart cracks open.

    Looks like I¡¯m not the only one who¡¯s changing.

    When Sofiya wakes from her nap, fussy and curious, Vince carries her to the water. He holds her tiny feet above the foam as waves tickle her toes. Her startledughter pierces the air¡ªa sound so pure it feels damn near sphemous against the backdrop of our blood-soaked lives.

    And Vince¡­ Vince smiles. Not the predatory grin that precedes violence or the satisfied smirk after taking my body.

    This is a genuine smile. It transforms his face into something almost boyish.

    ¡°She likes it,¡± he notes, wonder creeping into his voice.

    ¡°Of course she does.¡± I join them at the water¡¯s edge. ¡°She¡¯s fearless. Like her father.¡±

    His eyes meet mine over Sofiya¡¯s dark head. ¡°Like her mama, you mean.¡±

    We build sandcastles after lunch¡ªor rather, I show Vince how it¡¯s done while he meticulously constructs something that looks more like a fortress than a fairytale. Sofiya watches from her shaded nket, asionally gurgling encouragement.

    ¡°You¡¯re building walls again,¡± I tease with a nod toward his creation.

    He looks down at the moat he¡¯s digging. ¡°Force of habit.¡±

    ¡°Try something else,¡± I suggest. ¡°Build something just for the joy of it, not for protection.¡±

    He studies me for a long moment, then deliberately copses the walls he¡¯s built, starting fresh with wet sand that he shapes into something rounder, softer.

    ¡°Better?¡± he asks.

    I lean over to kiss him, tasting salt on his lips. ¡°Perfect.¡±

    As afternoon fades toward evening, we swim together in the shallow water. Vince holds Sofiya while I float beside them and watch, unable to stop myself from grinning like a fool. Her tiny hands pat his face withplete trust.

    That¡¯s the freeze frame that I¡¯ll die remembering: five pink, tiny, chubby fingers syed out across a scarred, bearded jaw, both wet with ocean droplets glowing in the sunlight.

    Hang it in the fucking Louvre.

    ¡°Thank you,¡± Vince says quietly as we trek back to the nkets. ¡°For today.¡±

    I take his free hand. ¡°It doesn¡¯t have to be just today, you know. This is what we¡¯re fighting for¡ªthe chance to have more days like this.¡±

    He nods, but I see the shadow return to his eyes. I should¡¯ve known it wouldn¡¯tst long, this peace. I guess I just kinda fooled myself into thinking maybe it would.

    ¡°One perfect day is more than most people get.¡±

    I want to argue, to insist we deserve more. But I hold my tongue. For now, this day is enough. This stolen slice of normality amid chaos.

    We eat dinner on the deck as twilight descends. Sofiya dozes in her portable bass. Vince touches me throughout the meal¡ªmy hand, my knee, the nape of my neck¡ªas if reassuring himself I¡¯m still here. That we all are.

    When he kisses me as the first stars appear, I taste something different on his lips. Not possession or punishment or power.

    Gratitude.

    We put Sofiya to bed in the master suite, her bass stationed within arm¡¯s reach beside the king-sized bed. Vince¡¯s eyes never leave her as she drifts to sleep.

    ¡°I never knew I could feel this way,¡± he confesses in the half-dark. ¡°Like my heart lives outside my body.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s parenthood,¡± I tell him, resting my head against his shoulder. ¡°Terrifying, isn¡¯t it?¡±

    ¡°More terrifying than anything I¡¯ve ever done.¡± His arm slides around my waist. ¡°And I¡¯ve done some terrifying shit, Rowan.¡±

    We stand there watching our daughter sleep until Vince turns to me, his hands finding my hips. ¡°And now, I think it¡¯s time to properly thank you for today.¡±

    The look in his eyes sends heat pooling between my thighs. Despite the soreness fromst night¡¯s rough treatment, my body responds instantly.

    ¡°I¡¯m listening,¡± I whisper.

    His fingers find the ties of my sundress. ¡°No, you¡¯re not. You¡¯re talking.¡± He tugs, and the fabric falls away. ¡°And what I want right now is to make youpletely incapable of speech.¡±

    I should be exhausted. Should still be recovering from the punishment he inflictedst night.

    But as Vince lowers me to the bed, his mouth tracing the constetion of marks he left on my skin, all I feel is hunger. This time is different.

    Last night was iming.

    Tonight is worship.

    He kisses every bruise he created, every fingerprint branded into my flesh. Whispers apologies against each mark before reiming it with his mouth.

    When he spreads my thighs, I¡¯m already soaked for him.

    ¡°Still sore?¡± he asks.

    ¡°Yes.¡± I wind my fingers into his hair. ¡°Do it anyway.¡±

    His smile is pure sin in the moonlight. ¡°So demanding.¡±

    He takes his time with me, using his mouth and hands to build me toward a stuttering, drooling orgasm. My body, still sensitive from the night before, responds to the lightest touch.

    Only when I¡¯m post-orgasmic and limp does he enter me. It¡¯s slow and soft and his eyes skewer mine the whole time.

    ¡°You were wrong earlier, you know. This is what I¡¯m fighting for. Not territory. Not power. This. You. Her. Us.¡±

    I wrap my legs around him, drawing him deeper. ¡°Then don¡¯t lose sight of it. Don¡¯t be the monster they want you to be.¡±

    He drives into me harder, as if trying to imprint the words on my body. ¡°Sometimes, being a monster is the only way to protect what I love.¡±

    I cup his face and make him look at me. ¡°Then be my monster. Be Sofiya¡¯s monster. Not theirs.¡±

    Something breaks in his heart¡ªsandcastle walls falling. He buries his face in my neck as his rhythm falters, his breath hot against my skin.

    ¡°Yours,¡± he agrees, voice raw. ¡°Always yours.¡±

    Wee together, my body clenching around him as he empties himself inside me.

    For precious seconds, the world narrows to just this¡ªour bodies joined, our breath mingled, our hearts beating against each other.

    Reality can wait. Just for tonight.

    Vince is still inside me when the knock interrupts¡ªthree sharp raps on the bedroom door.

    He reacts instantly, pulling out and reaching for the gun on the nightstand. I scramble for the robe hanging nearby. My heart thumps as fight-or-flight chemicals flood my system.

    ¡°Stay with Sofiya,¡± Vince orders.

    Arkady¡¯s voicees through the door. ¡°Sir, we have visitors at the perimeter. They¡¯re asking for you.¡±

    Vince cracks the door, gun still ready. ¡°Who?¡±

    ¡°Daniil Petrov and Anastasia Kusov.¡±

    The tension in Vince¡¯s shoulders shifts from lethal to merely wary. ¡°What the fuck do they want?¡±

    ¡°They didn¡¯t say. But, Vin¡ª¡± Arkady hesitates. ¡°They don¡¯t look so good. Anastasia especially.¡±

    Vince curses as he pulls on pants. ¡°Bring them to the main house. Full search protocols. And double the perimeter sweep¡ªthis could be a distraction.¡±

    I¡¯m already dressing, moving to check on Sofiya, who hasn¡¯t even bothered to wake up to check on the mayhem. ¡°I¡¯ming with you.¡±

    ¡°No, you¡¯re¡ª¡± Vince begins, then stops himself. Reconsiders. ¡°Stay behind me at all times.¡±

    We move through the darkened house like ghosts, Vince leading with his weapon drawn. At the entrance to the great room, he pauses and motions for me to wait while he assesses the situation.

    I peek around his shoulder to see Daniil and Anastasia standing in the center of the room. Armed men surround them. Anastasia leans heavily against Daniil, her elegant features marred by a swollen, bruised eye. Blood stains the front of her blouse.

    Daniil hardly looks better. His left arm hangs at an unnatural angle. A gash across his forehead crusts with dried blood.

    When Anastasia sees us, the relief in her eyes is palpable. She straightens up, summoning dignity despite her injuries.

    ¡°Forgive the intrusion,¡± she mumbles. ¡°But I don¡¯t think we had much of a choice.¡±

    Vince doesn¡¯t lower his weapon. ¡°Exin yourselves.¡±

    Daniil¡¯s eyes find Vince¡¯s. ¡°They know about us. Both families. And they¡¯ve decided to solve two problems at once.¡±

    The perfect day dissolves like a sandcastle caught in the tide, reality rushing back with brutal force. I step forward, ignoring Vince¡¯s warning nce.

    ¡°What happened?¡± I ask Anastasia, woman to woman.

    She has to lick her lips and swallow before she can talk. ¡°My father caught us together. And then¡ª¡± She swallows again, hard. ¡°Grigor¡¯s men were waiting. As if they knew.¡±

    ¡°A setup,¡± Vince concludes. ¡°Coordinated between the families.¡±

    ¡°If they¡¯re working together to eliminate us,¡± Daniel says, wincing as he shifts his injured arm, ¡°what do you think they have nned for you three?¡±

    I feel Vince¡¯s entire body harden with renewed tension. So much for a happy beach day.

    ¡°Wee to our family vacation,¡± I say with bitter humor. ¡°Looks like you arrived just in time for the real party to begin.¡±

 Filthy Lies: Chapter 34

    When Arkady told me that Daniil and Anastasia were at our perimeter, injured and desperate, I knew our stolen moment of peace was over.

    Now, twenty-four hourster, I¡¯m staring down the barrel of another kind of invasion.

    ¡°This is uneptable, Vincent.¡± Mikhail Volkov¡¯s fist crashes against the conference table. ¡°Harboring a Petrov? In your home? With your wife and child?¡±

    The emergency council meeting has devolved exactly as I expected. Twelve men, each with the power tomand small armies, sit around my table, questioning my judgment. My loyalty. Mymitment.

    My fucking sanity.

    ¡°Daniil has proven his value,¡± I respond, keeping my voice as level as humanly possible despite the rage boiling just beneath my skin. ¡°And Anastasia is under my protection.¡±

    ¡°You speak of protection?¡± Boris Barsukovic sneers from across the table. ¡°While housing the son of our greatest enemy? While your own father sits under house arrest?¡±

    I don¡¯t miss the way his eyes flick toward the door where I know Rowan is tending to Sofiya. Motherfucker is threatening me.

    ¡°My decision stands.¡± I maintain eye contact with Boris.

    I dare him to push further.

    He does.

    ¡°Perhaps fatherhood has made you soft, Akopov.¡± His lips curl into something resembling a smile. A snake¡¯s smile, that is. ¡°Perhaps that pretty wife and little daughter of yours have distracted you from your responsibilities.¡±

    Every man at the table goes still. They recognize the line that¡¯s been crossed.

    I don¡¯t move. Don¡¯t blink. Don¡¯t breathe. Until¡­

    ¡°Say that again.¡±

    Boris shifts in his seat, suddenly aware of his mistake. But pride makes him double down.

    ¡°I said¡ª¡± he begins.

    I¡¯m across the table before he finishes, my hand around his throat, squeezing just enough to remind him how fragile the human windpipe truly is. His eyes bulge as I drag him from his chair.

    ¡°My daughter¡¯s name doesn¡¯t belong in your filthy mouth,¡± I hiss, tightening my grip. ¡°My wife is not a distraction. They are the fucking reason I¡¯m sitting at this table instead of burning this organization to the ground and you along with it.¡±

    Boris ws at my hand, face purpling. The other council members watch, frozen.

    No one intervenes. No one dares.

    ¡°You think I¡¯m weak because I protect what¡¯s mine?¡± I continue. ¡°You think love makes me vulnerable?¡± I lean closer, close enough to see the bursting capiries in his eyes. ¡°Love makes me more dangerous than you can possibly imagine.¡±

    I release him suddenly. He copses to his knees, gasping and clutching his throat.

    ¡°Anyone else want to question mymitment?¡± I scan the table, meeting each man¡¯s eyes in turn.

    Silence is the only answer.

    I straighten my jacket and return to my seat. ¡°Good. Now, as I was saying, Daniil and Anastasia will remain under my protection. This is not negotiable.¡±

    The rest of the meeting proceeds without incident. When it concludes, the men file out silently, giving Boris a wide berth as he stumbles toward the door, still massaging his throat.

    Arkady stays behind until we¡¯re alone. ¡°That was effective,¡± he observes.

    I stare at my hands. ¡°Was it?¡± I ask. ¡°Or did I just prove I¡¯m exactly what they think I am?¡±

    ¡°You proved you¡¯re not to be fucked with.¡± Arkady shrugs. ¡°Sometimes, that¡¯s enough.¡±

    But it¡¯s not enough. Not anymore.

    I dismiss Arkady and make my way to the nursery where I know I¡¯ll find them.

    Rowan stands by the crib, humming softly as she watches Sofiya sleep. The sight punches me in the gut every single time. Today is no exception.

    She turns when I enter. ¡°How bad was it?¡± she asks quietly.

    ¡°Bad enough.¡± I move beside her and gaze down at our daughter. ¡°Boris Barsukovic made the mistake of using you and Sofiya to question mymitment.¡±

    Rowan¡¯s eyes bulge. ¡°Is he still breathing?¡±

    ¡°Barely.¡±

    She studies my face. ¡°You¡¯re troubled.¡±

    ¡°I nearly killed a man in front of the entire council because he mentioned my daughter¡¯s name.¡± I run a hand through my hair. ¡°That¡¯s not exactly the image of controlled leadership.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s the image of a father protecting his child.¡± Her hand finds mine, squeezing once. ¡°And it¡¯s the onlynguage some of these men understand.¡±

    I bring her hand to my lips. ¡°The council wants Daniil and Anastasia gone.¡±

    ¡°And what do you want?¡±

    What do I want? The old Vince would have eliminated the problem immediately. But that Vince died a long time ago.

    ¡°I want to protect what¡¯s ours,¡± I say finally. ¡°But I don¡¯t know if harboring them helps or hurts that goal.¡±

    Rowan turns to face me fully. ¡°They came to us for help, Vince. They trusted us when they had nowhere else to go. That means something.¡±

    ¡°It means they¡¯re desperate.¡±

    ¡°It means we represent something to them.¡± She touches my cheek, forcing me to look at her. ¡°Hope. Possibility. The chance that maybe, just maybe, we can break this cycle of violence and revenge.¡±

    I scoff. ¡°You sound like a Hallmark card.¡±

    ¡°And you sound like your father.¡± Her eyes sh with challenge. ¡°Is that who you want to be?¡±

    The barbnds exactly where she intended. I step back, stung.

    Sighing, I move to the window and peer out at the security lights cutting through the darkness. My world has always been divided into clear categories: allies and enemies, assets and liabilities, those who live and those who die.

    Daniil and Anastasia blur those lines.

    Just as Rowan did.

    ¡°The old ways aren¡¯t working anymore,¡± Rowan says,ing to stand beside me. ¡°Maybe it¡¯s time for something new.¡±

    I sigh as her heades to rest on my shoulder. Her fingers are small and cool as she cups the crook of my elbow, but it¡¯s exactly the balm I need against my heated nerves.

    ¡°Daniil saved my life once,¡± she reminds me gently. ¡°He helped you find me when I was taken. That deserves something.¡±

    She¡¯s right. Again. Always fucking right in ways that demolish my certainties.

    ¡°I¡¯ll speak with them tomorrow,¡± I decide. ¡°Offer them protection, but with conditions. Clear boundaries. For now, we let them rest.¡±

    Rowan nods against my chest. ¡°It¡¯s a start.¡±

    In the crib, Sofiya stirs. Rowan bends to scoop her up.

    ¡°Hey there, little one,¡± she coos. ¡°Did Daddy¡¯s brooding wake you up?¡±

    Despite everything, I smile. Rowan brings Sofiya to me, and I take her carefully, still amazed at how something so small can hold such power over me.

    My daughter blinks up at me with unfocused eyes¡ªmy eyes¡ªand I feel thest of my resistance crumble.

    For her, I would rewrite the rules of my world. For her, I would be something new.

    A man who keeps his promises, even to his enemies¡¯ children.

    ¡°Alright,¡± I whisper to Sofiya. ¡°Let¡¯s try it your mama¡¯s way.¡±

 Filthy Lies: Chapter 35

    Death wears a lot of disguises. I¡¯ve seen more than my fair share of ittely.

    It looks like the cold barrel of a gun, like blood sttered across marble floors, like the ruthless glint left simmering in Vince¡¯s eyes after he wrapped his hand around Boris Barsukovic¡¯s throat at yesterday¡¯s council meeting. Death lurks in every shadow of our fortified little hideout, follows us like a loyal pet begging for scraps of our souls.

    But nothing prepares you for the face of death when it wears your mother¡¯s skin.

    I sit in the sterile hospital room, watching Mom¡¯s chest move in shallow,bored breaths. The machines track her vital signs in green and red lines.

    Whoever coined the phrase ¡°cancer is a bitch¡± really hit the nail on the head.

    Dr. Patel¡¯s voice still echoes in my skull from this morning¡¯s discussion. ¡°The cancer has metastasized to her brain,¡± he said, clipboard clutched against his chest like a shield. ¡°Days, Mrs. Akopov. If that. I¡¯m sorry.¡±

    I¡¯d only nodded, numb. Expecting it doesn¡¯t soften the blow one bit.

    Mom¡¯s eyes flutter open, finding me in the dim light. ¡°You¡¯re such a beauty, my love,¡± she whispers, her voice a dried leaf skittering across pavement.

    I force a smile. ¡°Thanks, Mom. You¡¯re always good for my ego.¡±

    ¡°Where¡¯s my granddaughter?¡±

    ¡°At home with Vince.¡± I take her skinny hand, shocked anew at how little substance remains. ¡°She¡¯s cranky.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯d like to see her.¡± Her eyes close again. ¡°Before I go.¡±

    I wince. ¡°Don¡¯t talk like that.¡±

    ¡°Like what? Like a dying woman with unfinished business?¡± She manages a weakugh that dissolves into coughing. ¡°Bring her, Rowan. Please.¡±

    I swallow the knot in my throat. ¡°I¡¯ll see what I can do.¡±

    When her breathing evens out into sleep, I step into the hallway and call Vince.

    ¡°She¡¯s asking for Sofiya,¡± I tell him, voice cracking despite my best efforts.

    He doesn¡¯t hesitate. ¡°I¡¯ll bring her. Give me an hour.¡±<hr>

    True to his word, Vince arrives exactly sixty minutester, Sofiya bundled against his chest in a carrier that looksically domestic against his broad frame. Four armed guards nk him. Their eyes never stop roving.

    Sofiya gurgles when she sees me and reaches with pudgy hands. I lean over to bury my face in her sweet-smelling hair and inhale her innocence like a drug.

    ¡°How are you holding up?¡± Vince asks.

    ¡°I¡¯m fine.¡±

    ¡°Are you?¡±

    I meet his eyes, those impossible blue eyes. ¡°I¡¯m fucking disintegrating, Vince. Is that what you want to hear? That I¡¯m watching my mother die while trying to keep our daughter safe from men who want to kill us, and it¡¯s tearing me apart molecule by molecule? Does that satisfy your need for honesty?¡±

    He doesn¡¯t flinch at my venom. ¡°Yes.¡±

    The simplicity of his answer detes my anger. I lean into him, just for a moment. ¡°They¡¯ve increased her pain medication,¡± I mutter against his chest. ¡°She¡¯s lucid, then gone, then lucid again. It¡¯s like watching someone drown in slow motion.¡±

    His hand strokes my hair, just once. A gesture so gentle it threatens to unravel me. ¡°I can have specialists flown in from anywhere in the world. Just say the word.¡±

    ¡°There¡¯s nothing to be done,¡± I say. ¡°Except this. Let her see Sofiya.¡±

    We enter the room together. Mom¡¯s eyes open at the sound, then widen further at the sight of Vince carrying our daughter.

    ¡°Well, look at that,¡± she whispers. ¡°The Big Bad Wolf and Little Red Riding Hood.¡±

    Vince¡¯s mouth twitches. ¡°Mrs. St. ir.¡±

    She gestures weakly. ¡°Bring her closer. Let me see her.¡±

    I watch as Vince ces Sofiya gently on the bed beside my mother. Our daughter immediately reaches for Margaret¡¯s tubing, fascinated by the new toys within reach.

    ¡°No, baby.¡± I guide her hand away. ¡°That¡¯s helping Grandma.¡±

    ¡°Let her explore,¡± Mom tuts, her fingers brushing Sofiya¡¯s dark curls. ¡°She¡¯s perfect, isn¡¯t she? Looks just like you did. Except those eyes. Pure Akopov blue.¡±

    ¡°Like ice,¡± Vince murmurs.

    ¡°Like the sky after a storm,¡± Mom corrects him, and something passes between them¡ªa moment of understanding I can¡¯t quite grasp.

    For twenty minutes, we exist in a bubble of almost-normalcy. Mom babbles at Sofiya in sing-song. Sofiya babbles back in her secretnguage. Vince stands guard.

    When Sofiya grows fussy, Vince takes her into the hallway for a change of scenery.

    ¡°He¡¯s good with her,¡± Mom says. ¡°Better than I expected from a man like him.¡±

    I bristle instantly. ¡°¡®A man like him¡¯? What¡¯s that supposed to mean?¡±

    ¡°A man born into violence. Raised to be ruthless.¡± She reaches for my hand. ¡°Don¡¯t misunderstand me, Rowan. I¡¯m not criticizing. I¡¯m observing.¡±

    ¡°Then what are you saying?¡±

    She¡¯s silent for a long moment, gathering strength. ¡°I wanted to hate him, you know. The man who dragged my daughter into his dark world.¡± She pauses, swallowing painfully. ¡°But I can¡¯t hate him. Because I see how he looks at you.¡±

    ¡°And how¡¯s that?¡±

    ¡°The same way Grigor looked at me.¡± Her eyes meet mine, sharp with sudden rity. ¡°Like nothing and no one else exists. He would burn down heaven and build it back up from hell if you asked him to, I just know it.¡±

    ¡°Mom¡ª¡±

    ¡°No, let me finish while I can think straight. Goodness knows those moments are getting rarer and rarer.¡± She clutches my hand harder. ¡°Men like Vincent, like Grigor¡ªthey love with their entire being. It¡¯s terrifying in itspleteness. It¡¯s why I ran from Grigor. I wasn¡¯t strong enough to be loved that way.¡±

    ¡°But you think I am?¡±

    ¡°I think you¡¯re stronger than I ever was,¡± she replies. ¡°Strong enough to stand in the fire without being consumed by it.¡±

    Tears burn behind my eyes. ¡°I don¡¯t feel strong. Most days, I feel like I¡¯m barely holding it together.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s exactly what strength is, baby girl. Holding it together when everything wants to fall apart.¡± She tugs at my hand, pulling me closer. ¡°Vincent is darkness, yes. But he¡¯s also something else entirely when he looks at you and Sofiya. And that something else¡­ it¡¯s worth fighting for.¡±

    ¡°Even if it means living in his world? With all its violence and danger?¡±

    ¡°Even then.¡± She licks her dry lips. ¡°Because the alternative is living half a life, the way I did after I left Grigor. Always looking over my shoulder, always wondering what might have been.¡±

    A sob escapes me before I can swallow it back. ¡°I¡¯m scared, Mom. You¡¯re going, and Sofi is¡ªis¡ª She¡¯s just so perfect, Mom, and I love him, too; I love him so much it blinds me to what we¡¯re bing.¡±

    ¡°Oh, Rowan.¡± Her frail hand cups my cheek. ¡°Love doesn¡¯t blind you. It gives you new eyes.¡±

    The door opens, and Vince returns with Sofiya, who¡¯s now calmer, sucking contentedly on her own fist.

    ¡°Everything okay?¡± he asks.

    I wipe my tears quickly. ¡°Fine. Just having a mother-daughter chat.¡±

    Mom beckons him closer. ¡°Bring my granddaughter for one more snuggle before I get too tired.¡±

    Vince ces Sofiya back on the bed. Mom strokes her chubby cheek, her eyes drinking in every detail as ifmitting them to whatever memory remains.

    ¡°Take care of them, Vincent,¡± she says suddenly. ¡°They¡¯re the best parts of me.¡±

    ¡°With my life, Margaret. With my life.¡±<hr>

    That night, as Vince and I stand over Sofiya¡¯s crib watching her sleep, I finally voice the question that¡¯s been burning in my throat.

    ¡°Do you think she¡¯s right? That you and Grigor are simr in how you love?¡±

    Vince¡¯s jaw tightens. ¡°I wouldn¡¯t know. I¡¯ve never spoken to the man about anything other than territorial disputes and body counts.¡±

    ¡°But hypothetically,¡± I press. ¡°Is it possible two men who hate each other could love in the same devastating way?¡±

    He turns to me, eyes darkening. ¡°It¡¯s not how we love that matters, Rowan. It¡¯s what we¡¯re willing to do for that love.¡± His thumb traces my lower lip. ¡°And I¡¯ve only just begun to show you what I¡¯m willing to do for mine.¡±

 Filthy Lies: Chapter 36

    Mom died today.

    She slipped away in the liminal space between night and morning, when the world feels malleable and death is just a long hallway from one room to another.

    I was holding her hand when her fingers went ck, when her chest rose one final time and never fell again. It was peaceful¡ªa sigh, not a scream. Nothing like the violence that¡¯s be the soundtrack of my life.

    I keep waiting for the breakdown. For the moment when my knees will buckle and my soul will leak out through the cracks in my carefully constructed armor.

    But it doesn¡¯te.

    Instead, there¡¯s just this hollowness, this vacuum where grief should be. As if part of me already knew she was gone long before her heart stopped beating.

    ¡°You should eat something,¡± Vince says, setting a te beside me at the kitchen ind.

    I stare at the food without seeing it. ¡°I¡¯m not hungry.¡±

    ¡°I didn¡¯t ask if you were hungry.¡± His voice is firm but not unkind. ¡°I said you should eat.¡±

    I pick up a piece of toast, nibble the edge, then set it down. My stomach feels like it¡¯s lined with crushed ss. ¡°Happy?¡±

    ¡°Ecstatic,¡± he deadpans, then his expression softens. ¡°Sofiya¡¯s down for her nap. I¡¯ve got the funeral home handling the arrangements, and Arkady¡¯s dealing with hospital paperwork.¡±

    I blink at him. ¡°Since when do you manage any of that?¡±

    His mouth quirks¡ªnot quite a smile, but close enough. ¡°Since my wife needed me to.¡±

    And that¡¯s what finally shatters me.

    Not the death. Not the body growing cold in the hospital morgue. But this¡ªVince¡¯s quietpetence in the face of my grief.

    He¡¯s stepped into the spaces I can¡¯t fill right now.

    The sob that tears from my throat is feral, ripping through me like a bullet. I double over, pain radiating from somewhere deep in my chest, a ce I didn¡¯t know could hurt this much.

    Vince doesn¡¯t say anything. He just gathers me against him, one hand cradling the back of my head, the other syed across my back. He holds me while I fall apart, solid and steady and so fucking strong that for a moment I hate him for it. For theposure, for the ability to function while my world implodes.

    But I need it too much to push him away.

    When the storm finally passes, my face is swollen, my eyes raw. I feel hollowed out¡ªa shell of myself, scraped clean of everything but ache.

    ¡°Better?¡± he asks, his beard scratching my temple.

    ¡°No.¡±

    ¡°Didn¡¯t think so.¡± He pushes hair from my face. ¡°But you¡¯ll get there.¡±

    ¡°How do you know?¡± I ask.

    He just shrugs. ¡°Because I believe in you.¡±

    Something in my chest caves at his simple, unwavering faith.

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± I whisper.

    ¡°Don¡¯t be.¡± Vince fills a ss with water and hands it to me. ¡°Just drink. Then sleep. Things will look different when you wake up.¡±

    ¡°Different doesn¡¯t mean better.¡±

    ¡°No.¡± His thumb brushes my lower lip. ¡°But it means not the same. And sometimes, that¡¯s enough.¡±

 Filthy Lies: Chapter 37

    Vince was right. When I wake the next morning, things are different.

    Not better.

    Just different.

    The house runs like clockwork despite my absence from its gears. Vince has fed Sofiya, entertained her, put her down for morning nap. He¡¯s rearranged meetings, canceled appointments, and somehow kept the Bratva wolves from our door while I spent sixteen hours sleeping like the dead.

    I find him in his study, phone pressed to his ear, speaking in clipped Russian. When he sees me, something in his face changes¡ªsoftens at the edges.

    ¡°I¡¯ll call back,¡± he says into the phone, then disconnects. ¡°You¡¯re up.¡±

    ¡°Barely.¡± I sink into the chair across from his desk. My body feels like it¡¯s being dragged underwater. Every movement requires triple the usual effort. ¡°Has Sofiya been okay?¡±

    ¡°She¡¯s been fine.¡± He studies me. ¡°Food or coffee first?¡±

    ¡°Coffee. ck as hell.¡±

    He nods and presses the inte. ¡°Coffee for Mrs. Akopov. ck.¡±

    I tug at a loose thread on my sleeve. ¡°Thank you. For handling everything.¡±

    His jaw works. ¡°Did you expect less?¡±

    ¡°Honestly? Yes.¡± I look up, meeting his gaze directly. ¡°I¡¯m not used to you being¡­¡±

    ¡°What?¡±

    ¡°Gentle,¡± I admit. ¡°Patient. I¡¯m used to you being my strength in battle, not my¡­ I don¡¯t know. My safe harbor.¡±

    Something shutters behind his eyes. ¡°You¡¯re my wife.¡±

    ¡°That usually means I¡¯m the one taking care of things.¡±

    ¡°Not today.¡±

    The knock at the door announces the coffee, saving me from having to form a response. I take the steaming mug gratefully, letting the scalding liquid burn away the fog in my head.

    ¡°The, um, funeral,¡± I begin.

    ¡°Scheduled for tomorrow at eleven.¡± Vince leans back in his chair. ¡°Private service. Security in ce. Your mother¡¯s friends and colleagues have been notified.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯ve thought of everything.¡±

    ¡°I missed one thing.¡± He pulls a folder from his desk drawer. ¡°I need you to look at these.¡±

    I set down the coffee and take the folder. Inside are glossy photographs of gravestones¡ªelegant, minimalist designs in varying shades of granite and marble. ¡°I didn¡¯t know what she would have wanted,¡± Vince says, almost apologetically.

    I can only stare at them. Just when I think I¡¯m starting to turn a corner, something like thises up, a moment you always knew wasing but never quite figured out how to brace for.

    ¡°The gray one,¡± I finally manage. ¡°With the nted top. She¡¯d say the others were too ostentatious.¡±

    Vince nods and takes the folder back. ¡°Consider it done.¡±<hr>

    The funeral is a dizzy haze of ck cloth and murmured condolences. People I barely remember from my childhood appear to pay respects. Mom¡¯s colleagues from before her illness speak of her intelligence, her dedication, her upromising work ethic.

    No one mentions how she smuggled a child out of Brighton Beach to escape a crime lord. No one knows she spent decades looking over her shoulder, expecting retribution that never came.

    They don¡¯t know how much of herself she carved away to keep me safe.

    But I know.

    I fucking know.

    Vince stands beside me throughout, his hand firm at the small of my back. Sofiya is mercifully quiet in Arkady¡¯s arms, fascinated by the solemn ceremony.

    She doesn¡¯t know death yet. Doesn¡¯t understand that the woman who held her just days ago is now sealed in polished wood, descending into the cold earth.

    It¡¯s when they lower the casket that I feel it¡ªa prickling sensation at the back of my neck. The hairs there stand to attention, a warning sign honed through months of living on high alert.

    We¡¯re being watched.

    I scan the cemetery, paranoia sharpening my senses. Security personnel blend among the mourners and line the perimeter, but they¡¯re looking for threats from outside, not within.

    That¡¯s when I see him.

    Standing at the edge of the cemetery, partially obscured by a massive oak tree, is Grigor Petrov.

    He doesn¡¯t approach or make any motion to draw attention to himself. He simply stands, head bowed, paying silent respect to the woman he once loved enough to let her go.

    My gasp must be audible, because Vince¡¯s hand immediately tightens on my waist. ¡°What is it?¡± he murmurs, voice low enough that only I can hear.

    I incline my head slightly toward the oak tree. ¡°Grigor.¡±

    Vince¡¯s entire body tenses, preparing for action. ¡°Stay here.¡±

    ¡°No,¡± I grab his wrist to stop him. ¡°Let him be.¡±

    ¡°Rowan¡ª¡±

    ¡°He loved her, Vince.¡± My voice cracks on the word loved. Past tense. ¡°Let him say goodbye.¡±

    For a moment, I think he¡¯ll refuse. Then his shoulders rx, though only a bit. ¡°If he makes one move toward you or Sofiya?¡ª¡±

    ¡°He won¡¯t.¡±

    And he doesn¡¯t. When I look back at the oak tree, Grigor is gone. Like a ghost that was never really there at all.

    At least he¡¯s consistent in that regard.<hr>

    After the service, when the mourners disperse and Sofiya is tucked safely in bed, I find myself in Mom¡¯s room at ourpound. The smell of her still lingers in the air¡ªantiseptic oveid with the faintest trace of the jasmine perfume she¡¯d worn since I was a child.

    I sit on her bed, running my fingers over the quilt she¡¯d insisted on bringing from home. The well-worn fabric holds memories in its fiberste night stories, fever sweats, tears both happy and heartbroken.

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± I whisper to the empty room. To her, wherever she¡¯s gone. ¡°I didn¡¯t save you.¡±

    My hand brushes something hard beneath the pillow. Curious, I reach under and pull out a small, wooden box I¡¯ve never seen before. It¡¯s simple but beautifully crafted, with no lock, just a small brasstch holding it shut.

    Inside, I find a stack of letters. The paper is yellowed with age, the handwriting bold and assured, nothing like my mother¡¯s delicate script.

    The first envelope bears a single word: Margaret.

    With trembling fingers, I unfold the letter inside.

    My solnishka,

    If you are reading this, you have chosen to leave, as I always feared you would. I cannot me you. The life I offer is stained with blood that will never wash clean. You deserve sunlight, not shadow.

    Know this: I will not follow. Not because I do not wish to move heaven and earth to find you, but because I respect the choice you have made. Your freedom means more to me than my own happiness.

    But if you ever need something¡ªever, for any reason¡ªthe number I gave you will always reach me. No matter how many years pass, I will answer. I wille. I will do what you ask of me.

    And until then, or even if that day neveres, I will hold the memory of your smile like a talisman against the darkness that threatens to swallow me whole.

    Forever yours,

    Grigor

    I read the letter again, and again, and again, until the words blur before my eyes.

    This isn¡¯t the cold-blooded killer Vince described.

    This is a man broken by love, respecting a woman¡¯s choice even as it destroys him.

    There are more letters. Dozens of them, spanning years. In them, I discover a man I never knew existed. A man who tracked my progress through school, who knew about my science fair projects and my failed attempt at making the track team. A man who arranged for the telescope I received on my twelfth birthday, for the prom dress that arrived mysteriously when Mom¡¯s bank ount couldn¡¯t stretch to cover it.

    A man who loved from afar because he believed it was the only way to keep us safe.

    I¡¯m still sitting there, letters scattered around me, when Vince finds me hourster. ¡°Rowan?¡± He pauses in the doorway, taking in the scene. ¡°What¡¯s all this?¡±

    I hold up one of the letters. ¡°Letters from Grigor to my mother. Letters she kept all these years.¡±

    Wariness crosses his face. ¡°What do they say?¡±

    ¡°That he loved her. That he respected her choice to leave. That he watched over us from a distance.¡± I swallow the knot in my throat. ¡°That he¡¯s been part of my life in ways I never knew.¡±

    Vince¡¯s expression darkens as he approaches, taking one of the letters to scan its contents. ¡°This doesn¡¯t change who he is, Rowan.¡±

    ¡°Doesn¡¯t it?¡± I gather the letters into a pile. ¡°It changes who I thought he was.¡±

    ¡°He¡¯s still a killer. Still the head of an organization that deals in death and suffering.¡±

    ¡°So are you,¡± I counter. ¡°And yet here we are.¡±

    The silence stretches between us, taut as a tripwire. ¡°It¡¯s not the same,¡± he finally says.

    ¡°Isn¡¯t it?¡± Iugh. ¡°You and Grigor are more alike than you want to admit. Why can¡¯t you see that?¡±

    ¡°I would never have abandoned you and Sofiya the way he abandoned your mother and you.¡±

    ¡°He didn¡¯t abandon us.¡± I hold up another letter. ¡°He let us go. There¡¯s a difference.¡±

    Vince runs a hand through his silver-streaked hair. ¡°What are you saying, Rowan? That you want a rtionship with him now? Do these letters somehow erase the danger he poses?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m saying I understand him better,¡± I reply. ¡°And maybe, just maybe, understanding is the first step toward something besides all the awful shit that¡¯se before.¡±

    He sighs and sits beside me on the bed. ¡°You¡¯re grieving. Looking for connections that aren¡¯t there.¡±

    ¡°Or maybe I¡¯m seeing clearly for the first time.¡± I touch his face to feel the tension in his jaw. ¡°Love¡ªeven love born in darkness¡ªcan still be real. Worth fighting for.¡±

    His eyes search mine. ¡°And our love? What¡¯s that worth?¡±

    I lean forward until our foreheads touch. ¡°Everything,¡± I whisper. ¡°But not at the cost of more bloodshed. Not at the cost of Sofiya growing up in a war zone.¡±

    ¡°What then?¡± His rasp is barely audible. ¡°What¡¯s the alternative?¡±

    I trace the line of his jaw with my finger. ¡°What if the letters aren¡¯t just about the past? What if they¡¯re a glimpse of a different future?¡±

    ¡°Speak inly, Rowan.¡±

    ¡°What if peace is possible?¡± I say against his lips. ¡°What if there¡¯s a way to end this that doesn¡¯t involve more death?¡±

    Vince closes his eyes. Hisshes are dark against his skin, the only softness in a face carved from granite. ¡°Peace requires trust,¡± he murmurs. ¡°And trust is exactly what we can¡¯t afford.¡±

    ¡°Can¡¯t we?¡± I challenge. ¡°Or won¡¯t we?¡±

    His eyes snap open, winter blue and shark-cold. ¡°Careful, Rowan,¡± he warns. ¡°Grief makes you vulnerable. Makes you see possibilities that don¡¯t exist.¡±

    ¡°Or maybe grief strips away the lies we tell ourselves.¡± I press my palm against his chest, feeling his heartbeat quicken. ¡°Like the lie that we can keep living this way. That Sofiya can grow up surrounded by guards and guns and still be whole.¡±

    ¡°And what¡¯s your solution? Alliance with Grigor? With the man who?¡ª¡±

    ¡°With the man who loved my mother enough to let her go,¡± I finish for him. ¡°With the man who shares Sofiya¡¯s blood, whether you like it or not. Yes, that¡¯s my solution.¡±

    Vince stands abruptly. ¡°This conversation is pointless. Grigor and I will never see eye to eye, no matter how many love letters you¡¯ve found.¡±

    I clutch the letters to my chest. ¡°He was at the funeral today. He stood at a distance, paying his respects. He didn¡¯t try to approach. Didn¡¯t try to speak to me. Just honored the woman he loved.¡±

    Something shes across Vince¡¯s face. Something that might, in another man, be doubt. In him, I¡¯m not sure what to call it.

    ¡°You¡¯re reading too much into it,¡± he dismisses. ¡°It was a power y, nothing more.¡±

    ¡°Was it a power y when you arranged my mother¡¯s funeral? When you picked out her headstone? When you held me while I cried?¡± I rise to face him. ¡°Or was it love?¡±

    He stares at me, jaw working. ¡°That¡¯s different.¡±

    ¡°Why? Because it¡¯s you? You¡¯re allowed to beplex, but Grigor isn¡¯t?¡±

    ¡°Because I don¡¯t want to fucking kill you!¡± The words explode from him. ¡°Because my love doesn¡¯te with a body count!¡±

    I can only shake my head sadly. ¡°How many people have died since we met, Vince? How many lives have been destroyed in my name? In Sofiya¡¯s?¡±

    His face darkens. ¡°I did what was necessary to protect what¡¯s mine.¡±

    ¡°And what if that¡¯s exactly what Grigor is doing, too?¡± I step closer, close enough to feel the heat radiating from his skin. ¡°What if we¡¯re all just doing what we think is necessary, and meanwhile, the cycle of violence never ends?¡±

    Vince¡¯s hands find my shoulders, gripping hard enough to bruise. ¡°What do you want from me, Rowan?¡±

    ¡°I want you to consider that there might be another way,¡± I reply. ¡°For all of us.¡±

    Hisugh is harsh, without humor. ¡°No, there is no other way. This is who we are. This is the life we¡¯ve chosen.¡±

    ¡°Maybe.¡± I turn away, gathering the letters. ¡°Or maybe it¡¯s just the life we¡¯ve epted because we¡¯re too afraid to imagine something different.¡±

 Filthy Lies: Chapter 38

    I used to have walls.

    Then I knocked them down for Rowan.

    Then our baby came, and I rebuilt them¡ªbut this time, I built them around all three of us, so that no one could ever hurt us. I thought that would be enough.

    I was wrong.

    Because it¡¯s only been one day since Rowan found those letters from Grigor to her mother, and already, the walls I¡¯ve built around us have developed hairline fractures.

    The poison of possibility seeps through those tiny, skittering cracks¡ªthat somehow, Grigor Petrov is more than the monster I know him to be. That there might be ¡°another way¡± beyond the blood-soaked path I¡¯ve walked my entire life.

    Peace. As if men like us ever get to know what that word means.

    I¡¯m in my study working when I hear a sound that stops my heart mid-beat. Sofiya¡¯s cry. Not her usual demand for attention or food, but something terrified that awakens every predatory instinct I possess.

    I¡¯m at the nursery door in seconds. ¡°What¡¯s wrong?¡± I find Rowan bent over Sofiya¡¯s crib, her face tight with worry.

    ¡°She¡¯s burning up.¡± Rowan doesn¡¯t look at me, her focus entirely on our daughter. ¡°I think it¡¯s a fever.¡±

    I cross to them and press my palm to Sofiya¡¯s forehead. Heat pours from her skin like she¡¯s been lit from within. Her cheeks are flushed scarlet, eyes ssy. When I pull my hand away, it trembles.

    ¡°Get her things,¡± I order, already lifting Sofiya from the crib. Her tiny body is a burning coal against my chest. ¡°We¡¯re going to the hospital. Now.¡±

    ¡°Vince, babies get fevers all the?¡ª¡±

    ¡°Now, Rowan.¡±

    She must see something in my face that silences her. She hurries to gather Sofiya¡¯s essentials while I carry our daughter downstairs, barking orders into my phone.

    ¡°Full security protocol. I want the hospital wing swept and secured. Medical staff vetted. Anyone who came near this house in thest forty-eight hours is to be identified and interrogated.¡±

    Sofiya whimpers against my neck. Quick, shallow pants. Each one is a knife between my ribs.

    ¡°What are you doing?¡± Rowan appears beside me, diaper bag in hand.

    ¡°Protecting our daughter.¡±

    ¡°From what? It¡¯s just a fever, Vince.¡±

    I turn to her, jaw clenched so tight I can hear my mrs grinding. ¡°There are no coincidences in our world. Not ever.¡±

    ¡°What are you talking about?¡±

    ¡°The timing is fucked. Less than twenty-four hours after you find those letters, after Grigor shows up at the funeral, she¡¯s suddenly sick?¡± I secure Sofiya in her car seat while Arkady holds the door. ¡°No. They¡¯ve found another way in.¡±

    Rowan¡¯s face drains of color. ¡°You think someone poisoned our baby?¡±

    ¡°I think nothing happens by ident.¡±<hr>

    The ride to the hospital is eternal torment. Sofiya¡¯s cries weaken, her body alternating between rigid and limp in her car seat. Sweat beads along her hairline and dampens the dark curls that match her mother¡¯s. Her blue eyes¡ªmy eyes¡ªstruggle to focus through the fever.

    Cold fear wraps itself around my spine. I¡¯ve faced death countless times without flinching. I¡¯ve inflicted suffering without remorse.

    But the sight of my daughter in pain turns me inside out.

    By the time we reach the hospital, I¡¯ve deployed half my organization. Men in tactical gear pace the perimeter. Others sweep the private wing reserved for the Akopov family. The emergency entrance is nked by men with concealed weapons, their faces carved from the same stone as mine.

    I carry Sofiya inside myself, trusting no one. Not even the nurses who rush to meet us.

    ¡°I want every doctor vetted,¡± I inform the head of security. ¡°Anyone who touches her gets searched first. Full biochemical protocol.¡±

    ¡°Sir, this is a pediatric ward,¡± a nurse protests, stepping toward us. ¡°We need to examine your daughter immediately.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯ll examine her when I say you can.¡± My voice could freeze hell itself. ¡°After you¡¯ve been cleared.¡±

    The woman retreats, eyes wide.

    ¡°Vince.¡± Rowan¡¯s hand finds my arm. ¡°She needs medical attention now.¡±

    ¡°She¡¯ll get it. After I know it¡¯s safe.¡±

    ¡°This is ridiculous¡ª¡± A doctor approaches, nked by two of my men. ¡°Mr. Akopov, I¡¯m Dr. Oakley. I¡¯ve been through your security protocols.¡± He eyes the guards with barely concealed unease. ¡°May I please examine your child?¡±

    I reluctantly allow him to lead us to an examination room, though I refuse to release Sofiya until Arkady confirms the space is secure. Only then do I ce her on the examination table, my body positioned between her and the door.

    Dr. Oakley checks her vital signs. ¡°Her temperature is 103.6. Concerning, but not immediately life-threatening.¡±

    ¡°Test her for everything,¡± I demand. ¡°Poisons. Toxins. Biological agents.¡±

    The doctor exchanges a nce with Rowan. ¡°Mr. Akopov, your daughter presents with ssic symptoms of a viral infection, likely influenza or RSV.¡±

    ¡°Test. Her. Anyway.¡±

    ¡°Vince, you¡¯re scaring the staff,¡± Rowan hisses, cheeks flushed with embarrassment or anger¡ªnot that I give a fuck which it is.

    ¡°Good,¡± I growl. ¡°Fear makes people thorough.¡±<hr>

    The next hours blur together. More doctors arrive; more tests are ordered. Hospital administrators appear, demanding the removal of armed men from their facility. I meet each challenge the same way: with an unblinking stare and a wordless grunt.

    They get the message pretty fucking quickly.

    Sofiya¡¯s fever remains stubbornly high, though it responds marginally to medication. The toxicology screense back negative. So do the tests for biological agents.

    Each negative result only deepens my certainty that we¡¯ve missed something.

    By evening, the hospital is a fortress. It doesn¡¯t make me feel one fucking bit safer.

    I stand at the window of Sofiya¡¯s room as I watch the sun sink below the horizon. Rowan sits beside our daughter¡¯s bed, gently sponging her forehead with a cool cloth. The sight of them together tightens the knot of dread in my gut.

    ¡°The hospital administrator is threatening to call the police,¡± Arkady informs me quietly at the door. ¡°Says you¡¯re ¡®disrupting patient care.¡¯¡±

    ¡°Let him. I¡¯ll have the chief of police here in twenty minutes exining why that¡¯s a bad fucking idea.¡±

    Arkady hesitates. ¡°Vin, do we really need to be doing all this? We¡¯re causing a scene, you know. Besides, the doctors are saying Sofiya¡¯s getting better. Her fever¡¯s down to 101.2. Whatever this is, it¡¯s responding to treatment.¡±

    ¡°Or they¡¯re lying to get us to lower our guard.¡±

    ¡°Why would they?¡ª?¡±

    ¡°Because they¡¯ve beenpromised.¡± My jaw is so stiff that it¡¯s hard to speak. ¡°Nowhere is safe.¡±

    Arkady¡¯s silence says more than words could. Even he thinks I¡¯m overreacting.

    But to his credit, he remembers the pecking order. He sighs and retreats. When the door closes behind him, I cross to Sofiya¡¯s bed and stroke her damp hair. Her skin still sizzles beneath my touch, but her breathing seems easier.

    ¡°The fever¡¯s breaking,¡± Rowan murmurs without looking up. ¡°Just like the doctors said it would.¡±

    ¡°We can¡¯t be sure until?¡ª¡±

    ¡°Until what?¡± She finally looks up, eyes zing. ¡°Until you¡¯ve terrorized every medical professional in this hospital? You¡¯re gonna get yourself arrested, and then we¡¯re worse off than ever, Vince.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m protecting our daughter.¡±

    ¡°No.¡± She stands, bristling with restrained fury. ¡°You¡¯re protecting yourself from your own fear.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s not?¡ª¡±

    ¡°It is. This isn¡¯t about Sofiya. It¡¯s about you not being able to control the fact that sometimes, children get sick. You know what, Vince? Sometimes, bad things happen that have nothing to do with enemies or threats or your father or mine. Bad shit just happens.¡±

    ¡°You think I¡¯m wrong.¡±

    ¡°I think you¡¯re terrified.¡±

    I step closer, towering over her. ¡°And if you¡¯re wrong? If this isn¡¯t just a fever? If someone did get to her?¡±

    ¡°Then we¡¯d know by now. The tests would have found something.¡± She doesn¡¯t back down. ¡°This is exactly what the doctors said it is: a virus. Nothing more.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re too willing to believe that.¡±

    ¡°And you¡¯re too willing to believe the worst.¡± She turns back to Sofiya, dipping the cloth in cool water again. ¡°You see threats everywhere, Vince. Even where they don¡¯t exist.¡±

    Before I can respond, my phone vibrates in my pocket.

    ¡°I have to take this.¡± I step into the hallway, closing the door behind me. ¡°Report,¡± I snap into the phone.

    ¡°We¡¯ve got a situation at the Costa Rica site,¡± Dimitri¡¯s voice is tight with controlled urgency. ¡°Solovyov¡¯s men hit thetest shipment. Three of our guys are dead and there¡¯s about one point two mil of cargo missing.¡±

    I pinch the bridge of my nose as a headache swarms in. ¡°Lock it down. No one in or out. I want identification on every Solovyov operative involved.¡±

    ¡°Already working on it. But Vin¡ª¡± He hesitates. ¡°This was coordinated with local authorities. Someone¡¯s been feeding them intel.¡±

    ¡°Deal with it to the best of your ability. I¡¯ll check in when I can.¡±

    I end the call and stand motionless in the hall. I want to believe in a world where bad things happen only by ident and then go away just as quickly.

    But I don¡¯t.

    I don¡¯t believe in that shit at all.

    I return to Sofiya¡¯s room, where Rowan is still perched beside the bed. ¡°We need to talk. Now.¡±

    She must hear something in my voice, because she follows me to the corner of the room without argument.

    ¡°Solovyovs hit the Costa Rica shipment,¡± I tell her quietly. ¡°Three of our men are dead.¡±

    Her jaw drops. ¡°When?¡±

    ¡°Two hours ago, ording to Dimitri. They had inside information. Local police cooperation.¡±

    Understanding dawns on her face. ¡°You think this is connected to Sofiya¡¯s fever.¡±

    ¡°I think it¡¯s a distraction. Get us focused here, vulnerable to attack there.¡± I run a hand through my hair. ¡°I need to go to the office. I need to contain this.¡±

    ¡°Go.¡± Her face hardens with resolve. ¡°I¡¯ll stay with her.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m leaving six men. Full security protocols remain in ce.¡±

    ¡°Fine. But handle the real threat. I can manage the imagined one.¡±

    The barb stings, but I let it go. There¡¯s no time for arguments when real blood has already been spilled.

    I kiss Sofiya¡¯s forehead, still too warm beneath my lips. ¡°I¡¯ll be back as soon as I can.¡±

    ¡°We¡¯ll be here.¡± Rowan¡¯s voice softens slightly. ¡°Do what you need to do.¡±

    I go to inform my head of security on-site about the situation. It¡¯s a quick conversation, but I detour on the way back to stop by Sofiya¡¯s room once more.

    I¡¯m at the doorway when I hear a voice. Rowan¡¯s voice, specifically.

    She¡¯s talking to Sofi, whispering. ¡°¡­ just that, sometimes, I wonder if your father¡¯s protection is worth the cost.¡±

    I freeze, my hand hovering over the keyboard. She keeps talking, but I can¡¯t hear her voice over the roar of angry, anguished blood in my ears.

    Because deep down, behind the walls I¡¯ve built around my heart, I¡¯ve started to wonder the same thing.

 Filthy Lies: Chapter 39

    A mother knows when the monsters retreat.

    After forty-eight hours of hell, Sofiya¡¯s fever breaks like a wave crashing against the shore¡ªviolent at first, then gradually receding until only a subtle warmth remains.

    The doctors confirm for the umpteenth time what I already knew: that it was just a virus, nothing sinister. Definitely nothing engineered by our growing list of enemies. No poison, no attack. Just the ordinary, run-of-the-mill suffering thates with being human.

    Ordinary. What a fucking concept.

    I watch Vince touch his lips to our daughter¡¯s forehead onest time before he leaves for Costa Rica. His eyes are still haunted by doubt. Even with proof in hand, he can¡¯t bring himself to believe that sometimes, bad things simply happen without malice behind them.

    ¡°I¡¯ll call when Ind,¡± he says without meeting my eyes.

    ¡°Take as long as you need.¡± I don¡¯t mean for it to sound dismissive, but it does. ¡°The situation there soundsplicated.¡±

    ¡°Three days. Four at most.¡± His hand lingers on the doorframe. ¡°Full security detail remains in ce. Don¡¯t leave thepound without?¡ª¡±

    ¡°Without an armed escort, emergency protocols, and my tracking ne.¡± I finish his sentence with a tight smile that doesn¡¯t reach my eyes. ¡°I know the drill, Vince.¡±

    His jaw twitches. ¡°This isn¡¯t a game, Rowan.¡±

    ¡°Trust me,¡± I say with a grimace. ¡°I¡¯m painfully aware.¡±

    After he¡¯s gone, thepound feels emptier, but I breathe easier. Without Vince¡¯s suffocating paranoia coating every surface, the air feels less heavy.

    I tuck Sofiya into her crib for her nap. I can¡¯t stop myself from checking again and again, but every time I do, her forehead remains mercifully cool beneath my palm.

    I should sleep, too. God knows I need it after the hospital nightmare.

    But as I stand to leave, an unexpected wave of nausea hits me like a sucker punch. I barely make it to the bathroom before emptying the contents of my stomach into the toilet.

    When I stand on shaky legs and rinse my mouth, a thought forms, unwee and intrusive.

    Didn¡¯t I experience this exact same nausea before? About, oh¡­ ten months ago?

    I stare at my reflection, counting backwards. My period iste. Not rming on its own¡ªstress does weird things to a woman¡¯s body, and it¡¯s the understatement of the year to say I¡¯ve been stressed. Butbined with the nausea¡­

    ¡°No,¡± I whisper to my ghost-white reflection. ¡°Not now.¡±

    But my body has already made the decision without consulting me.<hr>

    Cut to a few panic-stricken minutester. I¡¯m staring at a pregnancy test I stole from the back of my bathroom cab. Two perfectly pink lines stare back at me, clinical and unambiguous.

    Pregnant.

    Again.

    I slide down the bathroom wall until I hit the cold marble floor, test still clutched in my hand. Tears burn behind my eyes, but they¡¯re not tears of joy.

    Not this time.

    The timing is fucked. We¡¯re surrounded on all sides¡ªSolovyov¡¯s men attacking our shipments, Barkov lurking in the wings, Andrei still under house arrest but never truly contained, and Grigor Petrov lurking at the cemetery and his letters full of promises.

    All I can think is that I¡¯m an awful person no matter which way you slice it.

    What kind of mother willingly brings another child into this?

    What kind of mother even hesitates at the miracle growing inside her?

    I¡¯m as horrified as I am ted. Two conflicting emotions butting heads inside me. I press my palm against my still-t stomach, trying to connect with the life that might be forming there.

    A brother or sister for Sofiya.

    Another human we¡¯ll have to protect.

    Another hostage for the world to snatch away.

    The test slips from my numb fingers and tters to the floor. I need to think, to process. But the walls are closing in, the reality of our life suddenlyid bare in all its ugliness.

    My rose-colored sses were shattered a long time ago. Since then, life has just stomped on the shards again and again.

    This is our reality.

    This is our child¡¯s reality.

    And now, potentially, another child¡¯s.

    The pregnancy test mocks me from where it¡¯s fallen on the floor. Two pink lines that whisper, Here we go again, with all the subtle cruelty of a loaded gun pointed at my temple. A life sentence that I didn¡¯t ask for, didn¡¯t n for, but somehow have been granted anyway. Again.

    Life¡¯s fucking hrious that way.

    I should be overjoyed, though, right? I mean, women spend fortunes trying to conceive. Somewhere out there, some desperate soul is ready to sacrifice absolutely everything she¡¯s ever had for the chance to feel what I¡¯m feeling right now.

    But all I can think about is Sofiya¡¯s tiny body burning with fever in that hospital bed. Or Vince¡¯s face carved from granite as he stationed armed men at every entrance, convinced our enemies had poisoned our baby. Or the weight of his tracking ne against my skin, a cor disguised as jewelry.

    Another baby isn¡¯t just another baby.

    It¡¯s another target.

    But this could be wrong, couldn¡¯t it? Maybe morning sickness is a liar. This isn¡¯t morning, and what I¡¯m feeling isn¡¯t just sick. It¡¯s terror so absolute it practically has its own heartbeat.

    I flush the toilet and scrub my face. The woman in the mirror doesn¡¯t look like me anymore. She¡¯s harder, sharper. Eyes that have seen too much. A mouth that¡¯s spoken too many half-truths to ever be entirely honest again.

    A knock on the door jolts me back to reality.

    ¡°Rowan?¡± Anastasia¡¯s voice filters through. ¡°Are you alright?¡±

    I kick the pregnancy test under the vanity. ¡°Fine,¡± I call back. ¡°Just a minute.¡±

    When I open the door, Anastasia stands there with Sofiya bnced on her hip. My daughter¡¯s chubby cheeks are still flushed, but her eyes are clear, focused. She reaches for me with grabby hands.

    ¡°She was crying,¡± Anastasia exins, handing Sofiya over. ¡°I thought you might want her.¡±

    ¡°Thanks.¡± I bury my face in Sofiya¡¯s chubby neck and kiss her velvet skin. ¡°She feels cooler.¡±

    ¡°The fever¡¯s definitely gone.¡± Anastasia studies me, head tilted. ¡°You, however, look like you¡¯ve seen a ghost.¡±

    I force augh. ¡°Just tired. It¡¯s been a long few days.¡±

    She doesn¡¯t believe me. I can see it in the way her perfectly shaped eyebrows draw together. ¡°Tea? I just made a pot.¡±

    I should say no. Should retreat to my room with Sofiya and sit in my spiral of fear alone.

    But suddenly, the thought of solitude feels suffocating.

    ¡°Sure. Tea sounds nice.¡± I follow her to the kitchen, Sofiya on my hip.

    The tea is some fancy Russian blend that smells like citrus and cardamom. Anastasia pours it with an easy grace that makes me feel clumsy inparison.

    Even after weeks of hiding out in ourpound, she still manages to look like she¡¯s stepped off a runway¡ªhair perfectly styled, makeup wless, posture regal.

    I, meanwhile, am in Vince¡¯s old Harvard t-shirt and leggings, with unwashed hair and dark circles that makeup couldn¡¯t begin to hide, even if I had bothered to apply any.

    She sets a cup in front of me. ¡°So are you going to tell me what¡¯s really wrong, or should I pretend to believe you¡¯re just tired?¡±

    I set Sofiya on the floor for tummy time amongst some toys. ¡°It¡¯s nothing.¡±

    ¡°Bullshit.¡± The elegant profanity sounds strange in her refined ent. ¡°I know that look. I had the same one, not so long ago. Still do most days.¡±

    I trace the rim of my teacup. ¡°It¡¯splicated.¡±

    ¡°We¡¯re hiding from our families in a fortress while our men try to prevent wars on multiple fronts.¡± Anastasia sips her tea daintily andughs. ¡°Everything isplicated.¡±

    Something convinces me to unclench. Maybe it¡¯s that she¡¯s the only other woman who might understand this fucked-up life we¡¯ve chosen. Or it¡¯s just that I¡¯m tired of carrying secrets that weigh more than I can bear.

    ¡°I think I¡¯m pregnant,¡± I say finally.

    Anastasia sets down her teacup with a delicate clink. ¡°I see. Have you told Vincent?¡±

    ¡°He just left for Costa Rica.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s not what I asked.¡±

    I look away. ¡°No. I haven¡¯t told him.¡±

    ¡°Why not?¡± She tilts her head. ¡°I would think he¡¯d be thrilled.¡±

    A bitterugh escapes me. ¡°You saw what he was like when Sofiya had a fever. He turned that hospital into a goddamn war zone, convinced someone had poisoned her. And now¡ª¡± I gesture helplessly. ¡°Another thing to fuel all his worst instincts?¡±

    ¡°Another miracle,¡± Anastasia counters softly.

    ¡°Easy for you to say. You¡¯re not the one bringing children into this fucked-up world we¡¯ve created.¡±

    ¡°No.¡± She nces down at her t stomach. ¡°Not yet, anyway.¡±

    I gawk at her. ¡°Are you?¡ª¡±

    ¡°No.¡± She shakes her head quickly. ¡°But someday, yes. Dan and I want children. Even knowing what that means in our world.¡±

    ¡°How can you even consider it?¡± I whisper. ¡°After everything you¡¯ve seen? Everything you know about this life?¡±

    Anastasia is quiet for a moment, watching Sofiya y with a rattle. ¡°My grandmother lived through the siege of Leningrad,¡± she says finally. ¡°Nearly two years of starvation, bombings, death everywhere. People ate wallpaper paste to survive.¡± Her eyes meet mine. ¡°She told me once that, even during the darkest days, babies were born. Women fell in love. People found moments of joy between the horrors.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s different.¡±

    ¡°Is it?¡± She leans forward. ¡°Our world has always been dangerous, Rowan. The threats just change shape. My family has been Bratva for generations. Yes, children have been targeted. Yes, some have died. But many more have lived, have thrived, have found happiness despite it all.¡±

    ¡°I can¡¯t bear the thought of something happening to them.¡± I sniffle and rub at my eyes. ¡°To either of them. I already feel like I can¡¯t breathe sometimes, worrying about Sofiya. Another baby¡­¡±

    ¡°¡ªis another reason to fight for a better world.¡± Anastasia reaches across the table and takes my hand. Her grip is surprisingly strong. ¡°Not a reason to despair that the world isn¡¯t better yet.¡±

    Tears burn behind my eyes. I blink them back furiously. ¡°When did you get so damn wise?¡±

    ¡°When someone tried to kill me for loving the wrong man.¡± Her smile is razor-sharp. ¡°Tends to rify one¡¯s priorities.¡±

    Sofiya babbles loudly, drawing our attention. She¡¯s trying to stack blocks but keeps knocking them over, her tiny face scrunched in concentration.

    ¡°Look at her,¡± Anastasia says quietly. ¡°She has no idea that men with guns guard her yroom. She just knows she¡¯s loved. That her parents would burn down the world to keep her safe.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s the problem,¡± I whisper. ¡°We have been burning down the world. And for what? So our children can inherit the ashes?¡±

    ¡°Or perhaps to clear space for something new to grow.¡± Anastasia squeezes my hand once before releasing it. ¡°The old ways are dying, Rowan. Your man and mine¡ªthey¡¯re building something different. Something that might actuallyst.¡±

    I want to believe her. God, I want to so badly it feels like a physical ache in my chest.

    ¡°What if we¡¯re wrong?¡± I ask, voicing my deepest fear. ¡°What if all we¡¯re doing is perpetuating the cycle? Violence breeding more violence, generation after generation?¡±

    ¡°Then we fail.¡± She shrugs. ¡°But at least we tried to build something beautiful in the midst of all this ugliness.¡±

    I look at Sofiya. Her dark curls bounce as she knocks over her tower again. The fierce protectiveness I feel for her doesn¡¯t diminish at the thought of another child. If anything, it expands.

    ¡°I need to be sure,¡± I say, more to myself than to Anastasia. ¡°These tests can be wrong. And I want¡ªI need¡ªto process this before I tell Vince.¡±

    ¡°Of course.¡± Anastasia stands and gathers our teacups. ¡°Though I think you underestimate him. For all his faults, Vincent loves being a father.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s not that I think he won¡¯t be happy about the baby,¡± I exin. ¡°It¡¯s that I¡¯m afraid of what he¡¯ll do to protect it. There are lines I¡¯m not sure I want him to cross. Lines I¡¯m not sure I want to cross.¡±

    ¡°Some lines exist to be crossed, Rowan.¡± Anastasia¡¯s voice hardens. ¡°When ites to protecting your children, there are no limits. That¡¯s something our men understood long before we did.¡±

    A chill runs down my spine at the steel in her tone. Poised, elegant Anastasia suddenly revealing the fangs behind her perfect smile.

    ¡°I¡¯ll get another test tomorrow,¡± I decide. ¡°Just to be certain. Then I can figure out how to tell him.¡±

    ¡°A wise decision.¡± She gives me a knowing look. ¡°Though I suspect deep down, you already know the truth.¡±

    My hand drifts unconsciously to my stomach. She¡¯s right¡ªI do know. The same intuition that told me when Sofiya was in danger now whispers that another life has begun inside me.

    ¡°How do you do it?¡± I ask suddenly. ¡°Live with this fear every day without letting it consume you?¡±

    Anastasia considers this, her face serious. ¡°I don¡¯t fight the fear,¡± she answers finally. ¡°I acknowledge it. I respect it, even. And then I decide that love is worth the risk.¡± She smiles. It¡¯s a sad, beautiful thing. ¡°Besides, what¡¯s the alternative? To live half a life because we¡¯re afraid of losing it? No, no. That¡¯s not living at all.¡±

    Sofiya chooses that moment to topple her block tower again, this timeughing delightedly at the destruction she¡¯s caused. The sound is so pure, so unburdened, that it pierces straight through my chest.

    This is why we do it. This is why we risk everything.

    For moments like this. Forughter in the midst of chaos. For love that blooms in the most hostile conditions.

    ¡°I should put her down for another nap,¡± I say, scooping up my daughter. ¡°Thank you, Anastasia.¡±

    She nods. ¡°We¡¯re in this together now, aren¡¯t we? For better or worse.¡±

    ¡°Yeah,¡± I murmur. ¡°We are.¡±

    I take Sofiya back to her crib, her eyelids already drooping with sleep. My fingers brush against my stomach again, and I wonder about the tiny spark that might be kindling there.

    ¡°What do you think, Sofi?¡± I whisper to my drowsy daughter. ¡°Would you like a little brother or sister to boss around?¡±

    She yawns, utterly unconcerned with my existential crisis.

    My phone buzzes with a text from Vince: Landed safely. Hotel secure. How¡¯s our girl?

    I gaze at the screen for longer than I ought to. What do I say? She¡¯s fine. Oh, and by the way, I might be pregnant again during the worst possible time in our catastrophe of a life?

    No. Not yet. Not until I¡¯m absolutely certain. Not until I can deliver the news with conviction rather than fear.

    Fever¡¯s gonepletely, I type instead. She¡¯s back to destroying block towers and babbling in her secretnguage.

    Three dots appear as Vince types his response. Good. Miss you both.

    My throat tightens. Despite everything, he loves us. Truly, deeply loves us.

    And that love, twisted as it sometimes may be, is the foundation everything else is built on.

    We miss you too, I reply. Come home soon.

    I set my phone aside and watch Sofiya sleep. Tomorrow, I¡¯ll get another test to confirm what my body already knows.

    But today¡­ Today, I¡¯ll allow myself to imagine a future where our children y without armed guards watching from the shadows. Where Vince¡¯s smilees easier and stays longer. Where we build something that ousts the destruction we¡¯ve caused.

    ¡°Is this a fantasy?¡± I whisper to the ceiling. ¡°Or is it a map to somewhere we could actually go?¡±

    From the doorway, Anastasia¡¯s voice startles me. ¡°The difference between fantasy and reality,¡± she says softly, ¡°is simply a matter of how badly you want it¡ªand what you¡¯re willing to sacrifice to make it happen.¡±

    I turn to find her leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed. In the dim light of the nursery, her expression is unreadable.

    ¡°And what if the sacrifice is too great?¡± I ask. ¡°What if the price is our souls?¡±

    Her smile is knife-sharp in the shadows. ¡°Oh, Rowan,¡± she says, ¡°haven¡¯t you realized yet? We gave those up a long time ago.¡±

 Filthy Lies: Chapter 40

    I sleep like shit that night. My stomach stays tied up in knots and my head is even worse than that. Hours tick by like msses.

    The problem is that, somewhere along the line, I¡¯ve started to want this baby.

    It goes against all sense and all reason, but the heart wants what it wants, you know? Try talking it out of that. I¡¯ve never had any luck on that front.

    So when the gray dreariness of dawn finally sneaks through the curtains, I get out of bed and creep back into the bathroom.

    I squat and pee, just because I need to see it one more time before I can start to figure out what to say to Vince.

    Now, the pregnancy test I bought yesterday sits on the bathroom counter¡ªsleek, clinical, impersonal. The harbinger of fate disguised as a stic stick.

    Three minutes until my life gets rocked yet again. They go by insanely slow.

    I remember Anastasia¡¯s words from yesterday: ¡°The difference between fantasy and reality is simply a matter of how badly you want it¡ªand what you¡¯re willing to sacrifice to make it happen.¡±

    The truth is, I want it. Despite the danger, despite theplication, despite the absolute fucking insanity of bringing another child into our blood-soaked world¡­ I want to feel life growing inside me again.

    My phone timer chimes.

    I pick up the test. And¡­

    One line.

    One.

    Fucking.

    Line.

    I¡¯m not pregnant.

    I blink, certain I¡¯ve misread it. I hold it up to the light, tilt it, shake it, as if thews of chemistry are just gonnaugh and say, Gotcha!

    But the result remains stubbornly, infuriatingly singr.

    One line.

    Yesterday¡¯s test was wrong. A false positive. A cruel joke yed by a universe that seems to delight in my suffering.

    ¡°No,¡± I whisper to the empty bathroom. ¡°This can¡¯t be right.¡±

    But it is right. I know it is. The first response was the anomaly¡ªstressed bodies do strange things, and pregnancy tests can be fallible. This is reality crashing back in, crushing my fragile hope under its heel and cackling at my fledgling hope.

    The most fucked-up part? I¡¯m devastated.

    I do it again and again. Three more tests until I empty the package.

    One line.

    One line.

    One line.

    I sink to the cold tile floor, tests clutched in my white-knuckled grip like the most fucked-up bouquet there ever was. Twenty-four hours ago, I was terrified at the prospect of another pregnancy. Now, I¡¯m mourning its absence like a death.

    Augh bubbles up from my chest¡ªbitter, jagged, bordering on hysterical.

    What kind of monster am I? What kind of woman mourns a pregnancy that never was, when she already has a beautiful child sleeping safely in the next room? When that same woman was paralyzed with fear at the possibility just yesterday?

    The kind of woman who loves a monster, perhaps.

    The kind who¡¯s bing one herself.

 Filthy Lies: Chapter 41

    Anastasia is in the kitchen when I stumble out. I wanted to snuggle Sofi for a while, but she was sleeping soundly, so I thought it was best to leave her alone.

    When I step through the door, Anastasia takes one look at my face and knows.

    ¡°It was negative,¡± she says. Not a question.

    ¡°False rm.¡± I push past her and drop into a seat at the counter, unable to meet her eyes. ¡°Guess I¡¯m not pregnant after all.¡±

    She follows me, her silence more damning than any words could be. ¡°Are you relieved?¡± Anastasia finally asks.

    Am I relieved? Shouldn¡¯t I be?

    ¡°I don¡¯t know what I am.¡± I sound weak and miserable even to my own ears. ¡°Yesterday, I was terrified. Today, I¡¯m¡­¡± I trail off, unable to name the emptiness gnawing at my insides.

    ¡°Disappointed,¡± she supplies gently.

    ¡°Isn¡¯t that messed up?¡± I turn to face her, anger suddenly surging through me. ¡°I should be grateful. One lessplication in our catastrophe of a life. One less reason for Vince to murder half of New York in the name of protection.¡±

    Anastasia leans against the edge of the counter. ¡°It¡¯s not messed up. It¡¯s human.¡±

    ¡°Nothing about my life is human anymore.¡±

    ¡°You wanted this baby,¡± she says simply. ¡°Despite everything, you wanted it.¡±

    She¡¯s not wrong. I did want it. Part of me had already begun imagining a future with two children instead of one. Had already fallen in love with a possibility.

    ¡°It doesn¡¯t matter,¡± I say, forcing certainty I don¡¯t feel into my voice. ¡°It was never real.¡±

    ¡°The pregnancy wasn¡¯t. The desire was.¡± Anastasia stands, crosses to me. ¡°And you should still tell Vincent.¡±

    I jerk away from her. ¡°Tell him what?¡±

    ¡°All of it. The fear, the hope, the disappointment. He deserves to know.¡±

    ¡°He¡¯d think I¡¯ve lost my mind.¡±

    ¡°He¡¯d understand better than you think.¡± She moves toward the door, then pauses. ¡°We¡¯re more than the circumstances we¡¯re trapped in, Rowan. More than the violence that surrounds us. Remember that.¡±

    After she leaves, I sit at the counter, staring at nothing. One of the failed pregnancy tests is still clutched in my hand, the single line mocking me.

    It would be for the best if I throw it away.

    But throwing it away feels like throwing away the child that never was.

    So instead, I creep back to my bed and ce it carefully in my nightstand drawer.<hr>

    I¡¯ve spent the three days since Vince left staring at that fucking drawer. It¡¯s be a ck hole in our bedroom, warping time and space around it. The negative test sits inside like a dead star, radiating its own peculiar gravity.

    I¡¯ve opened it seventeen times. Yes, I counted. Each time, I expected the result to magically change, like if I wish hard enough, want desperately enough, that second pink line will materialize out of thin air.

    It doesn¡¯t.

    Whatever small, fragile thing might have started growing inside me wasn¡¯t meant to be. Or never existed at all.

    A phantom pregnancy. A phantom grief.

    Sofiya has started to notice something¡¯s wrong. This morning, her pudgy hands patted my wet cheeks while I changed her diaper, her blue eyes studying me with unsettling rity for someone who still shits herself daily.

    She babbled something, just nonsense, but I could almost swear that what she said was ¡°Mama sad.¡± I know she didn¡¯t¡ªshe¡¯s not old enough to form sybles, much less grasp any of the involved concepts¡ªbut that didn¡¯t stop something in me from shattering all over again.

    Even my infant daughter can tell I¡¯m falling apart over the loss of something that never was.

    Thepound feels like it¡¯s shrinking around me. The walls closing in, the air thinning. Anastasia¡¯s advice haunts me: Tell him. All of it. He deserves to know.

    But how do I exin this? I¡¯m mourning a baby that never existed. It¡¯s silly that I found myself desperately, pathetically wanting to be pregnant again in the middle of this fucking bloodbath we call a life. It¡¯s selfish. It¡¯s wrong.

    But just when I¡¯ve decided to bury this episode in my heart forever, I hear the security system disarm downstairs.

    Then footsteps. The heavy tread of footsteps I would recognize even if I were blindfolded, gagged, half-dead.

    My body responds before my mind catches up¡ªpulse quickening, skin warming, that Pavlovian response to Vince¡¯s proximity that never quite faded, not even after all this time.

    I wipe my eyes and try to pull myself together.

    I fail spectacrly.

    And so he finds me sitting on the edge of our bed, staring at that damn drawer. I don¡¯t need to look up to know he¡¯s filling the doorway, cataloging every detail of my posture, my unwashed hair, my red-rimmed eyes.

    ¡°Rowan.¡± He exhales. ¡°What¡¯s wrong?¡±

    I¡¯ve rehearsed this conversation in my head a thousand times since that second test. All of that practice evaporates like morning dew in August.

    ¡°Nothing,¡± I lie, wiping furiously at fresh tears. ¡°Just tired. Sofiya¡¯s been?¡ª¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t.¡± He cuts through my bullshit that easily. ¡°Not with me.¡±

    He crosses the room in long strides and kneels before me. His hands cup my face, forcing me to meet his gaze.

    ¡°Tell me.¡±

    And just like that, the dam breaks.

    ¡°I thought I was pregnant. I took a test while you were gone. It was positive.¡±

    His entire body goes still. His eyes¡ªthose fucking gorgeous blue eyes¡ªdte until only a thin ring of color remains. ¡°You¡¯re pregnant?¡±

    ¡°No. That¡¯s the fucked-up part. I took another test yesterday. Negative. The first one was just a false positive, I guess.¡±

    ¡°I see.¡± His face is unreadable. ¡°And you¡¯re upset about this.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t know what I am.¡± I swallow and knuckle at my eyes again. ¡°When I thought I was pregnant, I was terrified. Another child? Now? With Solovyov¡¯s men attacking our shipments and your father still under house arrest and who knows what else still out there?¡± I shake my head, fresh tears spilling over. ¡°It seemed like the cruelest joke.¡±

    ¡°But¡­?¡±

    ¡°But then when the second test was negative, I was¡­¡± I struggle for the word, but it won¡¯te.

    ¡°Devastated.¡±

    ¡°Yes. And then I felt like the most selfish asshole who¡¯s ever lived. What does that make me?¡±

    ¡°Human,¡± Vince says at once. ¡°It makes you human.¡±

    I pull away from him, anger suddenly rising like bile in my throat. ¡°Don¡¯t fucking pacify me, Vince. We both know our lives are anything but human. We live behind walls guarded by killers. Our daughter has never been to a public park. Thest time we left thispound together was for Sofiya¡¯s christening, and someone tried to fucking kill us.¡±

    ¡°And you still want another child.¡±

    ¡°Yes!¡± I shout, surprising myself with the ferocity of it. ¡°I do. What does that say about me? And don¡¯t say human. Because we both know that¡¯s utter bullshit. We haven¡¯t been ¡®human¡¯ for a long time.¡±

    Vince rises, paces the length of our bedroom. His shoulders are rigid beneath his dress shirt, the line of his jaw sharp enough to slice me wide open.

    ¡°When you thought you were pregnant,¡± he says carefully, ¡°why didn¡¯t you call me?¡±

    I don¡¯t have to think hard to answer that. ¡°Because I was afraid.¡±

    ¡°Of what?¡±

    ¡°Of what you¡¯d do.¡± I meet his gaze steadily. ¡°Of how far you¡¯d go to protect us.¡±

    He flinches as if I¡¯ve physically struck him. ¡°Is that what you think?¡± he asks. ¡°That I¡¯m looking for excuses to be a monster?¡±

    ¡°No.¡± I stand, close the distance between us. ¡°I think you¡¯re trying so fucking hard not to be one that sometimes you ovepensate in ways that terrify me.¡±

    ¡°Like at the hospital.¡±

    ¡°Like at the hospital,¡± I confirm. ¡°Vince, you were ready to execute the doctors because Sofiya had a fever.¡±

    He doesn¡¯t deny it. His handes up, traces the curve of my cheek with tenderness.

    He is quiet for a long moment, his eyes searching mine. Then something changes in his face¡ªa decision made, a path chosen.

    ¡°I¡¯ve been thinking about Costa Rica,¡± he says finally. ¡°The development there is nearlyplete. Legitimate business, away from New York. Away from my father, from the Solovyovs, from Grigor.¡±

    My breath catches. ¡°What are you saying?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m saying there are alternatives to this life. Ways to protect our family that don¡¯t involve armed guards and panic rooms.¡± His fingers slide into my hair, cradling my skull. ¡°If you want another child, Rowan, we¡¯ll have another child. And we¡¯ll find a way to keep them safe that doesn¡¯t turn me into someone you fear.¡±

    Hope unfurls in my chest¡ªfragile, tender, but undeniably there.

    ¡°Do you mean that?¡± I whisper.

    ¡°I mean it.¡± His forehead presses against mine. ¡°I¡¯ve made promises to you before that I¡¯ve broken. I¡¯ve lied to protect you, controlled you to keep you safe. But this¡ª¡± His hand drops to my still-t stomach, rests there with reverent gentleness. ¡°This promise I¡¯ll keep.¡±

    Something in his certainty makes me ache with both longing and fear. We¡¯ve been here before¡ªgrand derations, solemn vows. But the world keeps dragging us back into darkness despite our best efforts to honor what we say.

    ¡°You can¡¯t know that,¡± I murmur against his lips. ¡°You can¡¯t promise we¡¯ll be safe, that our children will be safe. Not in this life.¡±

    ¡°Then we build a different one.¡± His kiss tastes like desperation and determination in equal measure. ¡°Whatever it takes.¡±

    I want to believe him. God, I want it so badly I can taste it¡ªsharp and sweet on my tongue like blood and honey.

    But experience has taught me the price of hope.

    ¡°Show me,¡± I challenge, fingers digging into his shoulders. ¡°Not words, Vince. Show me this different life is possible before we bring another child into this one.¡±

    His eyes darken to midnight, something dangerous and thrilling burning hot behind them.

    ¡°Watch me.¡±

 Filthy Lies: Chapter 42

    Vince goes to shower off the airne germs, leaving his briefcase resting against the bedpost. I sit there for a while. It¡¯s nice to hear the hum of the hot water, the soft sighs that mean he¡¯s home again. I missed him more than I realized, I think.

    Show me this different life is possible before we bring another child into this one.

    My own words haunt me as I stare at his briefcase. The ck leather is worn at the corners, a physical manifestation of the man who carries it¡ªpolished, expensive, but fraying at the edges where no one is supposed to notice.

    I shouldn¡¯t do it.

    But when has that ever stopped me?

    The sound of water continues to mask my movements as I pop open the goldtches. Inside, everything is meticulously organized, each document in its proper ce.

    I rifle through papers, not sure what I¡¯m looking for until I find it. A folderbeled ¡°Cayman Inds,¡± tucked behind contracts and shipment manifests.

    Something cold slithers down my spine as I pull it out, heart thumping against my ribs like it¡¯s trying to escape before the rest of me discovers what it already knows.

    The first page is a bank statement. Seven figures.

    All in Vince¡¯s name.

    The second is a property deed. Beachfront. Also solely in his name.

    My hands tremble as I flip through document after document¡ªoffshore ounts, investments, property holdings¡ªa ghost life built in secret, ready to be inhabited at a moment¡¯s notice.

    By one person.

    Not three.

    ¡°What the fuck?¡± I whisper to the empty room.

    Footsteps. The shower¡¯s stopped. I scramble to rece the folder exactly as I found it, but my shaking hands betray me. Papers slide across the floor in every direction.

    The bathroom door opens, releasing a cloud of steam along with my freshly-showered husband. His towel rides sinfully low on those cut hips, water droplets tracking down his chest like they¡¯re worshipping at the altar of Vincent Akopov.

    I want to hate how beautiful he is. How easily his body distracts from the ugliness in my hands.

    ¡°Rowan?¡± His voice has that dangerous edge that means I¡¯ve been caught. ¡°What are you doing?¡±

    I clutch the hastily gathered papers to my chest as if they might shield me from the bullet I¡¯m about to take.

    ¡°Nothing.¡± The lie sits between us like a third person in the room. ¡°Just looking for a pen.¡±

    His eyes flick from my face to the folder in my death grip. His jaw ticks once, twice. The muscle there jumps like it¡¯s trying to escape.

    ¡°A pen,¡± I repeat, as if saying it again will somehow make this stupid lie more believable. ¡°Just had to, uh¡­ write down a thought so I don¡¯t forget. Something to tell Anastasia.¡±

    It would be insane if he believes me. I¡¯m clutching evidence of his betrayal to my chest, and he¡¯s standing there practically naked. Yet somehow I¡¯m the one who feels exposed.

    There¡¯s a moment¡ªsuspended, crystallized in time¡ªwhere I think he¡¯s going to call me on my bullshit.

    Then his mouth curves into a smile. ¡°Bottom drawer of my desk,¡± he says. ¡°Blue fountain pens. Take whichever you like.¡±

    Relief floods me¡ªhot, liquid, shameful. ¡°Thanks,¡± I mumble, shoving the papers back into his briefcase with trembling hands. ¡°I¡¯ll just¡­ I¡¯m going to check on Sofi.¡±

    I flee before he can respond. The hallway stretches before me like one of the endless ones in a nightmare, and I half-expect to feel his hand on my shoulder at any moment, dragging me back to face what I¡¯ve discovered.

    It doesn¡¯te.

    I make it to Sofiya¡¯s nursery and lock the door behind me, leaning against it as if I could physically hold back the truth. My daughter sleeps in her crib, oblivious to the fact that her father has an escape hatch built for one.

    Cayman Inds. Offshore ounts. Property deeds.

    All in his name. Not mine. Not ours. His.

    Then we build a different one. Whatever it takes.

    His words echo in my head and take on a sinister new meaning. He wasn¡¯t talking about building a new life with me. He was talking about the one he¡¯s already engineered for himself.

    If he decides we aren¡¯t good enough to bring with him.

    I slide down to the floor, knees drawn to my chest, and try to regte my breathing before I hyperventte and wake Sofiya. The panic ws at my throat. It hurts. God, it hurts.

    This is what I get for hoping. For believing. For letting myself imagine a future where we¡¯re happy, where we have another child, where we escape the darkness together.

    Someone raps on the door.

    ¡°Rowan?¡± Vince¡¯s voice filters through the wood, deceptively gentle. ¡°Everything okay in there?¡±

    I rise on shaky legs, smoothing my shirt, wiping my face. ¡°Fine,¡± I call back. ¡°Just checking on her.¡±

    ¡°Can Ie in?¡±

    No. Fuck no. Go back to nning your getaway that doesn¡¯t include us.

    ¡°Of course.¡±

    I unlock the door, stepping back as he enters. He¡¯s dressed now¡ªdark jeans, charcoal henley that hugs the muscled nes of his chest. His hair is still damp from the shower, silver strands catching the soft light from Sofiya¡¯s nightmp.

    He looks like a god. He always fucking does.

    ¡°She¡¯s still sleeping,¡± I say unnecessarily. ¡°Feverpletely gone.¡±

    Vince crosses to our daughter, his massive frame somehow delicate as he leans over her sleeping form. The tenderness in his gaze makes my heart twist painfully in my chest.

    How can he look at her like that while nning to abandon her?

    ¡°Did you find your pen?¡± he asks without looking at me.

    ¡°What? Oh. Uh, no. I got sidetracked.¡± I gesture vaguely at Sofiya.

    He straightens, eyes searching my face. I feel yed open beneath that prating gaze. ¡°You¡¯ve been crying.¡±

    ¡°Hormones.¡± I shrug. ¡°False pregnancy, remember? My body¡¯s confused.¡±

    ¡°Rowan.¡± Just my name, but it carries the weight of a thousand unspoken questions.

    ¡°I don¡¯t want to talk about it.¡±

    Vince stares at me with those blue eyes. He waits. Waits. And then¡­ ¡°Alright. I¡¯m here if you need me.¡± He nces down at Sofi. ¡°If either of you need me.¡±

    I nod. ¡°Yep. I know. Thanks.¡±

    He looks at me a little longer. Then he sighs and retreats toward the hallway.

    ¡°Vince?¡± I call as he reaches the door.

    He turns, one eyebrow raised in question.

    ¡°Do you¡­?¡±

    The words die in my throat. What can I ask that wouldn¡¯t reveal what I know?

    Do you love me enough to take me with you when you go? Do you ever think about leaving us behind?

    ¡°Never mind,¡± I finishmely.

    He watches me for onest excruciating moment, then nods again and disappears into the hallway.

    I sag against Sofiya¡¯s crib, my knees threatening to buckle. A sob ws its way up my throat, but I press my fist against my mouth to trap it. My daughter doesn¡¯t need to hear her mother falling apart.

    I reach into the crib and adjust her nket. ¡°What are we going to do, Sofi?¡± I whisper, fingers gently stroking her dark hair. ¡°What if Daddy decides he¡¯s better off without us?¡±

    She doesn¡¯t answer, of course. But his secrets answer for him.

    I nce at the door where Vince vanished¡ªmy husband, my salvation, my destruction. All wrapped in one devastatingly beautiful package.

    When he looked at me just now, did he see the mother of his child?

    Or did he see aplication?

    Years ago, I thought catching Vince¡¯s attention was the hardest thing in the world. Now, I realize keeping it might be even harder.

    Trust, once broken, doesn¡¯t heal cleanly. It scars. Warps. Creates weak points where pressure can be applied until everything shatters again.

    And I am so, so tired of breaking.

 Filthy Lies: Chapter 43

    I don¡¯t like the way she¡¯s looking at me.

    Ever since I came home from Costa Rica, Rowan¡¯s eyes track me around rooms like I¡¯m a wild animal she expects to turn on her at any moment.

    Not that there isn¡¯t a kernel of truth to that¡ªI am a predator. I¡¯ve spent my life bing one.

    But never toward her. Never toward my family.

    The negative pregnancy test rattled her more than she wants to admit; that much is clear. But there¡¯s something else¡ªsomething darker¡ªeclipsing her usual fire.

    It¡¯s in all the signs. The way she clutched those papers to her chest when I caught her rifling through my briefcase. The way she scurried out of our bedroom with panic bleeding from every pore.

    She found something. And whatever it was, it¡¯s making her look at me the way people look at snakes in ss terrariums: wondering if the ss is thick enough to keep them safe.

    I¡¯m still trying to figure out exactly what she discovered when Arkady marches into my study without knocking, phone pressed to his ear, eyes wide with what can only be described as pure fucking glee.

    ¡°The Solovyovs are crumbling,¡± he announces, tossing a thick folder onto my desk. ¡°The FBI raid happened twenty minutes ago. Federal agents are swarming their warehouses from Brighton Beach to Staten Ind.¡±

    I lean forward and pass an eye over the surveince photos inside the folder. The picture they paint is grim, if you¡¯re in the Solovyov business. Men in tactical gear hauling crates from buildings. Solovyov lieutenants in handcuffs being shoved into unmarked vans. A glimpse of Agent Carver¡¯s smug face directing operations, grinning from ear to ear like the Cheshire Cat.

    ¡°What exactly did you give the FBI?¡± I ask Arkady. ¡°The intel Rowan provided couldn¡¯t have been thisprehensive.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s just it.¡± He beams as he flops into the chair across from me. ¡°We didn¡¯t have to give them anything beyond the initial tip. The momentum of their investigation did the rest. Carver¡¯s people got one thread and pulled until the whole fucking sweater unraveled.¡±

    My eyes narrow. ¡°And our operation?¡±

    ¡°Utterly andpletely untouched. Damn near virginal, baby.¡± He spreads his hands andughs incredulously. ¡°The FBI is so focused on the Solovyovs they haven¡¯t spared a single nce in our direction. It¡¯s like we¡¯ve be goddamn invisible.¡±

    I lean back and let this news settle into my bones. When Rowan first told me about her meeting with Carver, I¡¯d been furious. When she exined her strategy¡ªoffering the Solovyovs as sacrifice to redirect FBI attention¡ªI¡¯d been skeptical at best.

    But now¡­

    Well, fuck. She was right.

    ¡°There¡¯s more,¡± Arkady continues. He taps something on his phone before sliding it across the desk to me. ¡°The Barkov family¡ªwhat¡¯s left of them¡ªhas reached out. They want to meet. The Yershovs, too. Even the fucking Kozlovs are making noise about a potential alliance.¡±

    ¡°Opportunistic fucks,¡± I mutter in disgust.

    ¡°They¡¯re rats fleeing a sinking ship,¡± Arkady corrects. ¡°Afraid they¡¯re next on the FBI¡¯s hit list. They want our protection¡ªand they¡¯re willing to pay top fuckin¡¯ dor for it, man. This shit is a gold mine.¡±

    The irony isn¡¯t lost on me. For months, we¡¯ve been fighting a multifront war¡ªSolovyovs, my father¡¯s loyalists, the FBI, various disgruntled Bratva families who saw us as vulnerable.

    Now, those same enemies are crawling on their bellies to our door, begging for sanctuary.

    ¡°My wife,¡± I say slowly, a vicious pride spreading through my chest like blood in water, ¡°is a fucking genius.¡±

    Arkady snorts. ¡°Don¡¯t tell her that. Her ego¡¯s already big enough.¡±

    ¡°Schedule the meetings. One by one, not all at once. We negotiate from a position of strength.¡± I stand, gathering the files. ¡°And double the security detail on thepound. Just because they¡¯re asking for alliance doesn¡¯t mean they won¡¯t try to eliminatepetition if the opportunity presents itself.¡±

    ¡°As always, it is already done, because I¡¯m the best.¡± Arkady rises, then pauses halfway to his feet. ¡°You going to tell her?¡±

    ¡°Tell who what?¡±

    ¡°Rowan, dumbass.¡± He gives me a look that suggests I¡¯m being deliberately dense. ¡°That her crazy n actually worked.¡±

    I look toward the open door and the yawning hallway beyond it. ¡°Yeah,¡± I say. ¡°I¡¯m going to tell her.¡±<hr>

    I find Rowan in our bedroom, sitting cross-legged on the bed with a book open in herp. She¡¯s not reading it. The pages haven¡¯t turned in the three minutes I¡¯ve been standing in the doorway watching her stare at nothing.

    ¡°You were right,¡± I say, finally stepping into the room.

    Her head jerks up, startled. Those green eyes¡ªGrigor¡¯s eyes, not that I¡¯ll ever say that out loud¡ªwiden with something that looks dangerously like fear.

    ¡°About¡­?¡±

    ¡°The FBI.¡± I close the door behind me. ¡°Your n worked. Better than we could have imagined. They¡¯re dismantling the Solovyovs as we speak.¡±

    For a split second, triumph shes across her face¡ªa glimpse of the fierce woman I married. Then it¡¯s gone, reced by the same guarded wariness that¡¯s been shadowing her eyes since I came home.

    ¡°That¡¯s good,¡± she says atst.

    ¡°Good?¡± Iugh as I join her on the edge of the bed. ¡°It¡¯s fucking brilliant, Rowan. The Bratva families that have been gunning for us are now begging for protection. The FBI is so focused on the Solovyovs they¡¯ve forgotten we exist. You turned our worst enemies into our biggest opportunity.¡±

    She nods, eyes averted. ¡°I¡¯m d.¡±

    ¡°d? That¡¯s all you have to say?¡± I reach for her hand, but she pulls it back. I frown. ¡°Talk to me, Rowan. What¡¯s going on?¡±

    ¡°Nothing¡¯s going on.¡± She closes her book with a snap. ¡°I¡¯m tired, Vince. It¡¯s been a long few days.¡±

    ¡°Bullshit.¡± I stand. Frustration crackles through me like lightning seeking ground. ¡°You¡¯ve been looking at me like I¡¯m a stranger since I got back from Costa Rica. Like you¡¯re afraid of me.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m not afraid of you,¡± she says, but there¡¯s no conviction in it.

    ¡°Then what? The pregnancy test? I told you, we can try again when?¡ª¡±

    ¡°The Cayman Inds,¡± she blurts out, looking immediately like she wishes she could stuff the words back down her throat. ¡°Does that mean anything to you?¡±

    Understanding dawns cold and sharp. It¡¯s absurd that I didn¡¯t see it before, but all she had to say was those three little words and the whole piece swims into resolution.

    ¡°You think I¡¯m nning¡­ You found the offshore ounts in my name and thought¡ªwhat? That I¡¯m building myself an escape hatch without you and Sofiya?¡±

    Her silence is answer enough.

    Jesus fucking Christ.

    ¡°You actually believe I could do that,¡± I say tly.

    ¡°I didn¡¯t know what to think, Vince.¡± She wraps her arms around herself, suddenly small and vulnerable in a way that makes my chest ache. ¡°All those ounts in your name only. Properties I¡¯ve never heard of. Money I didn¡¯t know existed. Two plus two is four, you know?¡±

    I scrub a hand down my face, marveling at how spectacrly I¡¯ve failed tomunicate with the one person who matters most.

    ¡°Those ounts are a decoy, Rowan.¡±

    Her eyes snap to mine. ¡°What?¡±

    ¡°A red herring. Breadcrumbs.¡± I sit beside her again, close enough to touch but not reaching for her yet. ¡°The FBI, the Bratva, our enemies¡ªthey¡¯re all looking for my assets. For leverage they can use against us.¡± I gesture toward the door, where somewhere beyond it, Sofiya sleeps in her crib. ¡°For ways to hurt the people I love.¡±

    Her lips part in shock as I keep talking.

    ¡°So I built a convincing trap. ounts that look like hidden assets but are actually monitored by the FBI. Properties that appear to be secret hideaways but are under surveince. Money trails designed specifically to be found and followed¡ªleading everyone away from where the real assets are kept.¡±

    ¡°And where are the real assets kept?¡± she asks, still not entirely convinced.

    I hold her gaze steadily. ¡°In trusts under shellpanies¡ªregistered to you and Sofiya. All that stuff is protected bywyers who don¡¯t know they¡¯re working for me, and it¡¯s essible to you¡ªand only to you¡ªin the event of my death or imprisonment.¡±

    Her jaw falls all the way open. ¡°You¡­ you put everything in our names?¡±

    ¡°Everything that matters.¡± I reach for her hand again, and this time, she doesn¡¯t wrench away. ¡°I¡¯m not building an escape route for myself, Rowan. I¡¯m building a safety for my girls.¡±

    Tears well in her eyes, threatening to spill over. ¡°I thought you were nning to leave us behind.¡±

    ¡°Never.¡± I cup her face in my hands, willing her to believe me. ¡°You and Sofiya are the only things in this world I wouldn¡¯t leave behind.¡±

    A tear slips down her cheek. ¡°I¡¯m sorry. I¡¯m so sorry for doubting you. I¡¯m an idiot.¡±

    ¡°No.¡± I brush the tear away with my thumb. ¡°I¡¯m sorry for not telling you. For letting you think, even for a moment, that I¡¯d abandon my family.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s not just that.¡± She shakes her head. ¡°I¡¯ve been so unstable since the pregnancy test. The way I went from dreading it to wanting it to mourning it¡­ I don¡¯t even recognize myself anymore.¡±

    I pull her to me, tucking her head under my chin. She burrows there with a grateful sigh like it¡¯s the exact medicine she needed. ¡°You¡¯ve been through hell, Rowan. We both have. You¡¯re allowed to want things, even if they scare you. You¡¯re allowed to grieve for things that never were.¡±

    Her arms wind around me, holding on as if I¡¯m the only solid thing in a world gone liquid with uncertainty.

    ¡°I want to try again,¡± she whispers against my throat. ¡°For another baby, I mean. When things are more stable.¡±

    ¡°When things are more stable,¡± I agree, running my hand down the slender curve of her spine. ¡°I promise you, we¡¯re getting there.¡±

    She tilts her face up to mine, and I see it there¡ªthe trust creeping back into her eyes. She used to always look at me like this before the world taught her to be wary.

    I¡¯d like to make it so that¡¯s the only way she ever looks at me again.

    ¡°Show me,¡± she says, echoing her words from earlier.

    But this time, there¡¯s no challenge in them. Only invitation.

    I don¡¯t need to be asked twice.

    My mouth meets hers with a hunger that¡¯s been building since I first saw her sitting on our bed, looking lost and broken. She melts against me. A soft sound of surrender catches in her throat as my tongue pushes into her mouth.

    I want to devour her. To consume her doubt and fear and rece it with the bone-deep certainty that she is mine and I am hers and nothing¡ªnothing¡ªwill ever change that.

    She moans when Iy her back on the bed. My body covers hers like a shield against all the darkness in the world.

    Including the darkness in me.

    ¡°I missed you,¡± she breathes as I trail kisses down her throat, lingering over her pulse point where her heart thuds with growing arousal. ¡°Even when you were right here, I missed you.¡±

    ¡°I know.¡± I tug her shirt over her head and cast it aside. ¡°I¡¯m here now. I¡¯m not going anywhere.¡±

    My hands and mouth worship her body¡ªthe curves that still carry the memory of bearing our child, the scars that tell the story of all she¡¯s survived.

    When I reach the waistband of her leggings, I nce up, seeking permission.

    Sometimes, I take.

    Sometimes, I ask.

    This is thetter.

    She nods and lifts her hips so I can peel the fabric down her legs. Her body trembles as I pepper reverent kisses along her inner thighs and work my way towards her core.

    ¡°Vince,¡± she gasps when my tongue finally finds her center. ¡°Oh, God, Vince.¡±

    I devour her, each flick of my tongue a silent promise, each press of my fingers a vow. Shees apart under my mouth, back arching, hands fisted in my hair, my name a broken stutter on her lips.

    But I¡¯m not done with her. Not by a long shot.

    I shed my own clothes, never taking my eyes off her flushed face, the way she watches me with hunger that matches my own. When I finally slide inside her, we both groan at the perfection of it.

    No two things have ever fit together so well.

    ¡°Mine,¡± I growl against her ear as I begin to move. ¡°No matter what happens, no matter whates for us. You¡¯re mine, Rowan. You and Sofiya. Always.¡±

    ¡°Yours,¡± she agrees. Her nails rake down my back hard enough to leave marks. Good. I want to be marked by her. imed by her just as thoroughly as I im her.

    We move together with growing urgency, my thrusts bing harder, deeper, more desperate. The slick heat of her surrounds me, pulls me deeper, urges me towardpletion.

    But I hold back. I want her toe before me.

    ¡°Come for me,¡± Imand against her lips. ¡°Let me feel you, Rowan.¡±

    She does exactly that, tipping over the edge into a spasming orgasm. Only irond will keeps me moving, prolonging her pleasure until she¡¯s sobbing my name, begging for mercy.

    Then and only then do I allow myself release, pouring into her with a groan thates from somewhere deeper than my bones.

    We copse together. Her eares to rest right over my heart. I wonder if she can hear what it¡¯s saying¡ªtheplicated tangle of love and fear and fierce possessiveness that drives every beat.

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± she murmurs against my skin.

    ¡°Don¡¯t be.¡± I press a kiss to the top of her head. ¡°I haven¡¯t always given you reason to trust me.¡±

    ¡°I do trust you.¡± She props herself up on one elbow to look at me properly. ¡°With my life. With Sofiya¡¯s life, too. It¡¯s just¡­¡±

    ¡°Just what?¡±

    Her eyes search mine. ¡°Sometimes, I wonder if we¡¯re just dying the inevitable. If there¡¯s any way to actually escape this life we¡¯ve built.¡±

    ¡°We escaped today,¡± I remind her. ¡°The FBI is hunting the Solovyovs instead of us. Our enemies are bing our allies. The Costa Rica development is back on track.¡± Ib a stray lock of hair out of her face. ¡°There is a happy ever after waiting for us, Rowan. We just have to hold onto each other long enough to reach it.¡±

    She¡¯s quiet for a long moment, absorbing this. Then she leans down to kiss me, soft and sweet and full of a trust I¡¯m still not sure I deserve.

    ¡°Just promise me one thing,¡± she whispers against my lips.

    ¡°Anything.¡±

    ¡°Promise me that if ites down to it¡ªif we ever have to choose between power and peace¡ªwe choose peace.¡±

    I stare into those green eyes, so different from my own, yet familiar in ways I can¡¯t exin. In them, I see a future I never believed possible. A future that might just be within our grasp if we¡¯re willing to strive for it.

    ¡°I promise,¡± I tell her.

    I mean it more than I¡¯ve ever meant anything in my whole cursed life.

 Filthy Lies: Chapter 44

    Life is a pinball machine. You bounce from one thing to another, always hoping this one will hold you there for good, that this is the safe haven, or at least the most certain one. But you¡¯re always wrong. There¡¯s always another bounceing, so that just when you¡¯re getting settled in, you get flung in a fresh direction.

    Just days ago, I was convinced my husband was nning his escape without me and Sofiya.

    Now, I¡¯m lying naked in our bed, his promises still fresh on my lips, my body bearing the marks of him proving just how wrong I was.

    Bounce, bounce, bounce. I¡¯ve been through so many of them since that day in Vince¡¯s office. Since before then, even. Five years of fantasizing about this man, followed by months of fearing him, hating him, loving him until my bones ached with it.

    And somehow, despite everything¡ªdespite the blood on his hands, on mine¡ªwe¡¯re still here. Still wing our way toward something that feels suspiciously like happiness.

    Would my mother recognize me now? This woman who speaks thenguage of violence so fluently? This woman who spreads her legs for a killer and calls it love?

    I¡¯d like to think she would. I¡¯d like to think Mom would understand that sometimes, the darkest ces are where you find your light.

    The phone rings, shattering my thoughts. Vince answers it before the second ring, his body instantly alert beside me. I watch the hard nes of his face as he listens, the way his jaw ticks¡ªonce, twice¡ªbefore rxing into something approaching satisfaction.

    ¡°When?¡± he asks, eyes meeting mine. ¡°Send me the details. And Arkady? Good fucking work.¡±

    He ends the call, setting the phone down carefully, deliberately¡ªthe calm before a storm I¡¯m not sure whether to fear or wee.

    ¡°That was Arkady,¡± he says, unnecessarily. ¡°Agent Carver called. The Bureau is officially redirecting all resources to the Solovyov investigation.¡±

    My breath catches. ¡°And us?¡±

    ¡°We¡¯re off their radar. For now.¡± His mouth curves into something too predatory to be called a smile, but it warms me up nheless. ¡°Your strategy worked, Rowan. Better than we could have hoped.¡±

    I sit up, sheet falling away from my naked body. ¡°So that¡¯s it? They¡¯re really leaving us alone? Just like that?¡±

    ¡°Not out of the kindness of their hearts.¡± Vince¡¯s fingers trace my spine, sending shivers across my skin. ¡°But because you gave them bigger fish to fry. The Solovyovs are going down hard, and Carver¡¯s going to make his career on it, and we have you to thank, my little doe.¡±

    The relief hits me with unexpected force. ¡°So we¡¯re safe? Really safe?¡±

    ¡°As safe as people like us ever get.¡± Vince¡¯s phone vibrates again. He checks it, and then his grin ticks one notch wider. ¡°Costa Rica just came through, too. The development has secured new investors¡ªlegitimate ones, with no ties to either the Petrovs or us. Clean money, Rowan. Clean fucking cash.¡±

    Iugh, the sound bordering on hysterical. After months¡ªyears¡ªof living under the shadow of violence and fear, these victories feel almost surreal. A fever dream I might wake from at any moment.

    ¡°It¡¯s really happening,¡± I whisper. ¡°Everything we talked about. Everything we fought for.¡±

    Vince pulls me to him, crushing my mouth with his. ¡°Because of you,¡± he says again against my lips. ¡°Your mind. Your strategy. Your fucking genius n to feed the FBI exactly what they needed.¡±

    His praise sinks into me and warms me from the inside out. I didn¡¯t think I had a praise kink until the first time Vince called me his good girl. Now, it¡¯s like I can¡¯t get enough of the stuff. Because of you is borderline orgasmic.

    ¡°We did it together,¡± I correct him, my fingers tangling in his ck-and-silver hair. ¡°Your strength. My strategy. Peanut butter and jelly, baby.¡±

    Heughs, a sound I will never stop loving. His hand slides up my thigh to find the wetness between my legs and turn myugh into a strangled moan. ¡°We make quite the team, don¡¯t we?¡±

    Before I can answer, a soft knock interrupts us. Vince growls in frustration, his fingers reluctantly withdrawing as I scramble for my robe.

    ¡°What?¡± he barks toward the door.

    Anastasia¡¯s voice filters through. ¡°Sorry to interrupt. Daniil and I were wondering if you two might want an evening to yourselves? We could watch Sofiya.¡±

    I nce at Vince, surprised. Anastasia and Daniil have been living under our protection for weeks now, but they¡¯vergely kept a careful distance from Sofiya. Whether out of respect or uncertainty, I¡¯m not sure.

    ¡°Give us a minute,¡± I call back, searching Vince¡¯s face for his reaction.

    His expression is contemtive. ¡°Do you trust them?¡± he asks quietly.

    The question catches me off-guard. Not because it¡¯s unexpected¡ªVince trusts no one¡ªbut because he¡¯s asking me. Deferring to my judgment.

    ¡°Yes,¡± I answer without hesitation. ¡°I do.¡±

    He nods. ¡°Give us an hour,¡± he calls through the door. ¡°We¡¯ll bring her to you.¡±

    Anastasia¡¯s footsteps retreat, and I¡¯m left staring at my husband, curiosity piqued.

    ¡°What exactly are you nning?¡± I ask, narrowing my eyes.

    Vince smirks, that dangerous curl of his lips that still makes my stomach flip after all this time. ¡°Get dressed. Wear something nice. I¡¯ll take Sofiya to them, and I want you ready when I get back.¡±

    ¡°Ready for what?¡±

    ¡°A celebration.¡± He rises from the bed, magnificently naked and unashamed. ¡°We¡¯ve earned one, don¡¯t you think?¡±<hr>

    An hourter, I¡¯m dressed in a simple ck slip dress, waiting for Vince in our bedroom. When the door opens, I expect to see him¡ªnot what I actually find, which is Arkady holding a garment bag and a suspicious smile.

    ¡°Boss¡¯s orders,¡± Arkady exins, hanging the bag on the closet door. ¡°You¡¯re to change into this and meet him on the roof in twenty minutes.¡±

    ¡°The roof?¡± I echo, bewildered. ¡°What the hell is Vince up to?¡±

    Arkady just winks. ¡°Don¡¯t bete.¡±

    When he leaves, I unzip the garment bag with trembling fingers. Inside is a dress I never expected to see again¡ªthe green silk I wore to my first official dinner with Vince.

    The dress that changed everything.

    I slip it on. To my total shock, it still fits perfectly, even one real and one fake pregnancyter. My hands shake as I apply makeup, as I fasten the tracking ne Vince gave me before Sofiya¡¯s christening. I curl my hair into loose ringlets that cascade down my back, the color of cedar and Vince¡¯s whiskey.

    When I look at my reflection, she grins right back.<hr>

    The roof ess is normally restricted, part of Vince¡¯s borate security protocols. But tonight, the door stands open, waiting for me.

    I step through and freeze. The breath leaves my lungs in a rush.

    The space has been transformed. White lights twine around a perg draped with sheer fabric that billows in the gentle evening breeze. A table for two sits at its center, covered in fine linen, crystal, and silver. Candles flicker in hurricanenterns, creating pools of golden light against the encroaching darkness.

    And Vince¡ªGod, Vince stands at the edge, silhouetted against the wooded skyline, a champagne bottle in one hand, looking like an angel in Tom Ford.

    ¡°What is all this?¡± I ask, moving toward him as if pulled by invisible strings.

    He turns, and the look on his face steals what little breath I have left. Hunger. Pride. Something that might be love, if monsters like us could im such an emotion.

    ¡°This,¡± he says, gesturing to the setup, ¡°is an overdue celebration.¡±

    As I draw closer, I notice more details¡ªa chef discreetly preparing food at a makeshift station, a string quartet positioned in the corner, ying softly. The champagne is Dom P¨¦rignon, glistening with condensation like miniscule diamonds.

    He pops the champagne and fills two crystal flutes with golden liquid that catches the candlelight. ¡°To my beautiful, dangerous wife,¡± he toasts. ¡°The mother of my child. The architect of our empire.¡±

    I clink my ss against his. ¡°And to my terrifying, brilliant husband. The father of my daughter. The man who showed me darkness could be beautiful.¡±

    We drink, the expensive champagne sharp and sweet on my tongue. Vince pulls out my chair and I sit, still awestruck at the transformation of our secure rooftop into this fantasnd.

    The chef serves our first course¡ªoysters on a bed of ice. ¡°You¡¯ve thought of everything,¡± I murmur, running my finger along the rim of my ss.

    ¡°I had help.¡± His eyes flick meaningfully toward the door, beyond which Anastasia and Daniil are ying with our daughter. ¡°Our houseguests were surprisingly eager to assist.¡±

    ¡°They care about us.¡±

    ¡°They care about you,¡± he corrects. ¡°They tolerate me because I keep them alive.¡±

    I shake my head. ¡°That¡¯s not true. You¡¯ve given them sanctuary when their own families wanted them dead. That earns more than tolerance, Vince.¡±

    He considers that as he tastes an oyster. ¡°Perhaps. But I didn¡¯t do it for them. I did it for you.¡±

    I turn down my face so he can¡¯t see my pleased blush. ¡°Either way, we have allies now. Real ones.¡± Then I smile and lean forward, emboldened by the first sizzles of the champagne in my veins. ¡°Question for you.¡±

    ¡°Uh-oh. That¡¯s dangerous.¡±

    ¡°When was thest time you had friends? Not subordinates. Not people who fear you. Friends.¡±

    He¡¯s silent for a moment. He twists the stem of the champagne ss in his fingertips, rolling it back and forth, forth and back.

    ¡°Not since before my mother died,¡± he admits finally. ¡°Maybe never.¡±

    ¡°And now?¡± I press.

    ¡°Now, I have you.¡± His hand captures mine across the table. ¡°And that¡¯s enough.¡±

    The chef serves course after course, each one a memory of ours but elevated and reimagined¡ªthe risotto from the night I moved into his penthouse, the sea bass from our wedding reception, the chocte souffl¨¦ from ourst evening before Sofiya¡¯s birth.

    We talk for a while, Vince describing how the Costa Rica project has risen from the earth and is poised to make us millions in legitimate revenue. I like hearing him excited about something. I like seeing him make his mark on the world, turning a dream into a reality. I could listen to him describe hotels and highways for the rest of our lives, I think.

    If we¡¯re lucky, that¡¯s exactly what I¡¯ll get to do.

    ¡°It¡¯s working,¡± I say with quiet wonder. ¡°Everything we¡¯ve fought for. Everything we¡¯ve sacrificed for. It¡¯s actually working.¡±

    Vince¡¯s eyes are dark in the candlelight. ¡°Did you doubt it would?¡±

    ¡°Yes,¡± I admit. ¡°I doubted everything. Especially us.¡±

    He nods. ¡°How about now?¡±

    ¡°Now, I think we might actually pull this off.¡±

    The string quartet downshifts to a slow, haunting melody. Vince stands, extending his hand to me. ¡°Dance with me.¡±

    I allow him to pull me to my feet and lead me to a small space cleared for this purpose. His hand is warm at the small of my back, guiding me into the familiar steps of a waltz he taught me before our wedding.

    ¡°Do you remember the first time I saw you?¡± he murmurs against my ear as we sway together beneath the stars.

    ¡°How could I forget? I walked in on you fucking your secretary. Not exactly a file-it-away-and-forget-about-it kind of thing.¡±

    His chuckle rumbles through his chest. ¡°And you stood there, frozen. Those big green eyes wide with shock. Your cheeks flushed with embarrassment¡ªand something else.¡±

    I¡¯m less ashamed than I once was, but my face goes hot nheless. ¡°I was mortified, but I couldn¡¯t look away.¡±

    ¡°I knew then. Something changed that day.¡± His hand slides lower, possessive at the curve of my ass. ¡°I saw you and recognized something in you that mirrored something in me. A hunger. A desperation. A refusal to settle for less.¡±

    ¡°You manipted me from the beginning,¡± I remind him, but there¡¯s no heat in the usation. We¡¯re long past that now.

    ¡°I did.¡± His mouth brushes my temple. ¡°And then you turned the tables. Manipted me right back. Made me fall in love with you¡ªsomething I never thought possible.¡±

    The words steal my breath. Vince says ¡°I love you¡± rarely, preciously. I memorize every single asion.

    ¡°I was so scared of you,¡± I confess, pressing closer, hips sealed against his. ¡°Terrified of what you represented. Of what loving you would turn me into. Then I was terrified of losing this.¡± My fingers curl into thepels of his suit jacket. ¡°I used to think your world would corrupt me. That I¡¯d lose myself in your darkness.¡±

    ¡°Did you?¡±

    I consider it, the woman I was versus the woman I¡¯ve be. ¡°No. Your world didn¡¯t corrupt me¡ªit revealed me. Showed me parts of myself I¡¯d buried so deep I didn¡¯t know they existed. The darkness was always there, Vince. You just gave me permission to embrace it.¡±

    He spins me out, then pulls me back against his chest, our bodies moving in perfect sync. ¡°You¡¯ve done the same for me, you know. I wish there were words better than thank you.¡±

    The music swells, and Vince draws me closer until I can feel his heartbeat against mine. Over his shoulder, I see the world sprawled beyond us, treetops wreathed with fog. I like being above it all with him.

    ¡°Penny for your thoughts,¡± he teases, nipping at my ear.

    I look up at him andugh. ¡°Two pennies for yours.¡±

    ¡°I was thinking about what you said the other day.¡±

    ¡°That you shouldn¡¯t wash colors with whites?¡±

    He chuckles. ¡°That you want another baby someday.¡±

    I¡¯m instantly flushed. My thighs press together like that¡¯ll bottle up the desire there. ¡°Emphasis on the someday part of that.¡±

    He backs me into the table. I realize suddenly that the music has stopped, the nk and bustle of the makeshift kitchen has quieted, and all the tes that were on the table are gone. We have the rooftop to ourselves.

    ¡°Agree to disagree,¡± he says. ¡°I think ¡®someday¡¯ should start right now.¡±

    His teeth scrape the sensitive skin beneath my jaw, making me gasp.

    ¡°Here?¡± I ask breathlessly. ¡°What about the chef? The musicians?¡±

    ¡°Gone.¡± His hands push my dress up around my waist. ¡°I dismissed them when you were dancing with your eyes closed.¡±

    A growl of satisfaction rumbles through his chest as he slides two fingers inside me, his thumb pressing against my clit and releasing pulsing waves of dangerous deliciousness.

    ¡°Mine,¡± he growls, his free hand pinning my wrists above my head. ¡°This body, this pussy, this womb that¡¯ll carry my child again¡­ all fucking mine.¡±

    ¡°Yours,¡± I gasp, my body quivering beneath his demanding touch. ¡°No one else will ever feel how wet I get for you.¡±

    He reces his fingers with his cock in one smooth thrust, filling mepletely. I cry out, the sound lost in the vastness of the night sky above us.

    I lock my ankles behind the small of his back to seal him deeper into me. It¡¯s funny that there was a time that I was terrified of his size. Now, it feels like the key to a lock that opens a door deep inside me, a door for us and us only.

    When he fills me, I cry tears of happiness.

    When he withdraws, I just want him back again.

    The table shakes beneath us, but it manages to hold up to the job as Vince pulls me onto him by my thighs, fucking deeper and deeper and harder and harder.

    My eyes flutter halfway closed as the first tendrils of the orgasm start to spread through me. I mp down on his forearms to keep him close as little sighs and moans go pouring out of my parted lips.

    ¡°Look at me,¡± hemands. ¡°I want to see your eyes when youe.¡±

    I obey, my gaze locking with his as pleasure builds higher at the base of my spine. I¡¯m still in my dress, but I¡¯ve never felt so naked or so thrilled about it.

    ¡°Vince,¡± I gasp as the tension coils tighter. ¡°I¡¯m close. I¡¯m close. I¡¯m?¡ª¡±

    ¡°Not yet.¡± He slows, torturing us both. ¡°I want to remember this moment. The night we decided to expand our family. The night we imed our future.¡±

    I didn¡¯t think I coulde with him going this slow, but his words push me over the edge. Ie hard and fast. As I do, I say the only words that make sense anymore.

    ¡°Come in me, Vince. I want your baby.¡±

 Filthy Lies: Chapter 45

    I wake tangled in silk sheets that smell like sex and champagne.

    My body is still humming from Vince¡¯s touch. Last night, he fucked me beneath the stars while I begged him to put another baby inside me. Today, it¡¯s bright and warm in the morning sunlight, and life seems like it could be so good if we just let it.

    Vince sleeps beside me, one arm flung possessively across my waist. In sleep, the sharpness of his features softens. I trace the silver streaks in his hair and wonder how many of them I¡¯ve caused.

    He doesn¡¯t stir when I slip from beneath his arm.

    The familiar weight of my tracking ne rests against my throat as I pad silently to Sofiya¡¯s room. She¡¯s such a good sleeper. Auntie Ana and Uncle Dan wore her outst night, so now, she¡¯s snoozing happily.

    She¡¯s such a beauty, too. Darkshes fanned against cherub cheeks, those ever-present tiny fists of victory clenched by her head.

    My body aches pleasantly between my legs, a reminder of Vince¡¯s promises fromst night. Another baby. A future beyond the darkness. A new beginning.

    I almost believe it.

    Almost.

    The urge to surprise Vince with breakfast hits me suddenly. A small thank you for the beautiful evening he created. He mentioned something over dinner about bringing home Costa Rican coffee beans, so I go hunting for the package. He¡¯ll appreciate the gesture, I¡¯m sure.

    I slip into his study, trying not to disturb anything. But as I reach for the shelf where he left it, my elbow catches the edge of a folder bnced precariously on his desk.

    It falls, spilling its contents across the polished wood.

    Photographs. Dozens of them. Aerial shots of a sprawling estate, security positioning markers, guard rotations. I don¡¯t recognize the estate, but I don¡¯t have to, because it¡¯sbeled in big letters across the bottom.

    STRIKE TARGET: GRIGOR PETROV HOME COMPOUND.

    My blood turns to ice water.

    Last night, as we danced beneath the stars, Vince told me Grigor was maintaining ¡°respectful distance¡± while providing intelligence about Solovyov movements. He spoke of unprecedented stability, of cooperation.

    He fucking lied.

    My hands shake as I thumb through the pages. It¡¯s exactly what I knew it would be: a murder in the making. Detailed tactical ns, guard postings, entry points, extraction routes. A full-scale assault on Grigor Petrov¡¯spound, scheduled for execution¡­ in three days.

    My father¡¯s death order, signed by my husband¡¯s hand.

    ¡°This can¡¯t be happening,¡± I whisper to the empty room. ¡°Not after everything we said. Not afterst night.¡±

    But it¡¯s all right here¡ªundeniable proof that while Vince was promising me a future, he was nning to annihte my past.

    The sound of footsteps in the hall sends panic shooting through me. I hastily stuff everything back into thepartment and snap it shut, grabbing the coffee beans as camouge for my presence.

    The door swings open. Arkady stands there, his expression shifting from surprise to suspicion.

    ¡°Morning, Mrs. Akopov,¡± he says, eyes narrowing slightly. ¡°Early riser today.¡±

    I force my face into something resembling normalcy. ¡°Just hunting down Vince¡¯s fancy coffee. Thought I¡¯d surprise him with breakfast.¡±

    ¡°Thoughtful,¡± he says, not quite buying it. ¡°The boss is on his way in here, actually. Almost time for our morning briefing.¡±

    ¡°Of course. I¡¯ll get out of your way.¡± I clutch the coffee to my chest and scurry past him.

    But then, acting on pure instinct, I double back. I pause in a pocket of shadows a few yards down the hallway. Vince is standing in the doorway.

    My heartbeat drowns out their initial exchange, but then Vince¡¯s voice cuts through, clear and cold.

    ¡°¡­ Phase One begins tomorrow. I want Grigor¡¯s security detailpromised by nightfall.¡±

    ¡°Consider it done,¡± Arkady replies. ¡°What about Rowan? She¡¯s not going to take this well.¡±

    A pause. ¡°She doesn¡¯t need to know until it¡¯s over. Once we eliminate Grigor, Andrei will have no choice but to fall in line. It¡¯s long past time to simplify the pecking order.¡±

    ¡°And Sofiya?¡±

    ¡°Move her to theke house tomorrow. It¡¯s the most secure location until this blows over.¡±

    Their voices continue, but I can¡¯t hear them over the roaring in my ears. The world goes haywire, reality warping until nothing makes sense anymore.

    I stumble back to our bedroom, bile rising in my throat. My mind races through options, each more desperate than thest. I can¡¯t confront Vince¡ªnot when he¡¯s already decided to keep me in the dark. He¡¯ll just spin more lies, seduce me with more promises while orchestrating more death.

    I need to get us both somewhere neither Vince nor his enemies can find us, at least until I understand what¡¯s really happening.

    Before I realize what I¡¯m doing, I¡¯ve pulled a duffle bag from the closet. Into it goes everything we could need. Clothes for Sofiya. Diapers. Form. All the cash in Vince¡¯s wallet, stolen and dumped in.

    My hands move automatically, mind disconnected from body as I make the hardest choice of my life.

    I¡¯ll destroy my marriage to save my child. To save myself.

    I grab my phone and type a quick message.

    Need help. No questions. Can you meet me in 2 hours?

    Natalie¡¯s response is immediate: Name the ce.

    I give her the address of a coffee shop in Queens. Far enough from our usual haunts to buy us time.

    Vince¡¯s voice drifts up from downstairs, still discussing tactics with Arkady. I have maybe fifteen minutes before he notices my absence.

    I check on Sofiya, still sleeping soundly. Soon, my little angel. Soon we¡¯ll be somewhere safe.

    My hand rises to the tracking ne at my throat. With shaking fingers, I unsp it andy it on the bedside table, where he¡¯ll find it.

    He¡¯ll know exactly what it means.

    I¡¯m breaking the one promise I swore I¡¯d never break: I¡¯m taking his daughter away from him. Even if just temporarily, even if just to protect her, he¡¯ll never forgive me.

    But he¡¯ll have only himself to me.

    ¡°I trusted you,¡± I whisper to the empty room that still smells like him. ¡°I gave you everything I had.¡±

    Then I turn to leave.

 Filthy Lies: Chapter 46

    I don¡¯t want to believe what I¡¯m seeing.

    But what the fuck else can it be?

    The tracking ne lies on our bedside table like a severed limb, a symbol of connection torn open, hemorrhaging trust all over the silk sheets where I fucked her just hours ago. And worse¡­

    Rowan has taken my daughter.

    Those five words are worse than any knife that¡¯s ever found its way into my gut. They¡¯re clean, fucking surgical, goddamn devastating, splitting my sanity into tidy before-and-after segments.

    There was the man who believed he had everything under control.

    And now, there¡¯s this hollow-eyed executioner standing in his ce, ready to watch the world burn.

    Every cell in my body has crystallized into rage. Pure, undiluted, sacred rage.

    A smarter man would wonder why she left. What she found. What she heard.

    I am not that man.

    Not when ites to Rowan.

    Not when ites to Sofiya.

    I tear through thepound. The security footage confirms what my gut already knows: Rowan disabled the cameras in the east wing. She¡¯s no fool. All those months watching me, she learned our security protocols well enough to slip through cracks I didn¡¯t even know existed.

    ¡°Find them,¡± I order into the phone, voice so deathly calm it makes the army of grown men on the other end audibly flinch. ¡°Every camera in the city. Every traffic light. Every fucking convenience store. If you have to break into the goddamn NSA, do it. Just. Find. Them.¡±

    ¡°We¡¯re trying, boss.¡± Dimitri sounds desperate. He¡¯s smart enough to realize failure means death. ¡°But she¡¯s good. Really fucking good.¡±

    Eighteen hours. She¡¯s been gone eighteen hours now, and we have nothing.

    Not so much as a single security cam freeze frame or a stray credit card transaction. She¡¯s be a ghost.

    Someone had to help her. This level of disappearance requires resources.

    ¡°Pull up everything we have on Natalie,¡± I tell Arkady, who hasn¡¯t left my side since we discovered them missing. ¡°She¡¯s involved. I can smell her fucking perfume all over this.¡±

    ¡°Already searching her financials andmunications,¡± Arkady confirms, his fingers flying across his tablet. ¡°Nothing suspicious yet, but?¡ª¡±

    ¡°Dig deeper,¡± I snarl. ¡°She didn¡¯t vanish into thin air.¡±

    But as hours stretch into the second day, it begins to feel exactly like that. Like Rowan took all her light with her, leaving me in a darkness so profound I¡¯m drowning in it.

    I stand in Sofiya¡¯s empty nursery, surrounded by stuffed animals and tiny clothes that still carry her scent. I lift one of her nkets to my face. It smells like her baby shampoo, like innocence, like everything good I never deserved to touch.

    My knees crack against the hardwood as I sink to the floor, clutching the nket to my chest.

    ¡°Why?¡± I whisper to the emptiness. ¡°Why would you take her from me?¡±

    The room offers no answers. Just mockery in the form of abandoned toys and the mobile still spinningzily above the empty crib.

    The knock on the doorframe barely registers.

    ¡°Vin¡­¡± Arkady¡¯s voice is uncharacteristically gentle. ¡°We need to talk.¡±

    ¡°Unless you¡¯ve found them, I don¡¯t want to hear it.¡±

    ¡°Come on, man. You haven¡¯t slept. You haven¡¯t eaten. This isn¡¯t helping anyone, least of all Rowan and Sofiya.¡±

    My head snaps up, fury recing the momentary weakness. ¡°Say their names again. I fucking dare you.¡±

    Arkady crosses his arms, refusing to be intimidated. After fifteen years as my right hand, he¡¯s earned that right. ¡°Rowan and Sofiya Akopov. Your wife. Your daughter.¡±

    I¡¯m on my feet in an instant, hands fisted in his shirt, mming him against the wall hard enough to knock the air from his lungs. ¡°You think this is funny? You think it¡¯s a joke that someone took what¡¯s mine?¡±

    ¡°No,¡± he says, not struggling against my grip. ¡°I think it¡¯s fucking impressive.¡±

    This unexpected response loosens my hold, just slightly.

    ¡°Think about it, Vin,¡± he continues. ¡°Rowan didn¡¯t do this on impulse. She nned. She executed. She protected herself and your daughter from what she perceived as a threat. Sound familiar?¡±

    I release him, stepping back as if his words burned me.

    ¡°She learned from the best,¡± Arkady presses, straightening his shirt. ¡°She became exactly what you wanted her to be¡ªsomeone strong enough to survive in our world.¡±

    ¡°She took my daughter.¡±

    ¡°She protected your daughter. There¡¯s a difference.¡±

    ¡°From what?¡± I roar, the sound tearing from somece within me that¡¯s never spoken before. ¡°From me? I would die for them!¡±

    ¡°Maybe that¡¯s the problem.¡± Arkady¡¯s voice has gone quiet, contemtive. ¡°Maybe Rowan doesn¡¯t want anyone dying¡ªfor them or because of them.¡±

    The rage inside me starts to curdle, mixing with something colder, more painful. The possibility that I might be wrong. What if Arkady is right? What if Rowan¡¯s decision to leave wasn¡¯t an act of betrayal, but of love?

    ¡°She wanted another baby,¡± I whisper, staring down at my hands¡ªhands that have killed, that have tortured, that have stroked her hair as she slept. ¡°Justst night, she begged me to put another child inside her. And now, she¡¯s gone. It doesn¡¯t make sense.¡±

    ¡°Unless something changed betweenst night and this morning.¡± Arkady watches me carefully. ¡°Did you say something? Did she find something?¡±

    The question stirs a memory, foggy through exhaustion. I¡¯de out of yesterday¡¯s morning meeting with Arkady, and I could swear that Rowan¡¯s scent was lingering right outside the door. Could she have¡­?

    ¡°My study,¡± I breathe, already moving.

    I tear through my desk like a man possessed, searching for what she might have seen. Nothing seems disturbed. Nothing seems?¡ª

    The folder.

    The Petrov operation.

    The fucking blueprint for her father¡¯s assassination.

    ¡°She knows,¡± I say, copsing into my chair. ¡°She must¡¯ve found the ns for the Petrovpound raid.¡±

    ¡°Fuck,¡± Arkady mutters.

    The pieces click into ce with sickening rity. ¡°She thinks I¡¯m going to kill her father.¡±

    ¡°Aren¡¯t you?¡± Arkady lifts an eyebrow. ¡°That¡¯s the n, right? Eliminate Petrov, consolidate power. You¡¯ve been nning this for months.¡±

    Have I? The exhaustion of the past two days makes it hard to remember why I¡¯d been so determined to take out Grigor. Was it strategy? Jealousy? Some twisted need to eliminate any other man who might have a im on my wife¡¯s affection?

    It all seems so pointless now, with her gone.

    ¡°We need to suspend the operation,¡± I say. ¡°Indefinitely.¡±

    ¡°What?¡± balks Arkady. ¡°But everything¡¯s in ce. The team is ready. We¡¯ve never had a better shot at taking out Petrov.¡±

    ¡°I said indefinitely.¡± My voice leaves no room for argument. ¡°If there¡¯s even a chance it helps bring Rowan home, we scrap it. All of it.¡±

    Arkady studies me with something like pity creeping into his expression. ¡°And if she doesn¡¯te back?¡±

    I cringe and turn away. The possibility that Rowan might never return, that Sofiya might grow up without me, that I might never hold either of them again¡ªit¡¯s too much to contemte.

    ¡°Then none of it matters anyway. None of it fucking matters.¡±

    I stare at the door she walked out of. I wonder if she hesitated. If she looked back. Did she cry when she removed the ne that bound her to me?

    ¡°You know what kills me?¡± I ask Arkady, my voice so raw it hardly sounds human. ¡°She¡¯s right to run. Everything I touch turns to blood.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s not?¡ª¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t.¡± I cut him off. ¡°Don¡¯t say it¡¯s not true. We both know it is. I would have killed her father without a second thought, without even telling her. I would have robbed my daughter of her grandfather because I couldn¡¯t stand the idea of sharing them.¡±

    Tick. Tock. Painful seconds drag past like broken ss shredding my skin to ribbons.

    ¡°So what now?¡± Arkady finally asks.

    I dig my fingernails into my palms. I need the physical pain to drown out the emotional agony.

    ¡°Now, we wait.¡± I meet his eyes, letting him see the devastation there. ¡°We stand down.¡±

    ¡°And if she still doesn¡¯te back?¡±

    ¡°Then I¡¯ll spend the rest of my life proving I can be the man she needs me to be. The man I promised I would be.¡± I run a hand through my hair, silver-streaked and unwashed. ¡°Even if she never sees it. Even if I never hold my daughter again.¡±

    Arkady nods. ¡°That¡¯s growth, Vin. That¡¯s putting them first, for real this time.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s toote, though, isn¡¯t it?¡± Iugh hollowly. ¡°I spent so long trying to protect them from external threats that I never realized the greatest danger was right here.¡± I tap my chest, where my heart used to be, before Rowan took it with her. ¡°It was me. It was always me.¡±

    ¡°For what it¡¯s worth,¡± Arkady says quietly, ¡°I think she loves you too much to stay away forever.¡±

    I want to believe him. I want it with a desperation that borders on madness. But the truth pulsates between us, and it says otherwise.

    ¡°She loved me too much to keep letting me destroy her world.¡± I stand, decision made. ¡°Send out the order. Operation canceled. Effective immediately.¡±

    ¡°And what should I tell the men?¡±

    I move to the window, staring out at thepound that feels more like a mausoleum than a home now. ¡°Tell them the truth. Vincent Akopov is standing down.¡±

 Filthy Lies: Chapter 47

    Running away from Vince was like cutting off my own hand. Necessary to survive a deadly infection, but still excruciating.

    I stand on the wraparound porch of this weathered beach house, watching waves crash against the shore like my heart smashes against my ribcage¡ªrelentless, furious, destructive.

    Sofiya sleeps in her makeshift crib inside, blissfully unaware that her mother shattered her family to save it.

    It¡¯s been three days since I peeled away Vince¡¯s tracking ne and fled the life we built together. That means three days of waking up expecting his arms around me, only to find emptiness. Three days of phantom limb syndrome, but the missing limb is my husband¡¯s entire fucking existence.

    The beach house sits on a forgotten stretch of Rhode Ind coastline, tucked between overgrown dunes and twisted pines that shield it from prying eyes. It¡¯s a ce Grigor mentioned in one of the letters to my mother, describing it as ¡°off the books, off the grid, off the fucking radar.¡± Perfect for a woman hiding from the most dangerous man in New York.

    Wind whips strands of hair across my face, stinging my eyes.

    Or maybe those are tears. I can¡¯t tell the difference anymore.

    ¡°You¡¯re making the right choice,¡± I whisper to myself. ¡°You¡¯re protecting her. You¡¯re protecting your father.¡±

    But if I¡¯m so right, why does every cell in my body scream that I¡¯m wrong?

    Inside, Sofiya stirs awake, cooing softly. Her voice draws me back to reality. I go to her, lifting her tiny body against my chest.

    ¡°Good morning, little troublemaker,¡± I murmur as I pepper her with kisses. ¡°Did you sleep well?¡±

    She gurgles in response, her blue eyes staring up at me with innocent trust that guts mepletely.

    ¡°I wonder what your daddy is doing right now,¡± I say. ¡°Probably tearing the world apart looking for us, if I know anything about him.¡±

    My phone sits on the kitchen counter, dead and battery removed. The burner phone I bought lies beside it, used exactly once to contact Natalie after our escape. Even that feels like a risk too great. Vince¡¯swork is vast, his resources limitless.

    And his rage? Well, that¡¯s infinite.

    ¡°We need groceries,¡± I tell Sofi as I strap her into the baby carrier against my chest. ¡°A little normalcy wouldn¡¯t kill us.¡±

    The nearest grocery store is twenty minutes away, far enough to be inconspicuous. I drive there in the nondescript sedan I bought with cash, Sofiya babbling happily in her car seat behind me.

    It almost feels normal for a second there.

    ¡°You know what I miss most about your daddy?¡± I ask her as we pull into the parking lot. I swallow hard against the lump in my throat. ¡°I miss the way he smelled. Like sandalwood and gunpowder and home. Nothing else smells quite like that, does it?¡±

    Inside the store, I push a cart through fluorescent-lit aisles, tossing in essentials. Diapers. Form. Coffee strong enough to keep me alert through the nightmares that gue me whenever I close my eyes.

    Sofiya watches everything with wide-eyed fascination from her perch against my chest.

    It¡¯s in the produce section that the hairs on the back of my neck stand up.

    He¡¯s good¡ªI¡¯ll give him that. But I spent too long living with predators not to recognize when I¡¯m being hunted.

    Six-foot-two. Athletic build beneath a casual jacket. The man¡¯s eyes never quite focus on the apples he¡¯s pretending to select. One hand rests slightly inside his jacket, ready to reach for what I¡¯m certain is a weapon.

    One of Vince¡¯s men.

    It was only a matter of time.

    ¡°Looks like Daddy found us after all,¡± I whisper to Sofiya, keeping my face neutral as I select an avocado, squeezing it like I¡¯m interested in its ripeness rather than nning an escape. ¡°Let¡¯s see if we can¡¯t lose Uncle Creepy over there, yeah?¡±

    I abandon my cart and head toward the restrooms at the back of the store. I keep my pace deliberately unhurried. Inside, I check each stall¡ªempty¡ªthen climb onto the toilet in thest one. A small window near the ceiling provides my way out.

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry, baby girl,¡± I murmur to my daughter as I shimmy through the opening, careful not to bump her head. ¡°Mommy promises no more bathroom gymnastics after this.¡±

    We emerge rtively unscathed behind the store, near the dumpsters. I sprint to the car, strap Sofiya in with trembling hands, and peel out of the parking lot just as I spot Vince¡¯s man rushing out the front entrance, phone pressed to his ear as he looks for me.

    My heart thumps against Sofiya¡¯s tiny back as I drive. I take random turns, doubling back, using every evasion technique Vince ever mentioned in my presence.

    The weight of his absence crashes over me again¡ªthe irony that I¡¯m using his lessons to hide from him.

    Only when I¡¯m certain we¡¯re not followed do I pull over at a gas station with an ancient payphone. I fish quarters from my purse with shaking hands. The whole time, Sofiya fusses against me, sensing my distress.

    ¡°Shhh, it¡¯s okay,¡± I soothe her. ¡°Mommy¡¯s just going to leave Daddy a message.¡±

    The phone rings four times before his voicemail picks up. His voice hurts far worse than I expected it to, and I have to grip the metal booth to keep from copsing.

    ¡°It¡¯s me,¡± I say when the beep sounds. ¡°I saw your man today. He¡¯s good, but not good enough.¡± I pause, gathering myself. ¡°I want you to understand something, Vince. This isn¡¯t about punishing you. I wouldn¡¯t¡ª I can¡¯t¡ª Oh, fuck me. It doesn¡¯t matter, okay?¡± Another pause. ¡°Sofiya is safe. She misses you. And I?¡ª¡±

    I cut myself off, biting back three words that would destroy my resolve.

    Can¡¯t say those anymore.

    I hang up, my fingerprints smeared with tears I didn¡¯t realize I was shedding.

    Back at the beach house, I triple-check the locks, draw the ckout curtains, and set up the makeshift perimeter rms¡ªfishing line strung with bells around the property¡¯s edge. Amateur hourpared to Vince¡¯s security systems, but it¡¯s all I have right now.

    Eventually, night falls, bringing with it a symphony of ocean waves and crying seagulls. I feed Sofiya, bathe her, and rock her to sleep singing lubies my mother used to sing to me. The mundane rituals of motherhood hurt so bad when they¡¯re done alone like this.

    ¡°Your daddy would hate this ce,¡± I tell her sleeping form. ¡°Too exposed, he¡¯d say. He¡¯d flip a mattress over the window.¡±

    I trace her perfect little features in the dim light¡ªVince¡¯s eyes, my nose, cheeks that somehow belongs entirely to herself.

    ¡°But maybe that¡¯s why I love it,¡± I continue. ¡°Because for once, we¡¯re making choices based on what we want, not what we fear.¡±<hr>

    Later, I sit on the porch again, nursing a ss of wine and staring at the ck expanse of ocean. The moon casts a silver path across the water, like a road leading back to him if only I were brave enough to take it.

    Or perhaps too fearless to stay away.

    The burner phone rings, shattering the silence. Only one person has this number.

    ¡°Tell me you¡¯re okay,¡± Natalie¡¯s voicees through, tight with worry.

    ¡°Define ¡®okay,¡¯¡± I reply, taking another swallow of wine. ¡°Physically unharmed? Yes. Emotionally functional? Not in the least.¡±

    ¡°One of Vince¡¯s men found me today,¡± she says. ¡°Asked questions. Pointed a gun at my head. The usual Akopov hospitality.¡±

    My blood freezes. ¡°Natalie?¡ª¡±

    ¡°I didn¡¯t tell him anything,¡± she cuts me off. ¡°But Rowan, they¡¯re closing in. Vince is¡­ I¡¯ve never seen him like this. He¡¯s gone nuclear. The entire Eastern Seaboard is looking for you.¡±

    ¡°Let them look,¡± I say.

    ¡°He¡¯s suspended the operation against your father, you know. Completely shut it down.¡±

    Hope res in my chest like a match struck in darkness. ¡°He did?¡±

    ¡°Yep. It¡¯s dead quiet over there. Nothing happening. He¡¯s just waiting.¡±

    Waiting. The word echoes inside me, rearranging my organs into a configuration that makes breathing possible again.

    ¡°I have to go,¡± I tell her, suddenly desperate to end the call. Too many emotions are threatening to overflow, and I can¡¯t afford to drown in them. Not yet.

    ¡°Be careful, Row. And maybe¡­ maybe consider that he¡¯s trying to change.¡±

    After hanging up, I curl into myself on the porch swing, letting the ocean breeze carry away the tears I can no longer contain.

    Vince suspended the operation. He¡¯s standing down. The knowledge soothes me as much as it tortures me.

    Because now, I don¡¯t know what to do.

    Stay away and hope his reformation sticks? Return and risk him reverting to the monster who would murder my father while fucking me under the stars?

    Before I can decide, the sound of a twig snapping jerks me upright. One of my perimeter bells jingles softly in the distance.

    Someone is here.

    I move silently inside and grab the gun I keep wrapped in a dish towel in the kitchen drawer. My hands don¡¯t shake as I check the chamber. Another gift from Vince¡ªteaching me to shoot without flinching.

    The bells ring again. Whoever it is, they¡¯re closer now.

    I position myself between the front door and Sofiya¡¯s room, gun aimed at the entry point. Blood rushes in my ears and drowns out everything but my daughter¡¯s soft breathing from the next room and the approaching footsteps on the porch.

    A shadow passes by the window.

    The doorknob turns slowly.

    The door swings inward.

    ¡°I thought I might find you here,¡± a familiar voice says as the breeze carries the scent of aftershave toward me. ¡°Your mother always did love the ocean.¡±

    The gun wavers in my hands as Grigor Petrov steps into the beach house, moonlight illuminating the face that¡¯s half-mine.

 Filthy Lies: Chapter 48

    ¡°Dad.¡±

    I¡¯ve spent a lifetime not knowing this man. Now, he¡¯s here, in the flesh, standing on weathered floorboards with salt-crusted windows at his back.

    Ironic that the first time I call him ¡°Dad¡± is down the barrel of a gun.

    He steps into the moonlit beach house, blocking what little light filters through the doorway. My pulse throbs in my fingertips. Each beat is another moment where I don¡¯t lower the weapon pointed at his heart.

    He doesn¡¯t look afraid. Just patient. Like he¡¯s been waiting for this moment longer than I¡¯ve been alive.

    ¡°Put the gun down, Rowan,¡± Grigor says. ¡°If you wanted me dead, you wouldn¡¯t have run from the man nning to kill me.¡±

    The gun weighs a thousand pounds in my hand. ¡°How did you find me?¡±

    ¡°This ce belonged to my grandmother.¡± He moves slowly into the living room, hands visible. ¡°I gave the address to your mother once. Told her if she ever needed sanctuary, this ce would be waiting.¡± His eyes¡ªmy eyes¡ªscan the room with a familiar sigh. ¡°When I heard you¡¯d disappeared with my granddaughter, I knew there was a chance you¡¯d know it from my letters. Just a guess, but a good one, as it turns out.¡±

    I finally lower the gun. But I don¡¯t put it down. ¡°Is Vince here? Did you bring him?¡±

    ¡°No. He doesn¡¯t know I¡¯m here.¡±

    ¡°Bullshit.¡±

    ¡°I swear on your mother¡¯s grave.¡± His voice softens. ¡°I came alone.¡±

    My knees feel suddenly weak, and I sink onto the threadbare couch. The gun rests in myp.

    ¡°Why?¡± I manage to ask.

    Grigor takes the chair opposite me. ¡°Because you fled in the night with my only grandchild. And you chose this ce¡ªmy family¡¯s ce¡ªto hide. It seemed like¡­ an invitation.¡±

    ¡°I didn¡¯t know you¡¯de.¡±

    ¡°Didn¡¯t you?¡± He studies me, head tilted slightly. ¡°The same way you didn¡¯t know Vincent would suspend his operation against me the moment you disappeared? The same way you didn¡¯t know you¡¯d eventually need to talk to someone who understands what it means to love a monster?¡±

    ¡°Vincent isn¡¯t a monster,¡± I snap instinctively.

    Grigor¡¯s mouth twitches, just shy of a smile. ¡°And there it is. The contradiction that¡¯s been eating you alive. You run from him, yet you defend him. You fear what he might do, yet you love what he is.¡±

    ¡°What do you know about it?¡±

    ¡°Everything.¡± He strokes his beard. ¡°I¡¯ve loved a St. ir woman, too.¡±

    I slump back against the couch, more exhausted than I can ever remember being in my entire life.

    ¡°Tell me about her,¡± I demand lifelessly. I¡¯m suddenly desperate to hear about my mother through his eyes. ¡°Anything you remember.¡±

    His gaze drifts toward the window, toward the ocean beyond. ¡°Margaret was¡­¡± He exhales slowly. ¡°She was the sunlight breaking through storm clouds. Brilliant, warm, upromising. She walked into my restaurant one day, and the world simply rearranged itself around her.¡±

    I bite my lip hard enough to taste blood. ¡°She said you wereplicated.¡±

    A darkugh rumbles from his chest. ¡°That¡¯s a diplomatic way of saying dangerous.¡± His eyes find mine again. ¡°But she loved me anyway. At least, for a while.¡±

    ¡°Until?¡±

    ¡°Until she discovered what loving me would cost her.¡± He leans forward, elbows on his knees. ¡°The same choice you¡¯re facing now.¡±

    The parallels aren¡¯t lost on me. My mother fled from Grigor to protect me. I fled from Vince to protect Sofiya and, ironically, to protect Grigor himself.

    History just keeps repeating its fucked-up cycle.

    I¡¯d like to get off this carousel, please.

    My heart constricts. ¡°Why didn¡¯t you find us?¡±

    ¡°Because she made her choice.¡± He scrubs a hand across his face. ¡°What kind of father would I have been if I dragged you both back into danger just to satisfy my own selfish desires?¡±

    Isn¡¯t that exactly what I¡¯ve been fearing from Vince? That his need to control would outweigh what¡¯s best for Sofiya?

    ¡°So instead, you watched from a distance,¡± I continue. ¡°Little gifts here and there, like that would make up the difference.¡±

    Grigor nods, something suspiciously like tears gathering in his eyes. ¡°It wasn¡¯t enough. It was never going to be enough. But it was what I could offer without endangering you.¡±

    ¡°And yet, here I am anyway,¡± I gesture around us, at the gun still in myp, at the beach house where I¡¯m hiding from my husband. ¡°Neck-deep in the very world she tried to protect me from.¡±

    ¡°Life has a bitter sense of humor,¡± he agrees.

    A soft cry from the other room interrupts us. I stiffen, my maternal instincts ring. I set the gun aside and stand. ¡°I should?¡ª¡±

    ¡°May I see her?¡± he asks, so quietly I almost miss it. ¡°Properly this time? Not as enemies across a negotiating table, but as¡­¡±

    ¡°Family,¡± I finish for him.

    He nods like he can¡¯t rely on his voice to do the work for him.

    I shouldn¡¯t trust him. I¡¯ve spent too long in Vince¡¯s world to trust anyone easily. But there¡¯s something in Grigor¡¯s eyes¡ªsomething that mirrors the desperate love I feel for Sofiya¡ªthat makes me nod.

    ¡°Wait here.¡±

    I fetch my sleepy, fussing daughter, who calms the moment I lift her against my chest. When I return, Grigor stands by the window, bathed in moonlight.

    He turns, and I see the exact moment he truly sees Sofiya¡ªhis whole face transforms, decades of hardness melting away.

    I move closer, still keeping a safe distance. ¡°This is your grandfather, Sofi. Your mother¡¯s father.¡±

    Sofiya blinks sleepily at him, unimpressed by the introduction. Then, without warning, she stretches her arms toward him, fingers grasping at air.

    ¡°Papa?¡± she asks hopefully.

    I freeze, blood turning to ice water in my veins. ¡°No, sweetheart, that¡¯s not Papa. That¡¯s¡­ that¡¯s¡­¡±

    But Sofiya is insistent. Her little face scrunches up in frustration. ¡°Papa! Papa!¡±

    Grigor chuckles, though it¡¯s tinged with sadness. ¡°She wants her father.¡±

    ¡°She¡¯s confused,¡± I murmur. ¡°She doesn¡¯t understand?¡ª¡±

    ¡°She understands perfectly.¡± Grigor steps back, hands sped tightly behind him as if to physically restrain himself from reaching for her. ¡°She knows who her father is, and she wants him.¡±

    Sofiya struggles in my arms, her cries growing more insistent. ¡°Papa! Papa!¡±

    ¡°Shhh, baby girl,¡± I whisper against her hair. ¡°Papa¡¯s not here right now.¡±

    ¡°When did she start speaking?¡± Grigor asks, visibly trying to change the subject.

    ¡°She doesn¡¯t, not really. Just ¡®Mama¡¯ and¡­¡± I swallow hard. ¡°¡®Papa.¡¯ Vince spent hours with her before bedtime every night. Reading to her, talking to her. He was¡­ he was a good father.¡±

    ¡°And yet you ran from him.¡±

    ¡°I found ns¡ªdetailed assault ns¡ªfor yourpound.¡± I look up at him, challenging. ¡°He was going to kill you, and he didn¡¯t even have the decency to tell me first.¡±

    Whether he knew that already or not, it¡¯s impossible to say. Grigor¡¯s expression doesn¡¯t change. ¡°Would you have stopped him?¡±

    ¡°I¡ª¡± Well, would I have? Three months ago, maybe not. But now? After meeting Grigor? After reading my mother¡¯s letters? ¡°¡­ Yes. I would have stopped him.¡±

    ¡°Well, I suspect he knew that. Which is why he didn¡¯t tell you.¡±

    I¡¯m quiet.

    ¡°You¡¯ve changed him,¡± Grigor continues. ¡°More than you realize. The Vincent Akopov I¡¯ve known for years wouldn¡¯t have suspended an operation just because his wife discovered it. He would have elerated it, eliminated the threat, then begged forgiveness afterward. Or, more likely, not begged at all.¡±

    ¡°How do you know he¡¯s really suspended it?¡± I challenge. ¡°Maybe it¡¯s a trap.¡±

    ¡°Because I have people inside his organization, just as he has people in mine. The order came down three days ago, immediately after your disappearance. Complete stand-down. No one goes near Petrov territory.¡±

    I sink back onto the couch. Sofiya burrows into my neck, her tears dampening my skin.

    ¡°If I go back¡­¡± I begin.

    ¡°You fear he¡¯ll revert. Return to his old patterns.¡± Grigor sits beside me, close enough that I can smell his cologne¡ªsimr to Vince¡¯s but sharper, with notes of pine and tobo instead of sandalwood. ¡°It¡¯s a valid fear. Men like Vincent¡ªlike me¡ªdon¡¯t change easily.¡±

    ¡°But you did,¡± I point out. ¡°You loved my mother enough to let her go. To respect her choice.¡±

    ¡°It nearly destroyed me.¡± His voice cracks with remembered pain. ¡°Every day I didn¡¯t drag her back to me by force was a day I questioned my own strength, my own resolve.¡±

    ¡°Then how? How did you resist?¡±

    He¡¯s quiet for so long I think he might not answer. When he finally speaks, his voice is soft with a vulnerability I never expected from someone so dangerous.

    ¡°Because true love isn¡¯t possession, Rowan. It¡¯s protection, even from yourself.¡± His eyes hold decades of grief and wisdom. ¡°I loved Margaret enough to be the man she needed me to be, even if that man had to live his life without her.¡±

    The house sighs around us, groaning with the ocean breeze and the rumble of distant tides.

    ¡°Vince knows where I am,¡± I realize aloud. ¡°He must. His resources, his connections¡­ if his man found me at that grocery store, Vince could have been here within hours.¡±

    ¡°He hasn¡¯te, though, has he?¡±

    ¡°He¡¯s giving me space.¡± The realization breaks over me like a wave. ¡°He¡¯s respecting my choice to leave, even though it¡¯s killing him.¡±

    ¡°He¡¯s trying,¡± Grigor agrees. ¡°Whether he can maintain it¡ªwhether any of us can truly change the darkness inside us¡­¡± He shrugs. ¡°That¡¯s the gamble, isn¡¯t it?¡±

    Sofiya has fallen asleep against me, her face puffy from crying. ¡°Papa,¡± she whimpers, even in her dreams.

    All this time, I¡¯ve been telling myself I left to protect her. To protect Grigor. But the truth crashes through me with devastating rity¡ªI¡¯ve been protecting myself. From pain. From the possibility of betrayal. From the risk of loving someone who might ultimately destroy everything I care about.

    But in doing so, I¡¯ve broken something precious in my daughter. Something I¡¯m not sure I can fix on my own.

    ¡°I was wrong to leave like that,¡± I whisper. ¡°Whatever Vince nned to do, we should have faced it together. Figured it out together.¡±

    ¡°Yes,¡± Grigor says simply.

    ¡°I took his daughter from him.¡± The enormity of my actions crashes down on me. ¡°The one thing he values above everything else in the world. I¡­ Fuck, I should¡¯ve¡­¡±

    Grigor stands.

    ¡°Where are you going?¡± I ask, panic rising.

    ¡°Back to the life your mother walked away from.¡± He pauses at the door, silhouetted against the night. ¡°You needed to understand where you came from before you could decide where you¡¯re going. Now, you know.¡±

    I clutch Sofiya tighter. ¡°And what if I make the wrong choice? What if I go back to him and he hasn¡¯t really changed?¡±

    Grigor¡¯s smile is sad, haunted by decades of what-ifs. ¡°Then you¡¯ll do what your mother did. What you¡¯ve already proven you can do. You¡¯ll leave again.¡±

    He turns to go, but I stop him with onest question.

    ¡°Did you ever regret letting her go?¡±

    He doesn¡¯t turn back, but his shoulders tense. ¡°Every single day of my life,¡± he confesses quietly. ¡°But I never regretted respecting her enough to make her own choice.¡±

    When the door closes behind him, I¡¯m left alone with my sleeping daughter and the weight of decisions that will shape all our lives.

    The separation has served its purpose. It¡¯s shown me that Vince is capable of restraint. Of respect. Of putting what I need above what he wants.

    It¡¯s time to go home.

 Filthy Lies: Chapter 49

    The ghost of my wife haunts every corner of this fuckingpound.

    It¡¯s been three days since she took Sofiya and vanished. For every second of those three days, I¡¯ve been sick with a disease that doesn¡¯t have a name.

    It¡¯s fitting that I¡¯m discovering the limits of power when it matters most. I can strangle a city with my bare hands, make men with guns tremble at the sound of my voice.

    But I can¡¯t conjure my daughter¡¯sughter or my wife¡¯s skin beneath my fingers.

    I canceled the hit on Grigor Petrov the moment I realized Rowan had found the ns. Not because I suddenly developed a conscience, but because her absence is a more effective torture than anything my enemies could devise. I would burn every bridge, betray every alliance, dismantle my entire empire if it meant feeling Sofiya¡¯s weight in my arms again.

    But here¡¯s the ugly truth no one tells you about love: It makes you pathetic. It makes you weak. It makes you stare at a tracking ne discarded on a nightstand and wonder how your happiness ever became so fucking fragile.

    The security system announces a car at the front gate just as I¡¯m pouring my third whiskey of the morning. Cameras show a sleek ck Suburban with government tes, which means either the FBI has finally decided to end this charade, or?¡ª

    ¡°Agent Carver to see you, sir,¡± my security chief announces through the inte.

    ¡ªor something much worse ising.

    ¡°Send him to my study.¡± My voice betrays nothing of the storm brewing beneath my skin. ¡°And remind our men: no recordings, no surveince. This meeting never happened.¡±

    The study feels emptier than usual and somehow fuller at the same time. Rowan¡¯s absence lingers, embedded in the walls like a bloodstain that won¡¯t wash out. I don¡¯t sit behind the desk. That position telegraphs defensiveness. Instead, I stand by the window, back to the door, whiskey in hand.

    Let the fede to me.

    ¡°Mr. Akopov.¡± Carver¡¯s voice announces his arrival. ¡°Thank you for seeing me without an appointment.¡±

    I turn slowly, assessing. He¡¯s alone, no backup visible. Interesting. His suit is higher quality than normal government issue. Someone must be angling for a promotion.

    ¡°Cut the pleasantries, Carver,¡± I say. ¡°We both know this isn¡¯t a social call.¡±

    He smirks and takes a seat, uninvited, in the leather chair across from my desk. ¡°You¡¯re right. This is business. The kind that could end your entire operation¡ªor save it.¡±

    I remain standing, jaw clenched tight enough to crack teeth. ¡°I¡¯m listening.¡±

    ¡°The Bureau has built a RICO case against the Akopov organization.¡± He opens his briefcase, removing a thick file and waving it around like the tease that it is. ¡°Not the Solovyovs this time. You.¡±

    ¡°My wife¡¯s cooperation bought us immunity,¡± I remind him.

    ¡°Her limited cooperation bought you time.¡± He spreads photographs across my desk. ¡°Time we¡¯ve used well.¡±

    I don¡¯t approach the desk. I¡¯ll never give him the fucking satisfaction of seeing me react to whatever evidence he¡¯s amassed.

    ¡°We have shipping manifests tying Akopov Industries to weapons trafficking across three continents. We have bank records linking your shellpanies to moneyundering operations in six countries. We have witness testimony¡ª¡± He smiles here, the gleeful joy of a man getting one up on someone far more powerful than him. ¡°¡ªfrom one Mr. Niki Barkov, who¡¯s been quite forting since we offered him a deal.¡±

    Barkov. The snake I should have decapitated instead of merely defanging. Mercy never gets rewarded in this fucking world, does it?

    ¡°Barkov¡¯s credibility is nonexistent,¡± I spit. ¡°He has a personal vendetta against me. And that¡¯s in addition to being a rat-faced fuck.¡±

    ¡°Perhaps.¡± Carver shrugs. ¡°But his testimony,bined with our other evidence, is enough for an indictment. Judges don¡¯t look down kindly on men like you, Vince. My prosecutors are licking their fucking chops at the thought of dragging you into a courtroom. And they wrote the book just so they could throw it at your smug fucking face. We¡¯re talking thirty years minimum. Seizure of all assets¡ªincluding those trust funds you so carefully, so thoughtfully, so lovingly established for your wife and daughter.¡±

    My blood turns to ice. Those trusts were buried underyers of legal protection, invisible even to the most determined investigation. Unless¡­

    ¡°I see I have your attention now.¡± Carver¡¯s smile widens. ¡°Yes, we know about those, too. You¡¯ve been very thorough in protecting your family¡¯s future. Pity it won¡¯t matter when you¡¯re behind bars.¡±

    Every instinct in my body screams for violence. The whiskey ss in my hand would make an effective weapon¡ªshattered against his temple, driven into his jugr, boom, lights out. I could end this threat in seconds.

    But that would only make a bad thing worse.

    ¡°What do you want?¡± I ask.

    He leans forward, elbows on his knees. ¡°We want you to work with us.¡±

    ¡°You want me to be a rat.¡± Even saying that aloud makes me want to vomit.

    ¡°A confidential informant, yes. Against not only the Solovyovs, but your father¡¯s remaining operations.¡± He pauses, watching me carefully. ¡°And Grigor Petrov¡¯s entirework.¡±

    The enormity of what he¡¯s asking crashes through me. He wants me to betray not just my world, but my wife¡¯s father. The grandfather of my child. The man who shares blood with the woman I worship.

    I just spared Grigor, and now, I¡¯ve got a loaded gun to my head demanding that I damn him in a far worse way than I ever nned.

    ¡°You¡¯re asking me tomit suicide,¡± I snarl. ¡°If the Bratva discovers I¡¯m wearing a wire?¡ª¡±

    ¡°Oh, I¡¯ve seen those crime scene photos. Very ugly. I suggest you don¡¯t get caught.¡± Carver stands, crossing to me. ¡°This is the deal, Akopov. The only deal you will ever get. You work with us while we progressively dismantle the criminal elements. In return, we allow your legitimate businesses to continue. If you refuse¡­¡± He shrugs. ¡°¡­ Well, then that would mean thirty-plus years in federal prison while your daughter grows up calling another man ¡®Daddy.¡¯¡±

    The ss shatters in my grasp. Whiskey and blood mingle as they drip onto the hardwood floor. I don¡¯t feel the pain. I don¡¯t feel anything except the overwhelming urge to tear this man apart with my bare hands.

    ¡°There¡¯s one more thing you should see.¡± Carver returns to his briefcase and extracts another envelope. ¡°These were takenst night.¡±

    He hands me photographs. My wife. My Rowan. Meeting with Grigor Petrov at a beach house I don¡¯t recognize. They¡¯re sitting close, talking intimately. In one image, Rowan is holding Sofiya while Grigor looks on, his expression unbearably tender.

    ¡°We¡¯ve had Petrov under surveince for months,¡± Carver exins. ¡°Your wife¡¯s actions unintentionally exposed her location to our team.¡±

    Every word he¡¯s saying is chosen precisely. And I¡¯m no fool¡ªI understand the implications. If I ept Carver¡¯s offer, I betray Grigor¡ªwhich means betraying Rowan. If she ever discovers I¡¯ve used her father to save myself¡­

    But if I refuse, I lose everything anyway. My freedom. My empire. Any chance of watching my daughter grow up without cell bars between us.

    ¡°I need time,¡± I croak hoarsely.

    ¡°Twenty-four hours,¡± Carver agrees as he carefully pries the photos back out of my hands. They disappear back into his briefcase, though his smile stays stered in ce. ¡°Then I need an answer. Or we move forward with the indictment.¡±

    He pauses at the door. ¡°For what it¡¯s worth, Akopov, I do actually believe you¡¯re different from the others. You¡¯ve been working to legitimize your operations. This arrangement could elerate that transition.¡±

    ¡°Get out,¡± I whisper, blood still dripping from my clenched fist.

    He shrugs onest time. ¡°As you wish.¡±

    When the door closes behind him, I breathe until his footsteps fade away. Only then do I allow myself ten seconds of pure, unfiltered rage.

    The remaining whiskey decanter crashes against the wall.

    A chair splinters under my boot.

    My fist drives through drywall with a satisfying crunch.

    Then, just as quickly, the storm passes.

    I need to find Rowan. I have to tell her about Carver¡¯s ultimatum before she hears it from someone else. Then I have to see my daughter¡¯s face one more time before I make a decision that could destroy us all.

    My phone sits heavy in my hand as I dial the number for my most discreet pilot.

    ¡°Prepare the jet,¡± I order. ¡°Newport, Rhode Ind.¡±

    I hang up the phone and stare at the blood dripping from my mangled knuckles. It¡¯s fitting that I¡¯m bleeding all over this fucking house. This ce has always fed on pain¡ªfirst my father¡¯s, then mine. Will Sofiya inherit that birthright?

    Twenty-four hours. That¡¯s all Carver¡¯s giving me before he either gets me on my knees as his personal rat or buries me under a RICO case so thick that my daughter will be graduating college before I taste freedom again.

    ¡°Arkady,¡± I call out, knowing he¡¯s never far. He materializes in the doorway. ¡°Have the car brought around.¡±

    ¡°Vin, you¡¯re bleeding.¡± His eyes flick to my hand, to the shattered ss, to the hole in the wall. ¡°What happened with Carver?¡±

    ¡°What happened is that I¡¯m fucked no matter what I do,¡± I spit, wrapping a handkerchief around my bleeding hand. ¡°The feds have a RICO case ready to drop on my head. They want me to wear a wire against Grigor and my father.¡±

    Arkady¡¯s face pales. ¡°Jesus Christ?¡ª¡±

    ¡°Exactly. So now, I get to choose between prison or a bullet to the back of the skull when the Bratva discovers I¡¯m a fucking snitch.¡±

    ¡°What are you going to do?¡±

    Iugh miserably. ¡°Find my wife. Tell her that the man who just spared her father¡¯s life is now being ckmailed into destroying him. See if she¡¯ll let me hold my daughter one more time before everything goes to shit.¡±

    ¡°And if she doesn¡¯t want to see you?¡±

    I close my eyes, swallowing the bile that rises in my throat. ¡°Then I die knowing I tried.¡±

    I grab my coat, ignoring the blood soaking through the makeshift bandage. Pain is good. Pain keeps me focused at a time when every other thought is a waking nightmare.

    ¡°You need a hospital for that hand,¡± Arkady says.

    ¡°I need my fucking family back,¡± I snap. ¡°Everything else is irrelevant.¡±

    I storm down the hallway, my mind racing through contingency ns. Maybe I could get them all out of the country. Rowan, Sofiya¡ªeven fucking Grigor, if that¡¯s what it takes. We could disappear before Carver¡¯s twenty-four-hour deadline expires. Start over somewhere without extradition.

    But I know better. There is no outrunning this. No clever escape. Just impossible choices, each stacked one inside the other like matryoshka dolls.

    As I reach the front door, I pause for a moment. What will I say to her when I find her? How do I exin that the FBI used her against me? That her act of protection¡ªtaking Sofiya to Rhode Ind¡ªhas only tightened the noose around all our necks?

    I throw open the door, already rehearsing the speech I¡¯ll never get right?¡ª

    And there she is.

    Rowan stands on the threshold, my daughter clutched to her chest. Her green eyes go wide with shock at finding me here, at finding me like this¡ªblood-drenched, wild-eyed, halfway out the door.

    We freeze, caught in this surreal standoff. I drink in the sight of them. I¡¯m desperate after days of emptiness. I could swear Sofiya¡¯s dark curls have grown longer in just these few days. Rowan looks thinner, shadows bruising the skin beneath her eyes. She¡¯s wearing a simple sweater and jeans, nowhere near warm enough for the autumn chill.

    ¡°Papa!¡± Sofiya squeals, reaching for me with her tiny hands, oblivious to the fucking nuclear wastnd between her parents.

    ¡°You¡¯re bleeding.¡± Rowan¡¯s voice is t, emotionless.

    I don¡¯t move toward them, though every molecule in my body screams to close the distance. To grab them both and never let go.

    ¡°You came back,¡± I reply.

    ¡°As you were leaving, apparently.¡±

    ¡°I wasing to find you.¡±

    Her gaze hardens. ¡°How did you know where I was?¡±

    I cringe. If I tell her about Carver¡¯s photos, I have to tell her everything. The RICO case. The ultimatum. The impossible choice I¡¯m facing.

    But if I lie, if I say I tracked her through other means, I¡¯m just proving I¡¯m still the secretive, maniptive bastard she fled from in the first ce.

    Sofiya whimpers, sensing the tension. She stretches her arms toward me more insistently, her little face scrunching in frustration when neither of us moves to bridge the gap.

    ¡°We need to talk,¡± Rowan says, moving our daughter higher on her hip. ¡°Something¡¯s happened?¡ª¡±

    ¡°Yes,¡± I cut her off. ¡°Something has.¡±

    She studies my face, and I can¡¯t tell what she sees there. Desperation? Defeat? The pathetic shell of a man who used to rule this city with an iron fist, now brought to his knees by the thought of losing her?

    ¡°You first,¡± she says.

    And there we stand, my wife holding my child on the threshold of our home¡ªso close I could touch them with one step forward, yet separated by a chasm of secrets and betrayals that seems impossible to cross.

    ¡°The FBI has a RICO case against me,¡± I say, voice ragged. ¡°I¡¯ve got twenty-four hours to decide what to do next.¡±

 Filthy Lies: Chapter 50

    Sofiya squirms in Rowan¡¯s arms, those chubby little hands reaching for me with desperate, grabbing fingers. ¡°Papa! Papa!¡±

    My chest splits open at the sound. My daughter remembers me. Still wants me. I step forward, arms already extending¡­

    ¡­ but then Rowan jerks backward. She pulls Sofiya tight against her chest like I¡¯m contagious.

    ¡°Don¡¯t,¡± she hisses, eyes shing like a cornered animal.

    My arms fall uselessly to my sides. Blood still drips from my mangled hand onto the pristine marble floor.

    The pain is immediate and catastrophic. A bullet straight through my chest would¡¯ve been more merciful. Thirty years in prison would bring less agony than seeing my daughter held just out of reach.

    But the longer I stand there, the more betrayal in her eyes detonates something explosive in my chest. My blood shifts from ice to fire, fingers flexing at my sides. She left me. Took my child. Meanwhile, the goddamn FBI is dismantling everything I¡¯ve built, threatening to strip away our future¡ªand she¡¯s worried about fucking Grigor Petrov?

    I take a step toward her, watching her eyes widen. ¡°While you¡¯ve been ying hide-and-go-seek at the beach, I¡¯ve been fighting for our fucking survival. The FBI has everything, Rowan. Everything.¡± The muscles in my jaw clench so hard I taste copper. ¡°But please, tell me more about how I betrayed you while I was trying to keep our family from being destroyed.¡±

    Sofiya whimpers against her chest, sensing the violence of my emotion. I¡¯m scaring my own child. But I can¡¯t stop the darkness now surging through my veins.

    ¡°Always the fucking hero, aren¡¯t you?¡± she snaps back.

    ¡°I was trying to protect you,¡± I snarl. ¡°While you were busy fucking kidnapping my daughter.¡±

    ¡°Our daughter,¡± she shoots back, ¡°whom I took to protect from a father who was nning to murder her grandfather without even having the balls to tell his wife first.¡±

    We¡¯re circling each other on the doorstep, neither willing to give ground. Sofiya¡¯s gone quiet now. Somehow, that hurts worse than her tears.

    ¡°You didn¡¯t protect her,¡± I growl. ¡°You exposed her. Your little beach house vacation? Might as well have put up a goddamn billboard. The feds have been watching Grigor. They photographed you together. Photographed my daughter with a man who¡¯d slit my throat without blinking.¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t you dare?¡ª¡±

    ¡°I cancelled the hit!¡± I bellow in anguish. ¡°The second I realized you were gone, I cancelled everything. Every operation against Grigor. Every fucking n. Gone. For you.¡±

    Rowan¡¯s eyes widen. She shifts Sofiya higher on her hip and swallows. ¡°And now?¡± she asks. ¡°What¡¯s this about the FBI?¡±

    I drag my uninjured hand down my face, feeling the stubble rasp against my palm. How do I condense Carver¡¯s ultimatum into words that won¡¯t send her running again?

    ¡°Inside,¡± I manage. ¡°Please. This isn¡¯t a doorway conversation.¡±

    ¡°Like I¡¯m going to let you corner me?¡ª¡±

    ¡°For fuck¡¯s sake, Rowan! Do you see me?¡± I spread my arms wide, blood still dripping from my fingers. ¡°I¡¯m bleeding. I¡¯m fucking destroyed. I haven¡¯t slept since you left. You have all the power here.¡±

    Something in my voice¡ªthe raw desperation, perhaps¡ªmakes her hesitate. Then, with visible reluctance, she steps over the threshold.

    ¡°Start talking,¡± she demands once we¡¯re in the formal living room. She remains standing.

    I sigh and drop onto the couch, toying with the bloodied edge of my makeshift bandage.

    ¡°Carver came this morning waving around a fully developed RICO case. Moneyundering, weapons trafficking, the works. Thirty years minimum. That includes asset forfeiture¡ªincluding the trusts I set up for you and Sofiya.¡± I force myself to meet her eyes. ¡°They have Barkov. He¡¯s cooperating.¡±

    ¡°That snake,¡± she mutters.

    ¡°It gets worse. They want me as a confidential informant. Against the Solovyovs, against my father, and¡ª¡± I swallow hard. ¡°¡ªagainst Grigor.¡±

    Rowan¡¯s face whitens. ¡°No.¡±

    ¡°I have twenty-four hours to decide. I either wear a wire or they bury me so deep I¡¯ll never see daylight¡ªor Sofiya¡ªagain.¡±

    Her knees buckle. She sits down on the sofa across from me, clutching our daughter like a life preserver in open water.

    ¡°They can¡¯t,¡± she whispers. ¡°They promised me immunity.¡±

    ¡°For you. Not for me.¡± I keep my distance, though every cell in my body screams to cross the room, to touch her, to press my face into Sofiya¡¯s hair and inhale the scent that¡¯s been haunting me for days. ¡°They used you, Rowan. And now, they¡¯ve got us by the throat.¡±

    My wife¡¯s face hardens into something I barely recognize. ¡°Sofi needs to sleep.¡±

    It¡¯s not what I expected her to say. But as frustrated as I am, I¡¯m not about to argue.

    ¡°Her room is just as you left it.¡±

    Rowan stands, still not allowing me near. ¡°I¡¯ll put her down. Then we¡¯ll talk.¡±

    I nod and watch them disappear up the staircase. Part of me is terrified she¡¯ll slip out a window, vanish again. But I force myself to remain where I am, to give her the space she clearly needs.

    The minutes stretch into an eternity. I pace the living room, leaving bloody fingerprints on everything I touch.

    When Rowan returns, her face is a carefully constructed mask. ¡°She¡¯s asleep.¡±

    ¡°Good.¡± I gesture to the couch. ¡°Please.¡±

    She sits at one end. I take the opposite, maintaining the chasm between us. We¡¯re like mas with the wrong poles facing¡ªso desperate to connect but repelled by forces beyond our control.

    ¡°What are you going to do?¡± she asks finally.

    ¡°I don¡¯t know yet,¡± I whisper. ¡°If I refuse, I go to prison and lose everything. If I ept, I¡¯m signing my own death warrant. The Bratva finds out I¡¯m wearing a wire, they¡¯ll kill me. Worse, they mighte after you and Sofiya as punishment.¡±

    ¡°And if we run?¡±

    ¡°Good luck. The FBI is watching every exit. Every ount. Carver was very clear.¡±

    Silence expands between us, pulsing like a living thing.

    ¡°I saw my father,¡± she says suddenly. ¡°At the beach house. He found me.¡±

    ¡°I know.¡±

    Her eyes sh. ¡°No, Vince. You don¡¯t know. He talked to me. About you. About us. About how respecting Mom¡¯s choice to leave was the hardest thing he¡¯s ever done.¡± Her voice cracks. ¡°Do you understand what I¡¯m telling you? The man you¡¯ve spent years trying to destroy showed more restraint, more respect for my autonomy, than you ever have.¡±

    My eyes dart to meet hers. ¡°I¡¯ve never tried to control you, Rowan.¡±

    ¡°Are you kidding me right now?¡± A bitterugh escapes her. ¡°You tracked me. You bugged me. You kept me on a leash with that fucking ne?¡ª¡±

    ¡°To protect you!¡±

    ¡°No.¡± She shakes her head. ¡°To protect yourself from the possibility of losing me. There¡¯s a difference.¡±

    I lurch up abruptly. ¡°You¡¯re right. The assault on the Petrovs, on Grigor¡ªI kept you in the dark. If you hadn¡¯t found out, I never would have told you. I¡¯d have covered it up, buried it deep, just like every other sin I¡¯ve ever justified in the darkness. That¡¯s the kind of man I am.¡±

    Rowan rises, too, though she¡¯s careful to keep the coffee table between us. ¡°Has anything changed?¡±

    Has anything changed? Have I? Three days of hell without her, and I¡¯m still the same man who would burn the world for what I want. The same man who sees violence as the first and best solution to any problem.

    ¡°I don¡¯t know,¡± I admit finally. ¡°But I want to change. I need to change. I¡¯m fucking trying to change, Rowan. I swear to God I am.¡±

    Rowan studies me for a long moment, eyes searching mine for any hint of deception. ¡°It¡¯ste. We both need to think. To sleep.¡±

    She¡¯s offering an olive branch¡ªstaying the night instead of fleeing again. But it¡¯s clear from the rigidity of her posture that she¡¯s not offering anything more.

    ¡°Take our bedroom,¡± I say. ¡°I¡¯ll sleep down here.¡±

    She nods and turns to leave. At the staircase, she pauses. ¡°Twenty-four hours isn¡¯t much time to decide between a prison cell and a coffin.¡±

    ¡°No. It¡¯s not.¡±

    ¡°Whatever you choose, Vince¡ª¡± She looks back at me, those green eyes suddenly glistening with unshed tears. ¡°Don¡¯t make me tell our daughter that her father sacrificed himself for some misguided notion of honor or pride.¡±

    ¡°Would you rather tell her that her father is a rat? The lowest form of life in our world?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯d rather tell her that her father is alive.¡± Rowan¡¯s voice breaks on thest word. ¡°No matter what it costs.¡±

    I watch her disappear up the stairs, taking my heart with her. When her footsteps fade, I copse onto the couch, bone-deep exhaustion finally iming me. Myst thought before darkness takes me is a question that has no good answer:

    How do you choose between dying free or living in chains?

 Filthy Lies: Chapter 51

    I wake up in our marital bed with my husband¡¯s scent still clinging to the sheets like a curse.

    I spent three days running from him, and where did it get me? Right back in his fortress, breathing his carefully regted oxygen, trapped between Vince¡¯s FBI nightmare and his empty promises to change. A promise I¡¯ve heard so many times I could recite it in my sleep.

    Men like him don¡¯t change.

    They just find better excuses for their monstrosity.

    I stare at the ceiling. The unbearable weight of our broken marriage presses down on my chest. The rage I felt discovering Vince¡¯s ns to murder my father hasn¡¯t disappeared¡ªit¡¯s just been pushed aside by the more immediate threat of federal prison.

    Always another fucking crisis to navigate. Always another reason to put off addressing the rot at the core of us.

    God, this life is wearing on me in ways I never thought I could handle. I feel myselfing apart at the seams. The only question that remains is whether the pieces of me that are fraying into nothingness are essential or not. Is there a soul beneath all this shit? Does Vince have one?

    Or am I a broken, empty shell, just like him?

    Downstairs, I find Vince in his study, freshly showered, hand bandaged, dark circles forming crescent moons beneath his eyes. No trace of the raw, bleeding creature fromst night. He¡¯s put his armor back on.

    ¡°Good morning,¡± he says, voice careful, neutral. ¡°Coffee?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m not here to pretend everything is hunky-fucking-dory, Vince.¡± I remain standing in the doorway, unwilling to enter his domain. ¡°I¡¯m here because federal prison is worse for Sofiya than a father who plots murders behind her mother¡¯s back.¡±

    His jaw tightens, but he doesn¡¯t take the bait. ¡°Carver will be expecting my answer by this afternoon. We need a n.¡±

    ¡°And what exactly do you propose? Turning rat against my father?¡± I fold my arms and lean against the wall. ¡°Or spending the next thirty years in prison while I exin to our daughter why Daddy can only see her through bulletproof ss?¡±

    ¡°I thought you¡¯d have an opinion beyond sarcasm,¡± he says, eyes like blue fire. ¡°Since you were so fucking eager to work with Carver before.¡±

    The air between us vibrates with resentment. We¡¯re poison to each other now, but still breathing the same toxic air.

    ¡°Fine,¡± I say, crossing my arms. ¡°Let¡¯s talk strategy.¡±

    We spend the morning in cold dissection of our options, two surgeons operating on the corpse of our lives. Vince paces while I sit rigid in a chair, neither too close nor too far.

    ¡°What if we give Carver something else?¡± I suggest. ¡°Information on the Solovyovs that¡¯s better than what they already have. Something that makes turning you seem unnecessary.¡±

    ¡°They want me in their pocket. A Bratva pakhan as their personalpdog.¡± He stops, running a hand through his hair. ¡°Even if we redirected them now, they¡¯d juste backter with something worse.¡±

    ¡°Then we need leverage. Something on Carver himself.¡±

    Vince¡¯s eyes meet mine, a glint of reluctant admiration cutting through the frost. ¡°Now, you¡¯re thinking like an Akopov.¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t,¡± I snap. ¡°Don¡¯t fucking romanticize what you¡¯ve turned me into.¡±

    The strategy session continues, one hour bleeding into the next. We dance around each other in this choreography of caution, never getting too close, never touching. The walls of his office seem to shrink. I¡¯m finding it harder and harder to breathe.

    By evening, we¡¯ve formed a tentative n¡ªa dangerous game of partial cooperation and misdirection. Give Carver enough to satisfy him withoutpromising everything. Without betraying my father.

    ¡°It could work,¡± Vince says uncertainly. It¡¯s the first note of hope in his voice since I returned.

    ¡°Or it could get you killed.¡±

    The possibility slices through me with unexpected sharpness. Despite everything, the thought of Vince dead makes me physically ill.

    I stand abruptly. ¡°I need space. We¡¯ll finish thister.¡±

    He simply nods.

    We retreat to opposite ends of the house. I spend time with Sofiya, desperate for her innocent warmth after a day that left me feeling like I need to scrub myself raw in a hellfire-hot shower. Vince works the phones, doing fuck knows what.

    We eat dinner separately. We exist in parallel, two phantoms haunting the same house.

    Night falls. I put Sofiya to bed, singing her the usual lubies even though my voice is tear-stained and ready to falter. She falls asleep clutching a stuffed animal, one that Vince gave her. I want to take it away because it has his fingerprints all over it.

    But even in my anger, I can¡¯t bear to separate her from that small piece of him.

    I rise and exit. I¡¯m halfway to my¡ªour¡ªbedroom when the piercing wail of Sofiya¡¯s cry slices through the silence. I turn back around instantly, maternal instinct overriding everything else, and run to her.

    I round the corner¡­

    ¡­ and collide hard with Vince in the hallway.

    His body feels like a wall of warm granite against mine. My hands instinctively brace against his chest, feeling his heart thundering beneath my fingertips. He grips my upper arms to steady me, and the sudden, electric contact after days of nothing makes my breath catch painfully.

    ¡°Sorry,¡± he mutters.

    He doesn¡¯t let go.

    I should push away. I should step back. I should remember every betrayal, every lie, every moment he chose control over honesty.

    But his hands are burning through the thin fabric of my shirt, and my treacherous body remembers every single ce those hands have touched, every single way they¡¯ve ever made mee apart.

    His eyes are blue in the dark. They don¡¯t blink or waver. They just watch. They just wait.

    Sofiya¡¯s cries grow more insistent, breaking the spell. We both move toward her door, still too close, still brushing against each other in the narrow hallway.

    ¡°Mama!¡± Sofiya sobs when we enter, her little face red and tear-streaked. ¡°Papa!¡±

    Vince reaches her first, lifting her from the crib with such naked tenderness that I have to look away. It hurts too much to see him be kind.

    ¡°Nightmare, solnishka?¡± he murmurs, pressing his lips to her forehead and humming under his breath.

    I stand frozen. Hating him. Wanting him. Hating myself for wanting him.

    ¡°Here,¡± I say atst, reaching for her. ¡°I¡¯ll take her.¡±

    But she just clings that much harder to her father.

    The rejection stings. Jealousy coils in my stomach, sharp and petty and deeply unfair. For three days, I¡¯ve been her entire world. Now, Vince is back, and I¡¯m secondary again.

    ¡°She missed me,¡± Vince says by way of exnation. He¡¯s not gloating, just stating a fact that cuts me open anyway.

    ¡°Of course she did,¡± I say. ¡°You¡¯re her father.¡±

    We both work to settle her, moving in the familiar choreography of parents soothing a frightened child. I get her water while Vince rocks her. He holds her while I check for fever. We¡¯re a team again, just for these few minutes, united in purpose if nothing else.

    When Sofiya finally quiets, her eyes growing heavy, Vince lowers her back into the crib. We stand side by side, watching her drift into sleep, close enough that I can feel the heat pouring from his body.

    ¡°I thought about you every second,¡± he says suddenly, voice so low it¡¯s barely audible. He doesn¡¯t look at me. ¡°When you were gone. It was like someone had cut off my oxygen.¡±

    I don¡¯t look at him, either. Can¡¯t. ¡°Don¡¯t make this harder than it already is.¡±

    ¡°Is that what I¡¯m doing?¡± His fingers brush mine in the darkness, a touch so light it could be idental. But nothing between us is ever idental. ¡°Making it harder?¡±

    The double meaning isn¡¯t lost on me. Neither is the charge that rushes through my body at his touch¡ªa violent reminder that, despite whatever is broken between us, the physical connection remains brutally intact.

    ¡°You know what would make this easier?¡± I turn to face him, anger ring hot again. ¡°If you¡¯d ever once put me first. If you¡¯d ever trusted me with the truth instead of making unteral decisions about our lives.¡±

    ¡°You want the truth?¡± His eyes are bright in the shadows. ¡°The truth is I¡¯m fucking terrified, Rowan. I¡¯m terrified of prison. I¡¯m terrified of dying with a fed¡¯s wire wrapped around my throat like a noose. I¡¯m terrified of losing you and Sofiya.¡± His handes up to my face, not quite touching, just hovering a millimeter away. ¡°But what terrifies me most is that even after everything, even after you took my daughter and ran, I still want you so badly I can taste it.¡±

    His speech sizzles between us in the darkened nursery. My body betrays me, leaning infinitesimally closer to his, craving the contact my mind rejects.

    ¡°Wanting isn¡¯t enough,¡± I whisper, even as heat pools low in my belly. ¡°It never has been.¡±

    ¡°Then tell me what is.¡± His eyes bore into mine, desperate and demanding. ¡°Tell me what you need, and I¡¯ll give it to you. Whatever it is. Whatever it costs.¡±

    ¡°I need a husband who sees me as a partner, not a possession. I need a father for my daughter who solves problems with his mind, not his trigger finger.¡± I step away from him, the distance necessary for survival. ¡°Mostly, I need to know that, if I stay, I¡¯m not just enabling the man who will eventually destroy us all.¡±

    His face hardens. ¡°And how will you know that, Rowan? What fucking proof would be enough?¡±

    Behind us, Sofiya stirs in her sleep. We both freeze, waiting until her breathing evens out again.

    ¡°I don¡¯t know,¡± I admit as the fight drains out of me. ¡°I just know I can¡¯t keep doing this. I can¡¯t keep loving you and fearing you in equal measure.¡±

    Vince catches the contradictions there, of course. ¡°You still love me.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s the tragedy, isn¡¯t it?¡± I float backward toward the door, needing escape before I do something stupid, like forgive him. Like reach for him. Like fall back into the beautiful destruction that is loving Vincent Akopov. ¡°Love was never our problem.¡±

    I¡¯m almost to the threshold when his voice stops me.

    ¡°If I survive tomorrow¡ªif we survive the FBI¡ªwill you give me another chance?¡±

    I don¡¯t turn around. If I see his face, I might crumble. ¡°I don¡¯t know, Vince. I don¡¯t know if I have any chances left to give.¡±

 Filthy Lies: Chapter 52

    I don¡¯t know if I have any chances left to give.

    I¡¯ve been sitting here for hours, reying that moment in the nursery. Again. Again.

    Fucking again.

    The collision of our bodies in the hallway. The electric, chemical shock of touching her after days of withdrawal. And my daughter¡­ Sofiya reached for me, chose me, while her mother¡¯s eyes filled with aplicated, boiling resentment.

    But it wasn¡¯t all hate. I saw the other things, too. Rowan leaned into me. It was involuntary and desperate, yes, but she fucking leaned¡­ before her mind caught up and reminded her of all the reasons to despise me.

    I pour another whiskey. Fuck it, why not? Let it burn. Let the edges blur. The cut on my hand throbs in time with the bobbing of my throat as it all goes down to mix with the blood in my veins.

    The house is silent except for the sighing clinks of ice melting in my ss. Three floors above me, Rowan sleeps in our bed¡ªalone, untouchable, a gxy away.

    The sound of the door opening doesn¡¯t make me turn. Only one person would dare enter without knocking at this hour.

    ¡°If you¡¯vee to lecture me about Rowan, save it,¡± I say. ¡°I already know I¡¯m fucked.¡±

    Silence stretches behind me. Unusual for Arkady, who never hesitates to speak his mind, especially when it involves my personal life.

    The silence stretches. Stretches. Stretches.

    I pivot in my chair, whiskey ss still clutched in my damaged hand?¡ª

    And freeze.

    Arkady stands six feet away, arm extended¡­

    ¡­ with a matte ck Glock pointed directly at my forehead.

    His face is a stone mask, eyes t and dead. That¡¯s not the Arkady I know. The man who¡¯s had my back for fifteen years would never look at me like that.

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry, Vin.¡± His voice doesn¡¯t waver. The gun doesn¡¯t, either. ¡°They have my family.¡±

    I pause and set the ss down with deliberate slowness. ¡°Who has your family?¡± I ask cautiously. ¡°The Solovyovs? The FBI?¡±

    ¡°Your father.¡±

    I lean back in my chair, oddly calm in the face of annihtion. What else is there to do in the end? A man like me spends a lot of time thinking about death. In this line of business, you see ite from so many unexpected ces, and you learn that your end can never be predicted.

    For it toe like this, here, now¡­ I wouldn¡¯t say it¡¯s fitting, but it¡¯s enough to make me shake my head with the bitter fucking irony.

    ¡°So you¡¯re going to put a bullet in my brain to save your sister and her kids. Fair trade.¡±

    ¡°He said to make it clean. One shot, execution style.¡± Arkady¡¯s voice cracks slightly. ¡°He wants you gone before the FBI can turn you. Said you¡¯d never have had the balls to wear a wire, anyway.¡±

    ¡°My father always did understand me.¡± Iugh again, bitterness flooding my mouth. ¡°So this is it? Fifteen years by my side, and you betray me without hesitation?¡±

    ¡°Not without hesitation.¡± His hands begin to shake. The second chink in the armor. ¡°Eight months, Vin. He¡¯s had them for eight fucking months. Hidden away where I can¡¯t reach them. Sending me videos, photos¡ª¡± His voice wobbles once more, then breakspletely. ¡°My niece was five thest time I saw her. She¡¯s lost three teeth since then.¡±

    The spark in his eyes is utter anguish. I watch it die as the moment approaches.

    ¡°Put the gun down, Arkady,¡± I try quietly.

    ¡°I can¡¯t.¡± Tears fill his eyes, though his aim remains steady. ¡°He¡¯ll kill them. He promised he¡¯d make me watch.¡±

    ¡°My father is many things, but a man of his word isn¡¯t one of them.¡± I rise slowly from the chair, keeping my hands visible. ¡°You pull that trigger, and your family dies anyway. You know that.¡±

    Sweat beads on Arkady¡¯s forehead, catching the dim light. ¡°He swore?¡ª¡±

    ¡°He¡¯s a fucking liar,¡± I snarl, taking a step forward. ¡°And you¡¯re a fucking fool if you believe him.¡±

    The gun jerks in his hand, a warning. ¡°Don¡¯te closer.¡±

    But I do.

    Another step.

    Then another.

    Until the barrel presses cold and hard against my forehead.

    ¡°If you¡¯re going to kill me, look me in the eyes while you do it,¡± I demand. ¡°Look at me and tell me my father¡ªthe man who betrayed his own son¡ªis going to honor his promise to you once I¡¯m dead.¡±

    Doubt flickers across Arkady¡¯s face. His finger tenses on the trigger.

    This is how it ends. Not in federal prison. Not with a wire taped to my chest. But with my best friend¡¯s bullet tunneling through my skull while my wife sleeps upstairs, unaware she¡¯s about to be a widow.

    And Sofiya¡ªmy daughter, my heartbeat outside my body¡ªwill never remember me. I¡¯ll be a distant memory at best. A shadow seen through photographs and the dim haze of other people¡¯s memories.

    Arkady¡¯s eyes shine wet with unshed tears. I know that look¡ªit¡¯s the face of a man about to execute his own soul.

    The gun shakes against my forehead, cold metal kissing my skin. ¡°I loved you like a brother,¡± he croaks.

    ¡°Then be my fucking brother now,¡± I growl. ¡°Lower the gun.¡±

    The room contracts around us¡ªtwo men trapped in the gravity of impossible choices.

    Death or dishonor.

    Family or fraternity.

    Blood or brotherhood.

    I could plead. Maybe Arkady and I could stage it, convince my father he got what he wanted before we save our families and disappear. Or perhaps I can fall to my knees and beg.

    But I¡¯ve never been that man in life.

    I won¡¯t go out like that in death.

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± Arkady whispers.

    The trigger creaks under increasing pressure.

    One breath.

    Two.

    A tear slides down Arkady¡¯s cheek as our eyes lock for what might be the final time.

    And then?¡ª

 Filthy Lies: Chapter 53

    <h3 id="id__798_74_" ss="heading_s1">ONE HOUR EARLIER

    I take a page out of Vince¡¯s ybook and start pacing for a while.

    It¡¯s either that or tear my hair out at the root and scream until my voice gives out, so I suppose it¡¯s the healthier of my avable options.

    Sitting still and going to sleep are definitely off the table. I¡¯m buzzing with this toxic, turbulent energy. My skin still simmers where he touched me and my brain keeps throwing up these crazy, overwrought thoughts, like a vending machine spitting out one fortune cookie message after the next.

    Passion is a double-edged sword.

    The heart wants what it wants, whether that¡¯s good for it or not.

    Love and hate aren¡¯t opposites. They¡¯re two sides of the same coin.

    Ain¡¯t that the truth? I want to hate him so, so badly. Everything would be easier if I did. I¡¯d just snatch up my daughter and we¡¯d ride off into the sunset like Thelma and Louise.

    Instead, I¡¯m stuck burning up with this obsession. I pace the length of our bedroom¡ªtwelve steps to the wall, pivot, twelve steps back, repeat¡ªhoping the monotony will exhaust me into unconsciousness.

    No such luck.

    Vince¡¯s words in the nursery echo through my skull. I still want you so badly I can taste it.

    And I¡ªugh¡ªI want him, too. Even now. Even after everything.

    He loves me.

    He loves me not.

    He loves me.

    He loves?¡ª

    The mental seesaw is exhausting. Let me off this stupid ride, please. I stop mid-stride and squeeze the bedpost until my knuckles whiten. This has to end. One way or another, the limbo has to fucking end.

    The soft cotton of my nightgown clings to my skin as sweat beads along my spine. I stare at the locked bedroom door, the barrier I put between us, and wonder if it¡¯s protecting me from him or from myself.

    ¡°Fuck this,¡± I whisper to the empty room.

    I throw on a robe and yank the door open, decision made. The FBI¡¯s ultimatum is poised over our heads like a guillotine de, and that thing is sharp. If there was ever a time to clear the air between us, it¡¯s now¡ªbefore one or both of us ends up dead or behind bars.

    The hallway is silent save for the distant hum of the security system. I check on Sofiya first. She slumbers, unaware that her world is hanging by threads thinner than spider silk.

    I brush a curl from her forehead and wonder, not for the first time, if I should have kept running. Taken her somewhere neither Vince nor the FBI would ever find us.

    But you can¡¯t outrun blood. Not your own, not your husband¡¯s, and certainly not the shared mix that flows through your daughter¡¯s veins.

    The stairs creak beneath my bare feet as I descend toward Vince¡¯s study. There¡¯s light spilling from beneath the door¡ªof course he¡¯s still awake. The man functions on whiskey and rage. Sleep is merely an inconvenient stopgap between vengeful thoughts.

    I don¡¯t knock. This is still my house, no matter how tenuous my im on it feels.

    But when the door swings open, my heart stops.

    Vince stands in the middle of the room with the barrel of a gun pressed against his forehead. Arkady¡¯s finger is on the trigger. I freeze in the doorway as my already-overloaded brain struggles to process the scene before me.

    ¡°¡ªbe my fucking brother now,¡± Vince growls. ¡°Lower the gun.¡±

    Neither man has noticed me yet. I scan the room frantically, looking for a weapon. There¡¯s a heavy crystal paperweight on the side table by the door. I could grab it, smash it into Arkady¡¯s skull before he?¡ª

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± Arkady whispers, and something in his broken voice makes my blood run cold.

    I lunge for the paperweight just as Vince¡¯s eyes flick to mine.

    ¡°Rowan, don¡¯t!¡± Hismand stops me mid-reach. ¡°It¡¯s okay.¡±

    The absurdity of those words¡ªIt¡¯s okay¡ªas a gun presses against his head makes me want to scream.

    ¡°Lower the fucking gun, Arkady,¡± I snarl, stepping fully into the room. ¡°Or I swear to God, I¡¯ll kill you myself.¡±

    Arkady doesn¡¯t move, doesn¡¯t even look at me. ¡°This doesn¡¯t concern you, Rowan.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s my husband! Of course it fucking concerns me.¡±

    Vince¡¯s eyes never leave his best friend¡¯s. He¡¯s strangely tranquil, like this is just another day. ¡°Tell her,¡± he urges Arkady. ¡°Tell her why you¡¯re about to put a bullet in my brain.¡±

    Arkady¡¯s hand trembles. ¡°Andrei has my family. My sister. My niece and nephews.¡± His voice cracks. ¡°He said if I don¡¯t kill Vince tonight, he¡¯ll make me watch while he¡ª while he¡ª¡± He can¡¯t finish the sentence.

    ¡°And you believe him?¡± I manage to spit out over my disbelief. ¡°You think after you¡¯ve murdered his son, he¡¯ll just¡­ what? Return your family and let you all live happily ever after?¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t have a choice!¡± Arkady roars, gaze still locked on Vince.

    ¡°There¡¯s always a choice,¡± I counter, inching closer. ¡°And putting a bullet in Vince¡¯s head isn¡¯t going to save your family. It¡¯s just going to give Andrei exactly what he wants.¡±

    The gun wavers. Just slightly.

    ¡°She¡¯s right,¡± Vince says. ¡°My father never intended to release them. He¡¯s using them to control you, and once I¡¯m dead, he¡¯ll have no reason to keep them alive.¡±

    The grandfather clock groans past midnight. I watch Arkady¡¯s finger on the trigger.

    ¡°If we work together, we can find them,¡± I promise. ¡°Vince and I, we¡¯ll help you. But you have to lower the gun first.¡±

    Tears stream down Arkady¡¯s face now. ¡°You don¡¯t understand. I¡¯ve tried everything. For months, I¡¯ve been searching¡ªbribing, threatening, torturing¡ªand nothing. It¡¯s like they¡¯ve disappeared off the face of the earth.¡±

    ¡°And Andrei suddenly promises you¡¯ll get them back if you kill me?¡± Vince scoffs. ¡°Convenient timing, don¡¯t you think? The same day I tell you about the FBI¡¯s ultimatum?¡±

    The pressure on the trigger eases, though only a bit.

    ¡°I can¡¯t lose them, Vin,¡± Arkady whispers. ¡°My niece¡­¡±

    ¡°What about my daughter?¡± Vince responds. ¡°Are you going to make her grow up without a father? Make her ask her mother why Uncle Arkady put a bullet in her daddy¡¯s head?¡±

    I take another slow step closer.

    ¡°Give me the gun, Arkady,¡± I say gently. ¡°Let¡¯s figure this out together.¡±

    His eyes finally shift to mine, desperate and pleading. ¡°He¡¯ll kill them.¡±

    ¡°Not if we find them first,¡± I promise. ¡°But if you pull that trigger, we lose our best chance at stopping Andrei for good.¡±

    A pause.

    A long pause.

    And then¡­ slowly, infinitesimally¡­ the gun lowers.

    I exhale for what feels like the first time since entering the room.

    Vince doesn¡¯t move, doesn¡¯t lunge for the weapon or attack Arkady. He just stands there, shoulders sagging slightly with fatigue or relief or both. ¡°We¡¯ll find them,¡± he says, and despite everything¡ªdespite his father¡¯s betrayal, despite Arkady¡¯s gun at his head, despite my own abandonment¡ªthere¡¯s conviction in his voice. The same unwavering certainty that once made me believe he could keep us safe from anything.

    Arkady hands me the gun, grip first. I take it with shaking hands, flicking the safety on and cing it on the desk between us.

    ¡°I¡¯m so sorry,¡± he chokes out, copsing into a chair like his strings have been cut. ¡°God, Vin, I¡¯m so fucking sorry.¡±

    Vince crosses to him, ces a hand on his shoulder. The gesture of forgiveness is so startlingly gentle it makes my heart constrict painfully.

    I watch Vince absorb this fresh betrayal with quiet dignity¡ªhis best friend, his brother-in-arms, nearly executed him on his father¡¯s orders.

    And yet, there¡¯s no rage, no violent outburst.

    Just grim understanding.

    It hits me then, like a bullet to my own chest: Vince has spent his entire life surrounded by people who are supposed to love him unconditionally¡ªhis father, his right-hand man, me¡ªand all of us have betrayed him in our own ways.

    I fled with his daughter.

    Arkady held a gun to his head.

    Andrei orchestrated it all.

    And still, he stands. Still, he showspassion. Still, he promises to save Arkady¡¯s family despite everything.

    The unwanted empathy floods through me, cracking the ice I¡¯ve carefully packed around my heart. I don¡¯t want to feel for him. Don¡¯t want to understand. It¡¯s easier to hate him, to hold him ountable for all the darkness in our lives.

    But watching him now, I can¡¯t help but feel his pain.

    Vince takes Arkady to a spare room. I sit in the empty, silent office and stare at the gun on the desk. My hands tremble with aftershocks of adrenaline.

    Eventually, Vince slips back in. I look up at him.

    ¡°Your own father,¡± I say. ¡°Your own fucking father would murder his son.¡±

    Vince¡¯s eyes meet mine from across the room. ¡°And you¡¯re surprised?¡±

    ¡°I shouldn¡¯t be. Nothing in this goddamn life should surprise me anymore.¡±

    I take a step forward, then another, until there¡¯s barely space between us. His pulse throbs visibly in his neck¡ªthe only sign that he¡¯s affected by nearly dying tonight.

    I reach up, my fingertips hovering just above the spot where Arkady¡¯s gun pressed against his skin. ¡°I hate that I still care,¡± I confess. ¡°I hate that watching you almost die just now felt like my own heart stopping.¡±

    ¡°Rowan¡ª¡±

    ¡°No.¡± I press my palm against his chest. ¡°Shut up. Just¡­ shut up for once.¡±

    Tears I didn¡¯t know I was holding back spill hot down my cheeks. I curl my fingers into the fabric of his shirt as I clutch him like he might disappear.

    ¡°I want to hate you. I¡¯ve tried. God knows I¡¯ve fucking tried.¡±

    ¡°But you don¡¯t.¡±

    ¡°No,¡± I whisper, my voice a shattered thing. ¡°And that¡¯s the cruelest part of all this.¡±

    In one swift motion, he pulls me against him. ¡°I¡¯m not leaving,¡± he murmurs into my hair. ¡°The FBI, my father, all of it¡ªwe face it together or not at all.¡± His thumb brushes away a tear. ¡°I¡¯d rather die on my feet with you than live on my knees without you.¡±

    It¡¯s not forgiveness. It¡¯s not even trust restored. But as his forehead presses against mine, our shared breath creating a tiny universe between us, I know it¡¯s a beginning.

    Tomorrow, we face hell together.

 Filthy Lies: Chapter 54

    The predawn sky is as ugly as a bruise above me¡ªpurples and blues and nasty, vicious streaks of red.

    Not unlike the inside of my mind right now. Hell, all of me is beaten and battered. How the fuck could it not be?

    My own father ordered my execution. He hired my best friend to put a bullet in my brain¡ªand he very fucking nearly got what he wanted.

    The coffee in my hand has gone cold, forgotten as I stand on the roof of ourpound and watch darkness retreat from the sky. I haven¡¯t slept. How could I? With Rowan¡¯s tears still damp on my shirt and the ghost of Arkady¡¯s gun barrel still pressed against my forehead?

    Three betrayals in as many days. My wife fled with my daughter. My best friend pointed a gun at my skull. My father orchestrated it all.

    Yet, somehow, I¡¯m still standing.

    The rage inside me isn¡¯t hot anymore. It¡¯s gone arctic¡ªa frozen wastnd where nothing grows and nothing lives. This kind of cold burns worse than fire ever could.

    ¡°I figured I¡¯d find you up here.¡± Arkady¡¯s voice disturbs the silence as he steps onto the rooftop behind me.

    I don¡¯t turn around. ¡°Come to finish the job?¡±

    His footsteps stop. ¡°That¡¯s fair.¡±

    When I finally face him, he looks like shit. Eyes bloodshot, face haggard, shoulders slumped under the weight of his shame.

    Good. Let him carry it.

    Arkady sighs, looks out at the treeline. ¡°The FBI ultimatum expires in ten hours. We need a n.¡±

    ¡°Fuck the FBI,¡± I spit. ¡°They¡¯re insignificantpared to this.¡±

    ¡°Is that what you¡¯re going to tell Rowan? That you¡¯d rather deal with your daddy issues than keep yourself out of prison and around for Sofiya?¡±

    I whip toward him, coffee cup dropping from my hand to shatter on the concrete. ¡°Choose your next words very carefully.¡±

    But he¡¯s right. Goddamn him, he¡¯s right.

    Personal vendettas have to wait. My daughter needs me free and breathing, not imprisoned or bleeding out in some abandoned warehouse because I couldn¡¯t control my thirst for revenge.

    ¡°We stick to the n,¡± I grit out finally. ¡°Give Carver enough to satisfy him. Deal with my fatherter.¡±

    Fuck, that hurt to say. Dying my vengeance is almost as painful as the betrayal itself.

    ¡°It¡¯s the right call,¡± Arkady says, cing a hand on my shoulder.

    And that¡¯s when it happens.

    We both notice amotion in the trees. Doves and pigeons, spooked by something, go squawking into the air.

    Arkady moves before I do. He pushes me backwards as his eyes bulge, and ¡°Vin!¡±, and?¡ª

    BOOM.

    The crack of a rifle echoes across the morning air. Arkady¡¯s body jerks violently beside me, a spray of crimson exploding from his chest as he staggers backward.

    For one suspended moment, I don¡¯t understand what I¡¯m seeing.

    Then reality crashes down.

    That bullet was meant for me.

    I dive for Arkady, dragging him behind the rooftop air conditioning unit as a second shot ricochets off the concrete where I stood milliseconds before.

    ¡°Fuck!¡± I press my hands against the wound in his chest. His blood seeps through my fingers like it¡¯s determined to escape him. ¡°SECURITY!¡± I bellow toward the door. ¡°SNIPER ON THE EAST PERIMETER!¡±

    Arkady¡¯s eyes are wide, mouth working silently as he gasps for air that won¡¯te. A bubble of blood forms between his lips, pops.

    ¡°Stay with me,¡± Imand. ¡°Don¡¯t you fucking die on me. Not now.¡±

    rms re throughout thepound. Guards pour onto the roof, weapons drawn. Rowan¡¯s panicked voice calls from somewhere below.

    ¡°Find the shooter!¡± I roar at my men as they secure the perimeter. ¡°Bring him to me alive!¡±

    The blood won¡¯t stop. It soaks through my shirt, my pants, pools beneath us both like we¡¯re two sinners baptized in crimson. Arkady¡¯s skin is turning gray, his eyes zing over.

    ¡°Medic¡¯sing, boss,¡± someone says from above me.

    I barely hear them. All I can focus on is the life draining out of my best friend¡¯s body. The man who couldn¡¯t pull the trigger. The man who took a bullet meant for me.

    ¡°You asshole,¡± I breathe. ¡°You fucking, goddamn asshole. How dare you make me mourn you, you son of a bitch? Don¡¯t you fucking¡­ don¡¯t you fucking¡­¡±

    I can¡¯t even finish the sentence.

    The medical team arrives, pushing me aside to work on him. They¡¯re speaking in urgent tones, calling for blood and sma, but I can read the grim certainty in their eyes.

    He¡¯s dying.

    And I know¡ªI fucking know¡ªmy father is behind this.

    Just as I know what I have to do now.

    The rage that¡¯s been building since Arkady¡¯s gun pressed against my forehead finally breaches its frozen containment. It roars through me, volcanic and unstoppable, burning away every restraint, every consideration, every ounce of humanity I¡¯ve cultivated for Rowan¡¯s sake.

    I stand, covered in Arkady¡¯s blood, and meet Rowan¡¯s terrified gaze as she appears on the rooftop.

    She sees it in my eyes. The change. The breaking point.

    ¡°Don¡¯t,¡± she whispers, stepping toward me. ¡°Vince, please. The FBI?¡ª¡±

    ¡°Will have to wait,¡± I interrupt.

    ¡°They won¡¯t wait!¡± she pleads. ¡°If you go after your father now, you¡¯ll ruin everything. You¡¯ll end up in prison, or worse.¡±

    I look down at my blood-drenched hands. At Arkady being loaded onto a stretcher, oxygen mask strapped to his ghostly-pale face. At the men I¡¯ve chosen to surround myself with, all watching to see what I¡¯ll do next.

    The decision rips through me like a second bullet.

    ¡°Get my jet ready,¡± I order my security chief, striding toward the roof ess door. ¡°And tell Dimitri to prepare the warehouse. The one my father doesn¡¯t know about.¡±

    ¡°Vince!¡± Rowan follows me, desperation in her voice. ¡°Think about Sofiya. Think about us.¡±

    I stop, turn to face her. Her eyes are wide with fear¡ªnot of me, but for me. For what I¡¯m about to be.

    ¡°I am thinking about you,¡± I tell her, cupping her cheek with a hand still wet with Arkady¡¯s blood. ¡°And also about Sofiya and the world I want her to inherit. I intend to give her a world where men like my father don¡¯t get to destroy families and walk away unscathed. And I¡¯m going to do it my way.¡±

    ¡°And if you get caught? If the FBI?¡ª¡±

    ¡°If I get caught, then I get caught.¡± I press my forehead against hers, breathing her in, memorizing the scent that¡¯s kept me human all these long months. ¡°But I won¡¯t live in a world where I let him take everything from me and did nothing.¡±

    I pull away, and the sudden distance between us feels infinite.

    ¡°You have to choose, Vince,¡± she says, tears welling in those green eyes that have always seen straight through me. ¡°Your vengeance or your family. You can¡¯t have both.¡±

    I look at her for a long moment, knowing the truth that burns inside me. The fire of the choice I¡¯ve already made.

    ¡°Why not?¡± I ask. ¡°I¡¯m Vincent fucking Akopov. I take what I want. I always have. I always will.¡±

 Filthy Lies: Chapter 55

    Blood on white linoleum glows like scattered rubies under fluorescent lights.

    It¡¯s everywhere, smeared by the rushing boots of paramedics, security, doctors. Vince¡¯s fingerprints are all over it¡ªquite literally¡ªas he tried to hold his best friend¡¯s life inside his chest. By the time we reach the hospital, Vince¡¯s clothes look like he¡¯s been butchered, but it¡¯s not his blood.

    It should have been.

    The bullet was meant for him. I know it as surely as I know my own name. I know who ordered it fired, too. I don¡¯t even have to ask.

    The waiting room of the private hospital wing feels like purgatory. Sanitized misery encased in taupe walls and ufortable chairs. Vince hasn¡¯t moved from his rigid position at the window for over an hour. Nor have his hands rxed. Still bloodstained, they¡¯re clenched into fists so tight I can see the tendons straining beneath his skin from where I sit.

    If rage had a scent, the room would be suffocating with it.

    ¡°You can¡¯t go after your father,¡± I say, finally breaking the silence. ¡°Not now. We still have the FBI circling.¡±

    Vince doesn¡¯t turn around. ¡°Watch me.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s exactly what he wants.¡± I stand and go to him. ¡°He knows you¡¯lle charging after him. He¡¯s counting on it.¡±

    Hisugh is hollow, gutted. ¡°And what would you have me do, Rowan? Send him a fucking fruit basket and a note that says, ¡®Let¡¯s take a rain check, please¡¯ as Arkady bleeds out on an operating table?¡±

    My teeth grind together so hard I¡¯m surprised enamel doesn¡¯t dust the floor. ¡°I would have you think like the smart man I know you are instead of the weapon your father forged you to be.¡±

    That gets his attention. He whips around, eyes glittering like broken ss. ¡°You have no idea what I am.¡±

    ¡°I have every idea,¡± I counter. ¡°I¡¯m the only person who sees all of you, Vince. That¡¯s why I¡¯m still standing here, despite everything.¡±

    We stare at each other across the chasm of our fundamental differences. The air between us vibrates with grief and fury and whatever you call the thing that makes me want to p him and kiss him in the same breath.

    A doctor pushes through the double doors, clipboard in hand. ¡°Mr. Akopov? Your friend is out of surgery.¡±

    Vince¡¯s entire body coils tight. ¡°And?¡±

    ¡°He survived, but it¡¯s¡­¡± A weary sigh goes whistling out of the man. ¡°It¡¯splicated. The bullet damaged his lung and nicked his heart. He¡¯s stable for now, but the next twenty-four hours are critical.¡±

    I watch the information sink in. Each word is another boulder loaded up on shoulders that are already carrying too much.

    ¡°Can I see him?¡± Vince asks.

    ¡°Briefly, if you¡¯d like. But I¡¯ll warn you, he¡¯s heavily sedated.¡±

    I follow behind as the doctor leads us to the ICU. My throat constricts when I see Arkady¡ªthis mountain of a man, Vince¡¯s shadow and shield for fifteen years¡ªreduced to a pale, fragile figure drowning in tubes and wires.

    Vince approaches the bed silently. He doesn¡¯t touch Arkady. Doesn¡¯t speak. Just stands there, absorbing the damage done by a bullet meant for him.

    ¡°I need coffee,¡± I murmur, leaving him to his silent vigil.

    In the hallway, I lean against the wall and exhale for what feels like the first time in hours. The linoleum floor beneath my feet wavers as exhaustion hits me in crashing waves. I slide down until I¡¯m sitting, knees pulled to my chest like a pouting child.

    Arkady took a bullet for Vince. Without hesitation, without thought¡ªjust pure, instinctive loyalty.

    Hours earlier, he¡¯d held a gun to Vince¡¯s head.

    Now, he might die for him.

    The contradiction of the Bratva brotherhood remains a fucking enigma to me. These men¡ªviolent, dangerous men¡ªforge bonds in blood that transcend betrayal, that demand sacrifice. For all its brutality, there¡¯s something almost beautiful in their unwavering loyalty.

    I¡¯ve spent so long seeing only the darkness, only the cruelty. But there¡¯s this part, too: a brotherhood willing to die for each other.

    When Vince emerges from the ICU thirty minutester, his face is carved from stone. He looks down at me, crumpled against the wall, and silently offers his hand.

    I take it and let him pull me to my feet. His touch anchors me even as his eyes remain distant, haunted.

    ¡°He shouldn¡¯t have done it,¡± Vince says. ¡°It should have been me.¡±

    ¡°Then you¡¯d be the one in that bed,¡± I counter, ¡°and I¡¯d be the one nning a murder.¡±

    His exhale is sharp, almost augh but not quite. ¡°You would, wouldn¡¯t you?¡±

    ¡°Yeah,¡± I sigh. ¡°That¡¯s the whole problem.¡±

    We move toward the small alcove with buzzing vending machines providing white noise so no one can overhear us.

    ¡°I¡¯m going to kill him, Rowan.¡± Vince rubs at his temples. ¡°I¡¯m going to put my father in the ground for what he¡¯s done.¡±

    I cup his cheek. ¡°I know. But the question isn¡¯t whether Andrei deserves to die. It¡¯s whether killing him now serves ourrger goals or just your need for vengeance.¡±

    ¡°What¡¯s the difference?¡±

    ¡°The difference is between surviving this or not.¡± I grip his wrist, forcing him to feel my words through skin-to-skin contact. ¡°The FBI ultimatum expires today. If you go after Andrei now, Carver¡¯s lifeline goes up in smoke.¡±

    ¡°What would you have me do?¡± His teeth gleam sharp and white in the fluorescent lights. ¡°Let him get away with this? I won¡¯t let him think he can put a bullet in my best friend and live to gloat about it.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯d have you be smarter than him.¡± My nails dig into his flesh. ¡°Andrei knows you, knows exactly how you¡¯ll react. He¡¯s counting on that rage. He¡¯s counting on you charging straight into his trap.¡±

    Vince pulls away. ¡°You don¡¯t understand what this means. If I don¡¯t respond¡ªimmediately, violently¡ªI look weak. And weakness gets you killed faster than anything.¡±

    ¡°Then respond,¡± I agree. ¡°But not in the way he expects. Not in the way he¡¯s prepared for.¡±

    Vince pauses, something flickering in his gaze. Interest. Consideration. ¡°What did you have in mind?¡±

    ¡°Carver first,¡± I state firmly. ¡°We deal with the FBI threat, secure immunity, then we dismantle your father piece by piece. Not through brute force, but by stripping away everything he values.¡±

    ¡°His money. His power. His respect.¡± Vince taps his chin as he thinks. ¡°Make him watch as everything he¡¯s built crumbles around him.¡±

    ¡°A slow death,¡± I agree. ¡°More painful than a bullet could ever be.¡±

    We stand facing each other in the sterile hospital alcove. Quiet. Not quite together but not quite apart, either.

    ¡°I still want to kill him,¡± Vince admits after a while. ¡°I can feel it burning inside me, this need to watch him bleed out slowly while I exin exactly why he¡¯s dying.¡±

    ¡°I know,¡± I say simply. ¡°And someday, you will. But not today. Not yet.¡±

    He looks back toward the ICU where Arkady fights for his life. ¡°I need to be here when he wakes up.¡±

    ¡°I know.¡±

    His eyes finally meet mine without walls, without pretense. ¡°When this is over¡­ when my father is dealt with, when the FBI is off our backs¡­ what then? For us?¡±

    That¡¯s the million-dor question. I think of Sofiya, sleeping safely under heavy guard at ourpound. I think of the future I once imagined for us, before blood and betrayal tainted everything.

    ¡°I don¡¯t know,¡± I say. ¡°But I¡¯m willing to find out if you are.¡±

    ¡°Are you sure?¡±

    I tilt my head and smile sadly at him. ¡°I came back, didn¡¯t I?¡± I whisper. ¡°Despite knowing exactly what you are. What does that tell you?¡±

    He nods and pulls me close to him by my hips. ¡°Yeah,¡± he whispers back. ¡°I love you, too.¡±

 Filthy Lies: Chapter 56

    I got blood on the paper.

    I didn¡¯t mean to. Honestly, I didn¡¯t even realize the stuff was still crusted under my nails. But there it is, as red and stark as it was on the hospital tiles.

    A few hours passing by hasn¡¯t done a fucking thing to dull my edge. I¡¯m focused now. I know the way forward.

    But the blood is still there.

    I see it every time I look down at the evidence I¡¯m assembling for Carver. Crimson ghosts dancing between ck and white pages. The perfect metaphor for my life¡ªeverything I touch bes stained.

    The files slide under my fingertips. Each documentys out the full extent of my intelligence on Solovyov operations. Photographs ce their men at scenes they shouldn¡¯t have been anywhere near and transcripts capture conversations they believed were protected.

    It¡¯s the work of a butcher preparing to ughter a rival family while saving his own.

    My hands tremble as I organize the final pieces. Not from fear¡ªfear is a luxury I surrendered a long time ago. No, my hands shake from the barely contained violence surging beneath my skin, desperate for release.

    I want my father¡¯s throat beneath my fingers. Not these sterile papers.

    ¡°That¡¯s all of it,¡± I tell Dimitri, who stands silently by the door. He¡¯s taken Arkady¡¯s ce. He¡¯s not my best friend, but at least he has the decency to acknowledge the enormity of the shoes he¡¯s been forced to fill. ¡°Make sure the remaining digital files are on this drive. Nothing traceable back to our current operations.¡±

    My phone vibrates for the third time this hour. Arkady¡¯s doctor updating me: Patient stable but critical. Still unconscious. Next 12 hours crucial.

    I wonder if my father realizes what he¡¯s created¡ªthat, in trying to kill me, he¡¯s forged something far more dangerous. I am no longer his son, no longer bound by whatever twisted loyalty kept me from ending him before. I am a man with nothing left to lose except the two people sleeping under my protection.

    And for them, I¡¯ll be the monster he always wanted me to be.

    Just not yet. Not today. Today, I dance for the FBI.

    Right on cue, the doorbell rings. I feel my jaw tighten to breaking point.

    ¡°Mr. Akopov,¡± Agent Carver greets as he¡¯s shown into my study. ¡°Pleasure to see you¡¯ve made the right choice.¡±

    He grins, and I imagine, just for a moment, how satisfying it would be to feed those bared veneers to him one by one like fucking Tic-Tacs.

    ¡°Don¡¯t mistake necessity for choice,¡± I growl, gesturing to the chair across from my desk. ¡°And don¡¯t mistake cooperation for surrender.¡±

    Carver sprawls in a chair, crossing one leg over the other like we¡¯re old friends catching up over brandy. ¡°Whatever helps you sleep at night.¡± His eyes flick to the stack of files on my desk. ¡°Is that everything?¡±

    I nod. ¡°Everything you need to crucify the Solovyov family while keeping your promise to leave mine alone.¡±

    He chuckles, the sound like nails dragging down my spine. ¡°That depends entirely on the quality of what you¡¯re providing. I¡¯d hate for your lovely wife and daughter to suffer because you held back critical information.¡±

    My vision tinges red at the edges. ¡°Threaten my family again, and you won¡¯t live long enough to regret it.¡±

    ¡°That sounds suspiciously like a threat to a federal agent,¡± Carver tuts, but his smirk falters when my expression doesn¡¯t change.

    ¡°Just remember who you¡¯re dealing with.¡±

    He clears his throat and reaches for the files. ¡°Let¡¯s see what you¡¯ve brought me.¡±

    I watch as he meticulously examines each document, deliberately taking his time. Each page turn is another test of my restraint. He¡¯s enjoying this¡ªthe humiliation of having Vincent Akopov, feared Bratva leader, reduced to an informant.

    ¡°This shipment manifest,¡± he says, tapping a paper with his manicured finger. ¡°It¡¯s datedst year. I was hoping for something fresher.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s what you¡¯re getting, Carver. Figure it out.¡±

    ¡°And these bank ounts,¡± he continues, ¡°they lead to shellpanies, not directly to Solovyov principals.¡±

    ¡°Follow the money.¡± I shrug. ¡°That¡¯s your job, isn¡¯t it? I¡¯ve given you the breadcrumbs. Don¡¯t me me if you¡¯re too fucking ipetent to follow the trail.¡±

    My phone vibrates again. I check it under the desk. Patient experiencing arrhythmia. Preparing for possible cardiac intervention.

    I grit my mrs. Arkady is fighting for his life while I sit here ying games with this bureaucratic weasel.

    ¡°Something urgent?¡± Carver inquires when he notices my distraction.

    ¡°Nothing that concerns you.¡± I slide the sh drive across the polished wood. ¡°The rest is there. Bank records, wiretaps, surveince photos. Enough to put Anton Solovyov and his kin away until his grandchildren have grandchildren.¡±

    Carver picks up the drive and rolls it between his fingers like a cigar. ¡°Hm. It all seems so painless for you.¡±

    ¡°Not for them.¡± I smile, cold and sharp. ¡°Now, are we done? Or would you like to continue wasting my time with questions you already know the answers to?¡±

    Carver gathers the files and tucks them into his briefcase. ¡°For now, we¡¯re done. But this arrangement isn¡¯t a one-time deal, Mr. Akopov. The Bureau will be in touch when we need additional assistance.¡±

    ¡°No.¡± I stand, towering over him. ¡°This is it. One delivery, as agreed. You got what you wanted. Now, I get what I want: my family left alone.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s not how this works.¡± He stands. ¡°You work for me now, Vincent. I¡¯m the thin blue line between you and a concrete fucking cell. You don¡¯t like it? Tough fucking shit.¡±

    Then the smug son of a bitch has the audacity to wink.

    ¡°Pleasure doing business with you, my friend.¡±

    He whistles as he leaves.

    I wait until he¡¯s gone before I allow my fist to unclench and my grimace to fade into a half-smile. It¡¯s not a victory¡ªthat won¡¯te for a while yet. But Carver thinks he¡¯s gotten everything he¡¯s wanted. He¡¯ll learn¡ªnot for a long time, of course, but he will eventually learn¡ªthat no one gets the best of Vincent Akopov.

    He¡¯s dancing to my tune.

    Not the other way around.<hr>

    When I emerge from my office, the rest of the house is quiet, most of the lights off. It¡¯ste. I should go straight to bed, try to grab what little sleep I can before whatever storms tomorrow brings.

    Instead, I find myself drawn to the soft glow spilling from Sofiya¡¯s room.

    I pause in the doorway, tucked just out of sight. Rowan sits in the rocking chair by the window with our daughter curled against her chest as she reads from a book of fairy tales. Her voice is soft, melodic, conjuring worlds of princes and dragons and happy endings that have never existed in our reality.

    Sofiya spots me first. ¡°Papa!¡± she squeals, wiggling to get down from Rowan¡¯sp.

    The sound of her voice¡ªso innocent, so full of unquestioning love¡ªpierces straight through the armor I¡¯ve worn all day. I drop to one knee as she crawls across the room, catching her small body against mine as she crashes into my arms.

    ¡°Hello, little warrior,¡± I murmur against her dark curls. ¡°Shouldn¡¯t you be sleeping?¡±

    She points back at her mother by way of exnation.

    ¡°I see that.¡± I nce up at Rowan, who watches us with an expression I can¡¯t quite read¡ªpart tenderness, part wariness. ¡°One more story, then bed, okay?¡±

    Sofiya reaches for the book in her mom¡¯s hands. Rowan surrenders it, then Sofi passes it over to me.

    I look to Rowan for permission. After a moment¡¯s hesitation, she nods.

    Ten minutester, Sofiya¡¯s eyes are drooping as I finish the tale of a princess who spurns an arrogant knight¡¯s help and saves herself from a tower. Not the traditional ending, but this is Rowan¡¯s choice of bedtime stories, and I must admit: I¡¯m starting to see the appeal.

    When we step into the hallway, closing Sofi¡¯s door behind us, awkward silence descends.

    ¡°I¡¯m still angry with you,¡± she says.

    ¡°I know.¡± My thumb traces the delicate bones of her wrist, feeling her pulse quicken beneath my touch.

    ¡°This doesn¡¯t fix anything,¡± she whispers as she steps closer, erasing the space between us until I can feel the heat emanating from her body.

    Our lips meet in a hesitant kiss. It¡¯s light and teasing and over far too soon. I have to restrain myself from throwing her over my shoulder like a caveman as she separates.

    Instead, I stand still as a statue and watch her saunter away down the hall. I¡¯m preparing myself for another long, lonely night¡ªuntil, at thest second, she turns and looks back.

    ¡°Coming?¡±

    Yes, moya zhena. Yes, I am.

    What follows isn¡¯t what our fucking has always been. It¡¯s far too tentative for that. Each touch is a question¡ªAre you still mine? Each response is an iplete answer¡ªI don¡¯t know, but I want to be.

    Her body opens for me with familiar ease, but her eyes remain guarded. When I push inside her, she gasps my name, then mps down on her bottom lip like she doesn¡¯t want to say it. I move slowly, savoring each sensation, memorizing the way she feels beneath me in case this is thest time.

    When it¡¯s done and we¡¯re both spent, we lie staring upwards with inches of carefully maintained space between us.

    ¡°Arkady might not make it,¡± I whisper into the shadows.

    Her hand finds mine in the tangled sheets. ¡°And if he doesn¡¯t?¡±

    ¡°Then I break my promise to you.¡± I turn to face her, though I can barely make out her features in the dimness. ¡°I hunt my father down and I kill him, FBI deal be damned.¡±

    She sighs and breathes for a while. ¡°If ites to that,¡± she says finally, ¡°I won¡¯t try to stop you.¡±

    Her fingers tighten around mine, and for the first time since Arkady took that bullet, I feel something other than rage.

    ¡°But you won¡¯t help me, either,¡± I say, testing the boundaries of this fragile truce.

    ¡°Won¡¯t I?¡± Her voice holds a darkness that matches my own. ¡°You don¡¯t know what I¡¯m capable of anymore, Vince. I¡¯m not the woman you married.¡±

 Filthy Lies: Chapter 57

    The morning after our tentative truce, while Vince goes back to the hospital to sit vigil at Arkady¡¯s bedside, I slip out of thepound with nothing but my phone and a backpack. The guards let me pass with minimal questions. They¡¯ve learned that questioning the boss¡¯s wife too thoroughly is a career-limiting move.

    Besides, where would I go? My daughter is inside. My heart, despite my best efforts to protect it, remains with a man who breaks everything he touches.

    The caf¨¦ I¡¯ve chosen sits in a forgotten corner of Brooklyn¡ªfar enough from our usual haunts to avoid Vince¡¯s surveince, close enough to escape quickly if needed.

    I arrive twenty minutes early, selecting a table with clear sightlines to all exits. Another habit I¡¯ve picked up from my husband. You can take the girl out of the Bratva, but you can¡¯t take the Bratva out of the girl.

    Anastasia arrives first, elegant as always despite the early hour. She slides into the seat across from me without ordering.

    ¡°This is dangerous,¡± she says in lieu of greeting. ¡°Vince would lose his mind if he knew we were meeting. I¡¯m supposed to be in hiding and you¡¯re supposed to be locked away in the highest room of the tallest tower.¡±

    ¡°Vince is about to lose his mind anyway,¡± I reply, stirring my untouched coffee. ¡°His father just tried to have him killed. Used his best friend as the weapon, then shot that same friend when the n failed. The FBI is squeezing him for information. And I¡¯m done watching from the sidelines while everything falls apart.¡±

    Anastasia¡¯s eyes bug out. ¡°Well, shit.¡±

    Daniil joins us a minuteter, his eyes scanning the room anxiously before settling on me. ¡°You look like shit, Rowan.¡±

    ¡°Thanks. You¡¯re a poet.¡±

    ¡°I mean you look like you haven¡¯t slept in days.¡±

    ¡°Sleep is a luxury I can¡¯t afford right now.¡± I lean forward, dropping my voice. ¡°I need your help. Both of you.¡±

    Anastasia¡¯s perfectly manicured fingers tap against the table. ¡°What kind of help?¡±

    ¡°The kind that involves your father.¡± I lock eyes with Daniil. ¡°And your loyalty to my husband.¡±

    Daniil¡¯s jaw tightens. ¡°My loyalty is to Anastasia. Not to Vincent.¡±

    ¡°But it¡¯s his protection keeping you both alive.¡± I take a sip of my bitter coffee. ¡°How long do you think you¡¯dst without his guards, his connections, his resources?¡±

    ¡°Is that a threat?¡± Anastasia asks.

    ¡°No. It¡¯s reality.¡± I set down my cup. ¡°Vince is on the brink. If we don¡¯t act now, he¡¯ll go after his father without a n, without backup, and he¡¯ll either end up dead or in federal prison.¡±

    Daniil exchanges a nce with Anastasia. Some silentmunication passes between them¡ªthe kind that only exists between people who have survived hell together.

    ¡°What exactly are you asking us to do?¡± he finally asks.

    ¡°I need you to arrange a meeting between my father and my husband. Without either of them knowing I initiated it.¡±

    Daniil¡¯s eyebrows shoot up. ¡°This is a suicide mission. They¡¯ll kill each other on sight.¡±

    ¡°Not if we set it up properly. Neutral ground. Limited security. High stakes for both sides.¡± I clutch the edge of the table. ¡°My father respects strength. And strategy. If Daniil approaches him as a son seeking reconciliation, using the FBI threat as leverage¡­¡±

    ¡°He¡¯d consider it,¡± Anastasia finishes for me. ¡°Especially if it meant protecting his granddaughter¡¯s future.¡±

    ¡°And Vince?¡± Daniil challenges. ¡°How do you propose to convince a man who¡¯s built his entire identity on destroying the Petrovs to sit down with Grigor?¡±

    ¡°You leave Vince to me.¡± My smile feels brittle on my face. ¡°Just make it happen.¡±

    They agree, ultimately. Not because they trust me¡ªthey don¡¯t, not fully¡ªbut because they recognize the lifeline I¡¯m offering. A path to reconciliation with Grigor would mean freedom for them. An end to the hiding, the skulking, the borrowed security.

    We part ways with no hugs, no warm goodbyes. Maybe one day, we¡¯ll get there, but it¡¯s too soon for that right now.

    We have nothing to celebrate. Not yet.<hr>

    My next stop is even riskier.

    Natalie waits for me in her cramped apartment, the ce unchanged since college except for the framed photos of us that have mysteriously disappeared. I don¡¯t me her for taking them down. How do you disy friendship pictures when one friend is married to a monster and the other was paid to spy on her?

    ¡°You look¡ª¡± she begins.

    ¡°Like shit. I know.¡± I brush past her into the living room. ¡°I already heard that once this morning.¡±

    Natalie closes the door behind me, locks it, then slides the chain into ce. ¡°I?¡ª¡±

    ¡°I need ess to the financial records you collected on Barkov.¡± I get straight to the point. ¡°The ones that link him to Andrei¡¯s sabotage of the Costa Rica development.¡±

    Her face goes pale. ¡°If Vince finds out I gave you those files?¡ª¡±

    ¡°He won¡¯t.¡± I catch her wrist, squeezing just tight enough to convey seriousness without causing pain. ¡°This isn¡¯t about Vince. It¡¯s about making sure my daughter still has a father when this is over.¡±

    Natalie studies my face, searching for something¡ªsincerity, perhaps, or thest remnants of the woman she once knew. Something in my expression must convince her, because she pulls away and crosses to a locked cab.

    ¡°You¡¯ve changed,¡± she says, voice muffled as she kneels to open the safe hidden behind a false panel. ¡°And not in a good way, Row.¡±

    ¡°We all change. It¡¯s called survival.¡±

    She emerges with a sh drive clutched in her hand. ¡°Everything I have on Barkov and Andrei is here.¡± She hesitates before handing it over. ¡°What are you going to do with it?¡±

    ¡°Create leverage.¡± I pocket the drive.

    ¡°And then what? You think Carver will just back off because you hand him a different target?¡±

    ¡°No. I think he¡¯ll recognize an opportunity when he sees one.¡± I move toward the door, eager to get in and get out before my courage fails me. ¡°Andrei Akopov has federal judges and senators in his pocket. He¡¯s been bribing officials for decades.¡±

    Natalie steps between me and the exit. ¡°Row, listen to yourself. You¡¯re talking about going after the head of the Akopov family. Vince¡¯s father. A man who¡¯s survived more assassination attempts than most people have had hot meals.¡±

    ¡°I know exactly who he is,¡± I snap. ¡°He¡¯s the man who tried to have my husband killed.¡±

    ¡°And you think you can take him down alone?¡±

    ¡°Who said I¡¯m alone?¡±

    The sh drive feels heavy in my pocket as I walk away.<hr>

    For three days, I work in secret. While Vince divides his time between Arkady¡¯s hospital room and meetings with his lieutenants, I build my case. The evidence is damning¡ªemails between Andrei and Barkov outlining exactly how to sabotage the Costa Rica development. Bank transfers coinciding precisely with ¡°idents¡± at construction sites. Recorded conversations discussing how to redirect FBI attention back to Vince when the time was right.

    Ipile it methodically, creating copies, securing them in locations no one would think to look. When the file isplete, I add one final piece: my own testimony. A recorded statement detailing everything I¡¯ve witnessed since marrying into the Akopov family.

    Insurance, in case things go sideways.

    On the fourth day, my phone rings. Vince¡¯s name shes on the screen. ¡°Arkady¡¯s awake,¡± he says without preamble when I answer.

    ¡°I¡¯ll be there in twenty minutes.¡± I zip myptop into my bag, mind racing. ¡°How is he?¡±

    ¡°Weak. But alive.¡± A pause. ¡°Where are you?¡±

    ¡°Running errands,¡± I lie smoothly. ¡°Things for Sofiya. I¡¯ll be there soon.¡±

    I hang up before he can question me further, guilt coiling like a snake in my gut. More lies. More secrets. The very things I¡¯ve condemned him for.

    But some lies are necessary. Some secrets protect more than they harm.

    I head to the hospital, my bag clutched tightly to my chest like the contraband it contains. The evidence against Andrei is in there, along with the beginning threads of my n to save Vince from himself.

    Arkady looks like death warmed over when I enter his room. Skin the color of old parchment stretched over bones that seem too prominent. Tubes and wires connect him to machines that beep and hum, the symphony of grim survival.

    Vince sits beside him, bent forward with his elbows on his knees. When he looks up at me, the naked relief in his eyes makes my resolve waver.

    ¡°Hey,¡± I say, setting my bag down carefully by the door. ¡°Wee back to thend of the living.¡±

    Arkady¡¯sugh is more of a wheeze. ¡°Not sure I¡¯m all the way back yet.¡±

    I move to the opposite side of the bed from Vince, taking Arkady¡¯s free hand in mine. It feels cold, frail, nothing like the strong grip I remember.

    Vince stands, pressing a hand to Arkady¡¯s shoulder. ¡°I¡¯ll be back tonight. Try not to die while I¡¯m gone.¡±

    ¡°No promises,¡± Arkady mumbles, already drifting off.

    I follow Vince out. In the hallway, he pulls me against him without warning. His face buries in my neck, breath hot and ragged against my skin.

    ¡°Thank you foring,¡± he says, words muffled.

    I allow myself one moment of weakness, one moment to lean into his strength, before I pull back. ¡°Of course I came.¡±

    ¡°Where were you really?¡± His eyes search mine. ¡°And don¡¯t say ¡®errands.¡¯ I have men watching the shopping centers.¡±

    Of course he does. I should have known better.

    ¡°I was with Natalie,¡± I admit, offering a partial truth. ¡°Getting some perspective.¡±

    ¡°Perspective.¡± He repeats the word like he¡¯s testing it for poison. ¡°On what?¡±

    ¡°On us. On everything that¡¯s happened.¡± I step back, creating distance between us. ¡°I¡¯m trying, Vince. I¡¯m trying to find a way forward where we both survive this.¡±

    Something flickers across his face¡ªhope, maybe, or suspicion. With Vince, it¡¯s often hard to distinguish between the two.

    ¡°There is no ¡®forward¡¯ until my father pays for what he¡¯s done.¡± He cracks his knuckles. ¡°When Arkady is stronger, when I¡¯ve confirmed who the snipers were and who paid them, I¡¯m ending this. Once and for all.¡±

    ¡°And the FBI? The deal you just made?¡±

    ¡°Fuck the FBI.¡± Hebs a hand through his hair. ¡°Some things matter more than deals.¡±

    I bite my tongue to keep from arguing. This isn¡¯t the time or ce to reveal my hand. ¡°We should get back to Sofiya,¡± I say instead. ¡°She was crying for you this morning.¡±

    Vince nods, some of the tension leaving his shoulders at the mention of our daughter. At least we still have that¡ªthis shared, fierce love for the life we created together.

    As we walk toward the exit, my phone vibrates in my pocket. I check it discreetly.

    A message from Daniil: Meeting arranged. Tomorrow night. Neutral location. Grigor agreed, thinks it was my idea.

    And suddenly, the stakes crystalize before me. I have less than twenty-four hours to convince Vince to meet with the man he¡¯s hated his entire adult life. Less than twenty-four hours to prepare evidence that could destroy his father. Less than twenty-four hours to salvage what remains of our family before Vince¡¯s vengeance tears it all apart.

    ¡°You¡¯re quiet,¡± Vince observes as we reach the car.

    I look up at him, this beautiful, broken man I¡¯ve chosen despite every warning, every red g, every voice of reason.

    ¡°Just thinking,¡± I say, sliding into the passenger seat.

    ¡°About?¡±

    My fingers brush against my phone, against the message burning a hole in my pocket. ¡°About what it means to be a family,¡± I answer. ¡°And how far I¡¯d go to protect ours.¡±

    Vince starts the engine, his profile sharp against the fading afternoon light. ¡°You¡¯d be surprised what people are capable of when they¡¯re protecting what¡¯s theirs.¡±

    I turn to look out the window, hiding the darkness I know is visible in my eyes. ¡°No, Vince,¡± I whisper. ¡°I think I¡¯ve just about seen it all by now.¡±

 Filthy Lies: Chapter 58

    I stand at the floor-to-ceiling window of the Akopov Industries skyscraper, sixty-seven floors above Manhattan, watching an empire crumble in real time.

    ¡°Holy fuck,¡± Boris mutters beside me, his breath fogging the ss. ¡°They¡¯re going in hard.¡±

    Below us, the scene unfolds. FBI tactical teams in ck body armor pour into the Solovyov headquarters like a colony of ants devouring a carcass. Vehicles with shing lights block every intersection. Agents with assault rifles create a perimeter tight enough to suffocate.

    The Akopov Bratva council watches on in silence. They stand speechless as federal agents drag Anton Solovyov himself out in handcuffs.

    ¡°This is unprecedented,¡± Mikhail says, turning to me. ¡°How did the feds get so much intel?¡±

    I shrug, careful to keep my expression neutral. ¡°Perhaps Solovyov security was not as air-tight as they believed.¡±

    What I don¡¯t say: I handed Carver enough evidence to bury the Solovyovs under the fucking prison, tied with a neat bow and delivered on a silver tter.

    The council members press their faces against the ss like children at an aquarium, watching the Solovyovs¡¯ demise with a mixture of fascination and dread. They don¡¯t realize they¡¯re witnessing my handiwork. My vengeance served cold on a silver tter while I maintain clean hands.

    This is what separates boys from men. Animals from gods.

    ¡°Someone got to them,¡± Konstantin mutters, stroking his salt-and-pepper beard. ¡°Someone inside.¡±

    I turn from the window, facing the twelve men who represent the senior leadership of what¡¯s left of our organization. Twelve men who would slit my throat without hesitation if they knew I¡¯d cooperated with the FBI. Twelve men who still believe I¡¯m just like them.

    I¡¯m not. Not anymore.

    Some lines cannot be uncrossed.

    ¡°Gentlemen,¡± I say, moving to the head of the conference table, ¡°let¡¯s discuss the implications of what we¡¯re witnessing.¡±

    They peel themselves away from the window, reluctantly abandoning the spectacle of the Solovyovs¡¯ humiliation.

    ¡°This changes everything,¡± Boris asserts, his eyes darting nervously around the room. ¡°The feds have gone too far. They¡¯ve never moved against a family this aggressively.¡±

    Mikhail nods, his heavy jowls quivering. ¡°They¡¯lle for us next. We should temporarily suspend all operations. Go dark.¡±

    ¡°Freeze our assets,¡± another suggests.

    ¡°Move offshore,¡± says a third.

    Their fear is a tangible thing, thickening the air, clouding their judgment. These are men who have butchered their enemies without remorse, yet the sight of federal agents has them shitting their thousand-dor suits.

    ¡°Overreaction is weakness,¡± I caution. ¡°So is panic.¡±

    ¡°With all due respect, Vincent,¡± Boris counters, ¡°this isn¡¯t panic. It¡¯s self-preservation. The Solovyovs were untouchable until today. What makes you think we¡¯re any different?¡±

    ¡°Because unlike the Solovyovs, we¡¯re evolving,¡± I say. ¡°While they clung to old methods¡ªhuman trafficking, drug importation, extortion rackets¡ªwe¡¯ve been quietly legitimizing our core business.¡±

    ¡°Legitimate business doesn¡¯t pay like the other kind,¡± Dima scoffs. ¡°And the feds don¡¯t care if our moneyes from shipping contracts or heroin. They just want us all in boxes.¡±

    I m my palm on the table, making them flinch collectively. ¡°So is that your solution?¡± I hiss. ¡°Cower? Hide? Wait for them toe knocking at our door?¡± I straighten up and shoot my cuffs. ¡°Forgive me if I expected more from the leadership of the Akopov Bratva.¡±

    A heavy silence falls over the room.

    ¡°The world is changing,¡± I continue, softer now. ¡°We¡¯re entering a new era. One where brute force alone won¡¯t protect us. What we¡¯re witnessing isn¡¯t the end of our way of life¡ªit¡¯s an opportunity to cement our position while ourpetitors are removed from the board.¡±

    I move around the table slowly, cing a hand on the shoulder of each man as I pass.

    ¡°The Costa Rica project provides perfect cover for our legitimate expansion. International real estate development that generates clean ie while allowing us to move funds discreetly is the key to our future.¡± I pause, letting that sink in. ¡°Meanwhile, we transition the more¡­ traditional aspects of our business into the background.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re talking about going soft,¡± Boris uses.

    ¡°Ites down to two choices,¡± I counter. ¡°Adaptation or extinction. Those are our options. The dinosaurs were the most fearsome creatures to walk the earth until the climate changed. Then they died, and the cockroaches inherited the world.¡±

    Iplete my circuit of the table and take my seat at its head, the position my father held for decades. The symmetry isn¡¯t lost on me. I¡¯m dismantling his legacy piece by piece while sitting in his chair.

    And there¡¯s more symmetry toe.

    He tried putting a bullet in my head. I¡¯m about to return the favor.

    The only difference is, I won¡¯t miss when I go to put one in his.

    ¡°Your father would never¡ª¡± Mikhail begins.

    ¡°My father isn¡¯t here,¡± I cut him off. ¡°I am. And I¡¯m telling you that we have two paths: adapt to a new reality or follow the Solovyovs into federal custody.¡±

    The silence stretches, punctuated only by the distant wail of police sirens from the street below.

    ¡°How exactly do you propose we adapt?¡± Konstantin asks finally.

    I allow myself a small smile. ¡°I¡¯ve prepared a transition n. Key operations will continue under enhanced security protocols. Meanwhile, we elerate legitimate business growth, particrly international ventures where federal jurisdiction is murky at best.¡±

    ¡°And you truly believe this will work?¡± Boris presses.

    ¡°It¡¯s already working. The feds are focused on the Solovyovs. Our Costa Rica project is proceeding without scrutiny. Our shipping operations continue uninterrupted.¡± I lean forward, meeting each man¡¯s gaze in turn. ¡°I¡¯m not asking you to abandon the old ways overnight. I¡¯m asking you to recognize that thendscape has changed, and we must change with it.¡±

    The mood in the room shifts subtly. Fear gives way to thoughtfulness as these men¡ªpredators to their core¡ªconsider the advantages of operating while theirpetitors are caged.

    ¡°When did you be so¡­¡± Mikhail searches for the word, ¡° ¡­ patient, Vincent? This doesn¡¯t sound like the man who once had Yuri Kozlov gutted for looking at your woman.¡±

    I smile, thinking of Rowan. She¡¯s changed me; there¡¯s no denying that anymore. But from what? Into what?

    That remains to be seen.

    ¡°Let¡¯s just say I¡¯ve had an excellent teacher in seeing beyond immediate gratification to the longer game.¡±

    My phone vibrates against my thigh. I pull it out discreetly, expecting another update from Arkady¡¯s doctors.

    Instead, I find a message from Rowan: Need to meet. Urgent. Come to theke house tonight at 8.

    Something in my chest tightens. Rowan doesn¡¯t use the word ¡°urgent¡± lightly. Not anymore. And theke house¡ªour most secluded property¡ªsuggests whatever she wants to discuss is too sensitive even for thepound¡¯s secure walls.

    ¡°I¡¯ll send the transition details to each of you by tonight,¡± I tell the council, rising abruptly. ¡°Review them. Prepare your questions. We¡¯ll reconvene in forty-eight hours.¡±

    ¡°And if we reject this evolution?¡± Boris asks, ying his final card.

    I button my jacket slowly, deliberately, letting the tension stretch to its breaking point before I answer.

    ¡°Then you¡¯re free to join the Solovyovs,¡± I say, voice like ck ice. ¡°I¡¯m sure Anton is looking for a friendly face in his top bunk.¡±

    As I stride toward the elevator, I type out my response to Rowan. I¡¯ll be there. Everything okay?

    Three dots appear immediately, then disappear. Then reappear. Seconds stretch into a minute before her reply finallyes through.

    Juste. Trust me.

    Another message appears before I can respond.

    There¡¯s something you need to see. It changes everything.

 Filthy Lies: Chapter 59

    In my world, ¡°changes everything¡± usually means someone¡¯s about to die. The question is who.

    The gravel driveway crunches under my tires as I pull up to our secludedke house property. Security scans reveal no immediate threats, but my instincts scream danger.

    I¡¯ve survived this long by listening to them. I don¡¯t intend to stop now.

    I step out of the car, hand resting on the gun at my hip¡­

    ¡­ and freeze.

    Another vehicle sits parked in the shadows. Not Rowan¡¯s. A ck Mercedes with bulletproof windows and diplomatic tes.

    I know that car.

    My blood turns to fucking acid.

    ¡°Wee, Vincent,¡± a voice calls from the porch.

    The voice of Grigor fucking Petrov.

    I draw my weapon in one fluid motion, aiming at the shadow-cloaked figure. ¡°Give me one reason not to empty my clip into your skull right now.¡±

    Grigor steps forward into the moonlight, hands raised slightly. He¡¯s not armed¡ªat least not visibly¡ªthough I¡¯m certain he¡¯s as dangerous unarmed as most men are with a machine gun.

    ¡°Perhaps because this meeting was not my idea,¡± he says calmly, as if my gun is a minor inconvenience. ¡°I received a message iming you wanted to discuss matters of mutual interest.¡±

    The realization ms into me like a freight train. This is a setup. But who would dare?¡ª?

    ¡°Take a breath, Vince.¡±

    Rowan¡¯s voice cuts through my fury as she steps out from inside the house.

    Not just Rowan¡ªbut Rowan with Sofiya in her arms.

    ¡°What the fuck is this?¡± I direct the question at my wife, though my gun doesn¡¯t waver from Grigor¡¯s chest. ¡°Have you lost your goddamn mind?¡±

    Rowan¡¯s green eyes¡ªthe same fucking shade as the man standing across from me¡ªsh in the gloom. ¡°If either of you cared about Sofiya, you¡¯d both put away your egos ande inside. The FBI has eyes everywhere these days.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m not setting foot under the same roof as him,¡± I spit.

    ¡°Then you¡¯re a fool,¡± Grigor replies. ¡°And I had hoped you were smarter than your father.¡±

    The mention of my father sends a fresh surge of hatred through me. ¡°You don¡¯t speak about him in my presence.¡±

    ¡°Gentlemen,¡± Rowan interrupts, ¡°the FBI is building cases against both your organizations. While you¡¯re busy measuring your dicks, Agent Carver is preparing to destroy everything you¡¯ve built. Now, are youing inside, or should I take Sofiya and leave you both to your pissing contest?¡±

    I¡¯ve never heard Rowan speak this way¡ªwith the authority of a woman who knows exactly how much power she wields.

    It¡¯s infuriating.

    It¡¯s also fucking intoxicating.

    Reluctantly, I lower my weapon. Grigor steps aside, allowing Rowan to enter theke house first. I follow, keeping myself between Grigor and my family, my body tensed and ready to strike at the slightest hint.

    The living room is dimly lit, with files spread across the coffee table. Rowan settles into an armchair with Sofiya on herp, leaving Grigor and me to take seats opposite each other.

    Neither of us rxes. Two lions circling, waiting for the opportunity to strike.

    ¡°I assume this little ambush was your idea,¡± I say to Rowan, not bothering to mask the anger in my voice.

    ¡°Would you havee if I told you Grigor would be here?¡± she counters.

    ¡°No.¡±

    ¡°Precisely why I didn¡¯t mention it.¡± She shifts Sofiya to her other knee. ¡°You¡¯ve both been yed by the FBI. They¡¯re using each of you against the other while building cases against both families.¡±

    Grigor¡¯s eyes, so unnervingly simr to my wife¡¯s, narrow slightly. ¡°Exin.¡±

    Rowan points to the files on the table. ¡°That right there is a fuck ton of evidence that the FBI has been gathering on both the Akopov and Petrov organizations.¡±

    I lean forward, scanning the documents with growing disbelief. ¡°Where did you get these?¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s not important,¡± Rowan says. ¡°What matters is what they tell us. The FBI isn¡¯t just targeting the Solovyovs. They¡¯re using them as a test case for a new approach against organized crime families. You¡¯re both next on the list.¡±

    I slump back in my chair, frowning. I¡¯d made a deal with Carver, traded the Solovyovs for my family¡¯s safety. But these files suggest that Carver had no intention of honoring our arrangement. He was collecting evidence against me even as I handed him the Solovyovs.

    Grigor picks up one of the files, his expression darkening as he reads. ¡°This is troubling, certainly. But why bring us together? Our families have been enemies for generations.¡±

    ¡°Because together, we have a chance,¡± Rowan says simply. ¡°Divided, we all fall.¡±

    She stands, moving to ce Sofiya in my arms. My daughter¡¯s warm weight grounds me, even as confusion and anger battle for dominance in my mind. Sofiya reaches up to pat my face. She¡¯s happy, utterly oblivious to the tension crackling through the room.

    ¡°Look at her, both of you,¡± Rowanmands. ¡°This is what matters. Not your vendetta. Not your territories. Not your damned pride. This little girl carries both your bloodlines. She¡¯s the future of both families, whether you like it or not.¡±

    I gaze down at my daughter, at her blue eyes, set in a face that somehow echoes Grigor¡¯s features through Rowan.

    ¡°What do you propose?¡± Grigor asks after a long silence.

    Rowan returns to her seat. ¡°That we erase the lines between us and draw new ones.¡±

    ¡°You expect me to trust him?¡± I can¡¯t keep the incredulity from my voice.

    ¡°I expect you both to be pragmatic,¡± Rowan replies. ¡°The FBI doesn¡¯t need to destroy you directly. They just need to keep you fighting each other while they pick apart your operations one by one.¡±

    Grigor studies Rowan with an expression I can¡¯t quite read. ¡°Your wife is quite the strategist, Vincent,¡± he remarks.

    He¡¯s not wrong. She¡¯s forcing us to see beyond ourselves. Beyond our hatred. Beyond the blood-soaked legacy we both inherited.

    ¡°We do this for Sofiya,¡± I say finally, meeting Grigor¡¯s gaze directly. ¡°For my daughter¡¯s future.¡±

    ¡°On that, at least, we are in agreement,¡± Grigor replies.

    For the next two hours, we hammer out the framework of a truce that isn¡¯t quite peace but is far from war. Territories are divided with precision. Information channels established. Rules of engagement defined for when conflicts inevitably arise.

    Through it all, Rowan guides the conversation with a diplomat¡¯s touch. I find myself watching her more than Grigor, marveling at this side of her I¡¯ve never fully appreciated.

    A queen making bold moves on a chessboard upied by kings.

    When the meeting concludes, Grigor stands and offers his hand¡ªnot to me, but to Rowan.

    ¡°Your mother would be proud,¡± he tells her. ¡°She had the same gift for seeing paths where others saw only walls.¡±

    Rowan epts his hand briefly, then steps back to my side, where she belongs.

    Grigor nods once, then turns to me. ¡°Take care of them, Akopov. They are precious beyond measure.¡±

    ¡°You don¡¯t need to tell me how to protect my family,¡± I growl.

    A hint of a smile flits across his lips. ¡°No, I suppose I don¡¯t.¡± He moves toward the door, pausing on the threshold. ¡°I¡¯ll have my man contact Dimitri with the FBI surveince updates, as agreed.¡±

    And then he¡¯s gone, leaving only the faint scent of his cologne lingering in the air.

    No one says a word as we listen to Grigor¡¯s car fade into the distance. When I¡¯m certain he¡¯s truly gone, I turn to face my wife, who stands defiantly before me, chin raised and shoulders squared.

    ¡°You manipted me,¡± I use. ¡°You lied to get me here.¡±

    ¡°I did what was necessary,¡± she counters. ¡°What neither of you was willing to do.¡±

    I close the distance between us, looming over her. ¡°You don¡¯t make these decisions, Rowan. Not about my business. Not about my enemies.¡±

    ¡°They¡¯re not just your enemies anymore.¡± Her eyes sh as she pushes a finger into my chest. ¡°Grigor is my father. My daughter¡¯s grandfather. And whether you like it or not, my family.¡±

    Sofiya stirs in my arms, disturbed by our rising voices. I rock her gently until she calms. ¡°Why didn¡¯t you tell me?¡± I ask, quieter now. ¡°Why go behind my back?¡±

    ¡°Because you wouldn¡¯t have listened,¡± Rowan says simply. ¡°You¡¯d have seen it as a betrayal rather than the opportunity it is.¡±

    ¡°Opportunity?¡± I scoff. ¡°To what? Hold hands with Grigor Petrov and sing fucking kumbaya?¡±

    ¡°To create awork neither of you could build alone.¡± Rowan paces the room as she speaks, passion igniting her words. ¡°Think about it, Vince. I bridge both worlds. I have ess to information neither of you can get. Connections neither of you can exploit.¡±

    ¡°You should have trusted me.¡±

    ¡°Like you trusted me about your n to kill him?¡± she fires back. ¡°Like you trusted me about your offshore ounts?¡±

    I have no choice but to sigh. We¡¯ve both kept secrets. We¡¯ve both manipted the truth to get what we want.

    We can move past that¡­

    ¡­ if I let us.

    I ce Sofiya in her portable crib, ensuring she¡¯s settled before turning back to Rowan. The fight sluices away from me, reced by a grudging admiration I can¡¯t suppress.

    ¡°You¡¯re terrifying,¡± I tell her. It¡¯s the highestpliment I can offer.

    ¡°Takes one to know one.¡±

    I close the distance between us again, this time with different intent. My hands find her hips and drag her roughly against me. ¡°Don¡¯t ever go behind my back like that again.¡±

    ¡°Then don¡¯t give me a reason to.¡±

    Her defiance ignites something in me. I crush my mouth to hers. It¡¯s punishment; it¡¯s praise; it¡¯s both; it¡¯s everything. She responds instantly, her body melting into mine even as her teeth nip at my bottom lip hard enough to draw blood.

    I lift her until her legs wrap around my waist. We collide with the wall, but neither of us notice or care.

    ¡°I should be furious with you,¡± I growl against her throat, leaving marks that will bloom purple by morning.

    ¡°You are,¡± she gasps as my fingers sneak beneath her skirt. ¡°But you¡¯re also impressed.¡±

    I thrust two fingers inside her, feeling her clench around me. ¡°You think you¡¯re so fucking clever.¡±

    ¡°I am.¡± She throws her head back as I curl my fingers against the spot that makes her shudder. ¡°I¡ª Fuck, Vince.¡±

    My cock strains against my pants, desperate to be inside her. I free myself with my other hand and hike her leg over my hip.

    ¡°What you did today,¡± I say, pausing at her threshold, ¡°was either the bravest thing I¡¯ve ever seen or the stupidest.¡±

    ¡°It was necessary.¡± Her nails dig into my shoulders through my shirt. ¡°Now, stop talking and fuck me.¡±

    I drive into her with one brutal thrust, swallowing her cry with another kiss. There¡¯s no gentleness between us now. We¡¯re long past that.

    I fuck her against the wall, her legs locked around my waist, her body taking every punishing thrust like she was made for me.

    And she was, I realize. Made to challenge me. To defy me. Toplete me in ways I never knew I needed.

    ¡°I want you pregnant again,¡± I growl into her ear as I feel her tightening around me. ¡°I want to put another baby inside you. Tonight.¡±

    Her eyes fly open, meeting mine as I drive deeper. ¡°Yes,¡± she gasps, and I can¡¯t tell if she¡¯s agreeing or just responding to the pleasure until she adds, ¡°Yes, Vince. Give me another baby.¡±

    The words send me over the edge. Ie with a roar, spilling deep inside her, making her mine in the most savage way possible. She follows before I¡¯m even halfway finished, her body convulsing around mine, milking every drop.

    ¡°Next time,¡± I murmur against her lips, ¡°tell me before you invite my worst enemy to dinner.¡±

    Rowan smiles, the wild, dangerous smile I¡¯vee to crave. ¡°Where would the fun be in that?¡±

 Filthy Lies: Chapter 60

    Things change fast in this life. I¡¯d know that better than anyone. You grow and evolve and leave the old ways behind.

    It¡¯s darkly funny to watch the old pieces of yourself ke off and drift away. There¡¯s a new person inside, as it turns out. Someone you never thought you were capable of being.

    And yet you are.

    I am.

    I stand in the glittering ballroom of the Akopov Manhattanpound, wearing a gleaming emerald dress, with an ocean of attendees eyeing my every move. The guests assembled today have no idea they¡¯re witnessing history unfold before them¡ªthe careful dismantling of generations of hatred.

    ¡°I never thought I¡¯d see the day,¡± Anastasia murmurs as she appears beside me in a cloud of French perfume. Her cream-colored dress emphasizes her perfect figure, but even more noticeable is the enormous diamond on her finger catching light with every gesture. ¡°Vincent Akopov and my soon-to-be father-inw, sharing the same oxygen without bloodshed.¡±

    ¡°For now,¡± I say. I¡¯m still a little wary, unable to fully trust the fragile peace that has made tonight possible. ¡°Let¡¯s see if it survives the ceremony.¡±

    The ceremony in question? Formally dissolving Vince¡¯s arrangement with Anastasia and publicly announcing her engagement to Daniil Petrov.

    Daniil joins us, sliding an arm around Anastasia¡¯s waist. The tension in his body betrays his nerves. ¡°Your husband hasn¡¯t stopped checking the security feed since we arrived,¡± he tells me. ¡°Is he expecting trouble?¡±

    ¡°Vince always expects trouble,¡± I say. ¡°It¡¯s what¡¯s kept him alive this long.¡±

    The murmur of conversation fades as Vince steps to the center of the room,manding attention without effort. The silver in his ck hair catches the light, giving him an otherworldly aura of power.

    ¡°Today, we honor tradition while embracing change,¡± he begins, his voice carrying to every corner. ¡°For too long, our families have been divided by old hatreds, old wrongs.¡±

    I watch the faces around me¡ªBratva men whose loyalties run generations deep, women whose survival depends on reading the room correctly. They¡¯re confused, uncertain, waiting to see where this leads.

    ¡°Anastasia Kusov and I entered into an arrangement that would have united our families through marriage,¡± Vince continues. ¡°Today, with mutual respect, we dissolve that agreement¡ªnot to sever ties, but to strengthen them through a different bond.¡±

    He gestures toward Daniil and Anastasia. ¡°Daniil Petrov and Anastasia will unite our families in a way that honors their choice, their love. With the blessing of Grigor Petrov and myself.¡±

    The shock ripples through the room like an electric current. Daniil¡¯s true identity as Grigor¡¯s son¡ªlong kept secret¡ªis now public knowledge. Most already had some inkling, but it¡¯s a bit of a head trip to hear it spoken into the ether.

    ¡°To new beginnings.¡± Vince raises his ss, eyes finding mine across the room. ¡°And to the bridges that connect us.¡±

    The toast is echoed throughout the room, though I note several of the older Bratva members drink with visible reluctance. Changees slowly to men who¡¯ve spent decades nursing grudges and counting kills.

    It¡¯s alright. They¡¯lle around one way or another.

    With that, Vince bows and steps down from the microphone. The crowd dissolves back into their twos and threes and fours, gossiping about what this might mean for the future of the New York underworld.

    I weave through the crowd toward my husband, who has reimed Sofiya from Grigor. My daughter rests on his hip, ying with his tie as he converses with a group of businessmen¡ªlegitimate ones, carefully invited to witness this very public disy of our legitimate connections.

    ¡°Mrs. Akopov.¡± Vince¡¯s smile is automatic when I approach. ¡°The men were just discussing our Costa Rica development.¡±

    ¡°A remarkable venture,¡± one of them¡ªThompson from First National¡ªsays. ¡°Particrly impressive how quickly you¡¯ve secured the environmental approvals.¡±

    ¡°We believe in responsible development,¡± I reply. The corporate bullshit flows easily after months of rehearsal. ¡°Sustainability is both good ethics and good business.¡±

    Vince¡¯s hand tightens at my waist. A warning.

    I turn slightly, following his gaze to the entrance¡­

    ¡­ where Agent Carver stands.

    He¡¯s surveying the room with a sneer he doesn¡¯t bother hiding. My stomach twists into a knot. The FBI¡¯s presence at what is essentially a Bratva gathering¡ªhowever disguised as a legitimate social event¡ªis a power move.

    ¡°Excuse us,¡± Vince murmurs to the businessmen. ¡°My daughter needs a moment.¡±

    I take Sofiya from him. Her vocabry is still small enough to keep her from bbing about how we use her to worm our way out of social situations, but at the rate she¡¯s growing, that won¡¯tst much longer.

    For tonight, though, it remains useful.

    We move to a quieter corner, tucked behind a column. Vince positions himself between us and Carver¡¯s line of sight.

    ¡°What the fuck is he doing here?¡± Vince¡¯s voice is deadly soft, his smile never faltering for the benefit of watching eyes.

    ¡°Testing boundaries, if I had to guess,¡± I suggest, bouncing Sofiya gently as she coos and reaches for my ne. ¡°Reminding you of your arrangement.¡±

    ¡°He wasn¡¯t invited.¡±

    ¡°Since when has that stopped the FBI?¡± I touch his forearm. ¡°Remember the n, Vince. We show him exactly what we want him to see. Nothing more.¡±

    His eyes must be burning, because Carver spots us and his sneer turns into a wicked smile. He makes his way toward us, nodding to various guests as if he belongs here.

    ¡°Mr. and Mrs. Akopov,¡± he greets. I despise how his eyes linger on Sofiya, but I say nothing. ¡°What a lovely gathering. Congrattions on the engagement of your¡­ friends.¡±

    ¡°Agent Carver.¡± Vince¡¯s voice could freeze hellfire. ¡°I don¡¯t recall seeing your name on the guest list.¡±

    ¡°Consider it an official visit.¡± Carver smiles and winks. ¡°Just checking in on my favorite canary.¡±

    I feel Vince tense beside me. I ce my hand on his arm, squeezing gently.

    ¡°You seem to be making quite the career out of the Solovyov case,¡± I observe. ¡°Front page of the Times this morning, wasn¡¯t it? ¡®FBI Dismantles Major Trafficking Ring.¡¯ Very impressive.¡±

    Carver¡¯s eyes narrow. ¡°Just the beginning, Mrs. Akopov. We¡¯re cleaning house. One family at a time.¡±

    ¡°How fortunate that legitimate businesses like ours have nothing to fear.¡± I smile sweetly. ¡°Would you like a tour of ourtest development ns? They¡¯re on disy in the library.¡±

    ¡°Another time, perhaps.¡± His attention shifts to Vince. ¡°I need a word. Privately.¡±

    Vince¡¯s jaw clenches. ¡°Whatever you have to say can be said in front of my wife.¡±

    ¡°This is a strictly confidential matter regarding our arrangement.¡±

    ¡°Then it can wait for normal business hours,¡± Vince says. ¡°This is a family celebration.¡±

    I study Carver¡¯s face, noting the tension around his eyes. He didn¡¯te here on a whim. There¡¯s something urgent driving this confrontation.

    ¡°It¡¯s fine,¡± I tell Vince, handing Sofiya to him. ¡°I¡¯ll check on Anastasia. You two can use the study.¡±

    Vince¡¯s eyes meet mine, a silent question passing between us. I nod almost imperceptibly.

    Trust me.

    ¡°Fine,¡± Vince says finally. ¡°Five minutes, Carver.¡±

    I watch them walk away. As they go, a familiar unease settles in my stomach. Carver wouldn¡¯t risk appearing at a Bratva gathering unless he had a good reason. Something¡¯s changed in our careful equilibrium.

    I make my way to Anastasia, maintaining my hostess smile while anxiety ws at my insides.

    ¡°Your FBI friend seems agitated,¡± she murmurs, epting a champagne flute from a passing server.

    ¡°He¡¯s not my friend.¡± I take a ss myself but don¡¯t drink. ¡°And yes, something¡¯s wrong.¡±

    ¡°Should we be worried?¡±

    I watch the door to Vince¡¯s study close behind Carver. ¡°When ites to the federal government, I¡¯m always worried.¡±

    Anastasia follows my gaze. ¡°Perhaps your father could help. He has channels even Vincent doesn¡¯t.¡±

    ¡°There¡¯s a long way to go until they¡¯re anything resembling friends.¡±

    ¡°Yet they¡¯re both here, celebrating our engagement.¡± Anastasia¡¯s perfectly manicured hand covers mine. ¡°The world is changing, Rowan. Enemies be allies when faced with amon threat.¡±

    Before I can respond, the study door flies open. Vince emerges. Our eyes lock across the room, and the cold dread in my stomach crystallizes into certainty.

    Something is very, very wrong.

 Filthy Lies: Chapter 61

    I¡¯ve been bleeding out for weeks, slow and steady, watching my life force whisk away into the hands of the FBI.

    But tonight, the hemorrhage might finally be stopping.

    Carver stands across from me in my study, hands in his pockets like he owns the ce. Like he owns me.

    The smug fuck has no idea what I¡¯m capable of, even now, even backed into a corner with the ever-present threat of RICO charges dangling over my head.

    I could snap his neck before he took his next breath. I could have his body dumped where no one would ever find it. I could make his children orphans with a single phone call.

    For now, though, I wait.

    ¡°I¡¯ve got to hand it to you, Akopov,¡± Carver says, sliding a folder across my desk. ¡°Your cooperation against the Solovyovs has been extremely productive.¡±

    I don¡¯t touch the folder. ¡°I fulfilled my end of our arrangement. Now, it¡¯s your turn.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s why I¡¯m here.¡± He smiles, which is an expression I don¡¯t fucking trust in the least on his face. ¡°The Bureau is prepared to modify our agreement.¡±

    My pulse spikes, but I keep my expression neutral. ¡°I¡¯m listening.¡±

    ¡°The prosecution will focus exclusively on Solovyov operations and what¡¯s left of Barkov¡¯s organization.¡± He taps the folder. ¡°In exchange, Akopov and Petrov legitimate businesses will be subject to strictpliance requirements, but no active investigation.¡±

    ¡°Define ¡®strictpliance.¡¯¡±

    ¡°Quarterly audits. Transparency in international transactions. No cash deals over ten grand.¡± He shrugs. ¡°Standard operating procedure for legitimate businesses, really. I don¡¯t foresee any issues.¡±

    I slouch back in my chair, studying him. ¡°And the wire?¡±

    ¡°No longer required.¡± He spreads his hands. ¡°Consider it a reward for your enthusiastic cooperation.¡±

    The relief that floods through me is intense. Free. Free to live my fucking life.

    What a concept.

    ¡°What changed?¡± I ask, because nothing in this lifees without strings attached.

    Carver¡¯s smile doesn¡¯t reach his eyes. ¡°My superiors are pleased. And when they¡¯re pleased, I¡¯m in a position to be generous.¡±

    I open the folder, scanning the modified agreement. It¡¯s still a leash, but a longer one.

    ¡°I¡¯ll need to consult with mywyers,¡± I warn.

    ¡°Of course.¡± Carver checks his watch. ¡°But I¡¯ll need an answer before I leave tonight. The offer expires when I walk out that door.¡±

    I stand, towering over him. ¡°You crash my event, demand an immediate decision, and expect me to just roll over? That¡¯s not how this works.¡±

    ¡°Actually,¡± he says, ¡°that¡¯s exactly how this works. I¡¯m still the one holding the cards here, Akopov. Don¡¯t forget that.¡±

    My fingers itch to close around his throat, to watch the light fade from his eyes as he realizes his mistake. Instead, I pick up the folder.

    ¡°I¡¯ll give you my answer in one hour,¡± I tell him. ¡°Now, get the fuck out of my study.¡±

    When he leaves, I pour myself three fingers of whiskey and down it in one burning swallow. The alcohol doesn¡¯t touch the fire in my veins, the rage that¡¯s been my constantpanion since Arkady took that bullet for me.

    I text mywyer the details, then step out to find Rowan.

    She¡¯s waiting for me by the bar, a waking dream in emerald silk that makes my cock stir despite the circumstances. Her eyes ask the question before her lips can form the words.

    ¡°Carver¡¯s offering a modified agreement,¡± I tell her quietly. ¡°No wire, no active intelligence gathering. Justpliance requirements for our legitimate businesses.¡±

    Hope flickers across her face. ¡°That¡¯s good, right?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s not prison,¡± I concede. ¡°But it¡¯s still a leash.¡±

    ¡°A leash we can work with,¡± she says, her hand finding mine beneath the bar. ¡°What do you need from me?¡±

    God, I love this woman. No hesitation, no judgment¡ªjust immediate, unwavering support. What did I do to deserve her?

    Nothing. That¡¯s the answer. I¡¯ve done nothing to deserve Rowan St. ir. I¡¯ve only taken and taken and taken, bleeding her dry of her innocence, her normalcy, her chance at a life unmarked by violence.

    And yet she stays. She fights. She fucks me like she¡¯s dying for it and challenges me like she¡¯s unafraid of the consequences.

    I didn¡¯t think I could ever love something as much as I love her.

    ¡°I need you to keep Grigor distracted,¡± I tell her. ¡°I don¡¯t want him getting wind of this until I¡¯ve had a chance to negotiate the final terms.¡±

    She nods, already scanning the room for her father. ¡°I¡¯ll handle it. How long do you need?¡±

    ¡°An hour. Maybe less.¡±

    ¡°Consider it done.¡± She squeezes my hand once, then slips away, moving through the crowd with effortless grace.

    I watch her go, marveling at how seamlessly she¡¯s adapted to this life. The frightened marketing assistant who stumbled into my office five years ago has be a force of nature, capable of manipting Bratva leaders and FBI agents with equal skill.

    I¡¯ve created a monster. A beautiful, brilliant monster who matches me step for step in this blood-soaked dance.

    My phone pings with a text from mywyer: Agreement looks solid. Negotiate for quarterly audits instead of monthly and push for higher cash transaction limits for international operations. Otherwise, take the deal.

    I find Carver by the bar, nursing a scotch that I paid for. ¡°I¡¯ll sign,¡± I tell him without preamble. ¡°With two conditions.¡±

    His eyebrows rise. ¡°Didn¡¯t we just discuss how you¡¯re not in a position to make demands?¡±

    ¡°Quarterly audits, not monthly. And the cash transaction limit needs to be twenty-five grand for international operations. The Costa Rica project requires flexibility.¡±

    He considers this, swirling his drink. ¡°Quarterly audits are eptable. Fifteen K for cash transactions, and that¡¯s my final offer.¡±

    I extend my hand. ¡°Deal.¡±

    As we shake, I feel a weight lift from my shoulders. Notpletely¡ªneverpletely¡ªbut enough to breathe.

    ¡°I¡¯ll have the revised agreement sent over tomorrow,¡± Carver says. ¡°In the meantime, congrattions on your alliance with the Petrovs. Or whatever you¡¯re calling it. Quite the political maneuver.¡± He downs the rest of his scotch and sets the ss on the bar. ¡°I¡¯ll see myself out.¡±

    I watch him leave. What a strange victory this is. The Solovyovs are finished. Barkov¡¯s organization is on itsst legs. And the Akopov-Petrov alliance, however new and fragile, gives us strength against future threats.

    For the first time in months, I allow myself to feel like perhaps the end is in sight.

    Only one piece on the board has yet to fall.

    I find Rowan again. Our daughter is drowsy in her arms, her head resting on her mother¡¯s shoulder, dark curls spilling over emerald silk.

    ¡°It¡¯s done,¡± I tell her quietly. ¡°I took the deal.¡±

    The relief in her eyes mirrors what I feel in my chest. ¡°So we¡¯re safe? Really safe?¡±

    ¡°As safe as people like us ever get.¡±

    I take Sofiya from her arms, cradling my daughter against my chest. She smells of baby shampoo and innocence¡ªa scent that grounds me, reminds me why I¡¯ve fought so hard to change our family¡¯s path.

    ¡°We should celebrate,¡± Rowan says, her hand resting on my arm. ¡°Just the three of us. Just a normal family dinner.¡±

    The thought is so appealing it makes my chest ache. ¡°I¡¯d like that.¡±

    For a moment, we stand together in the middle of the ballroom, an ind of quiet in the sea of noise. Sofiya¡¯s breathing deepens as she falls asleep against my shoulder. Rowan¡¯s hand finds mine, our fingers intertwining.

    This is what I¡¯ve been fighting for. This moment. This feeling. This family.

    The universe, of course, can¡¯t let me have it for long.

    The ballroom doors crash open with enough force to silence the entire room. Heads turn. Conversations halt mid-sentence. The string quartet stops ying.

    And there, framed in the doorway like the harbinger of doom he is, stands thest remaining obstacle.

    My father.

 Filthy Lies: Chapter 62

    My father stands in the doorway like Death himself, though he¡¯s dressed in a three-piece suit instead of a ck hood and scythe.

    The sudden, suffocating silence in the ballroom is broken only by the clink of champagne flutes and the soft murmur of confusion. Everyone¡¯s collectively holding their breath, waiting to see which Akopov will draw first blood.

    My money¡¯s on me.

    Andrei¡¯s silver hair catches the light, a mirror image of the premature streaks in mine¡ªa gic curse binding us together even as we prepare to tear each other apart.

    I instinctively shield Sofiya with my body. I don¡¯t even want his eyes to reach my daughter, much less his scarred fucking fingers. Rowan moves closer to me, my little doe pressed to my side.

    I just secured our family¡¯s future.

    And here he is, ready to rip it all to shreds.

    Dimitri appears at my side, face grim. ¡°Boss, we have a situation,¡± he murmurs.

    ¡°I¡¯m pretty fucking aware of that, Dimitri,¡± I snarl back.

    He shakes his head. ¡°It¡¯s not just that. Your father has been approaching council members. Telling them about your arrangement with the feds. I just found out.¡±

    ¡°How the fuck does he know about that?¡± I keep my voice controlled, but inside, I¡¯m already calcting the damage. The bodies that will drop before this night is over.

    ¡°Someone must have talked. Maybe someone in Carver¡¯s office, maybe one of ours¡ªI can¡¯t say right now.¡± Dimitri¡¯s eyes flick to Andrei, who¡¯s now making his way through the crowd, epting handshakes and ps on the back like he still runs this fucking family. ¡°He¡¯s gaining traction. Old guard respects him, and betraying the Bratva to the feds¡­ that¡¯s unforgivable in their eyes.¡±

    I hand Sofiya to Rowan. ¡°Get our daughter out of here.¡±

    Her eyes widen, recognizing the storm brewing. ¡°Vince?¡ª¡±

    ¡°Now, Rowan.¡±

    She searches my face, then nods. ¡°Don¡¯t do anything stupid,¡± she whispers. ¡°Please.¡±

    But we both know it¡¯s toote for that. The moment my father stepped into this room, stupid became inevitable.

    As Rowan slips away with our daughter, I turn to Dimitri. ¡°Secure the exits. No one leaves until I say so. And get Carver out of here if he¡¯s still around. I don¡¯t need a federal witness for what¡¯s about to happen.¡±

    My father¡¯s eyes find mine across the room. There¡¯s a cruel twist to his mouth that I¡¯ve seen in the mirror too many times to count.

    I cross the ballroom with measured steps. Every eye follows me. Every ear strains to hear. This is Bratva theater, and everyone knows their role¡ªthe silent audience to our bloody tragedy.

    ¡°Vincent,¡± he greets, voice carrying just enough to be heard by those nearby. ¡°Quite the celebration. I¡¯m surprised I wasn¡¯t invited. Although perhaps that¡¯s because you¡¯re too busy feeding information to your FBI handlers to remember your own father.¡±

    A ripple runs through the crowd. Faces turn toward me, expectant. Judging.

    ¡°Let¡¯s talk in private,¡± I suggest, though it¡¯s anything but a suggestion.

    ¡°Why? Are you afraid of what your associates might hear?¡± His smile is vicious. ¡°That the heir to the Akopov Bratva is a rat? That he¡¯s sold us all out to save his own skin?¡±

    My hand shoots out, gripping his arm with enough force to make him wince. ¡°My study. Now.¡±

    I drag him through the crowd, past wide eyes and whispered spection. The damage is already spreading like blood in water, attracting sharks. By tomorrow, regardless of what happens tonight, the rumors will have reached every Bratva family from Brooklyn to Brighton Beach.

    When we reach my study, I shove him inside and m the door behind us.

    ¡°You fucking idiot,¡± I spit, rounding on him. ¡°Do you have any idea what you¡¯ve done?¡±

    He straightens his jacket, unfazed. ¡°I¡¯ve done what was necessary. What you should have expected. Did you really think I wouldn¡¯t find out about your deal with the feds?¡±

    ¡°How?¡± It¡¯s the only question that matters right now.

    ¡°I still have friends in high ces. Friends who value tradition, loyalty, the old ways.¡± He moves to my bar, helping himself to my liquor like he owns the ce. ¡°You¡¯ve forgotten what it means to be Bratva, Vincent. You¡¯ve let that whore and her brat soften you.¡±

    I¡¯m across the room before I can think, my hand around his throat, mming him against the wall hard enough to rattle the paintings. The ss shatters at our feet. But whiskey isn¡¯t the only liquid this rug will absorb tonight.

    ¡°That ¡®brat¡¯ is your granddaughter,¡± I growl, inches from his face. ¡°And I am trying to secure her future.¡±

    He chokes out augh despite my grip. ¡°By bing a federal informant? Or making deals with Grigor Petrov? You¡¯re destroying everything I built!¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m saving what¡¯s left of it!¡± I release him, stepping away before I give in to the urge to crush his windpipe. ¡°The feds were going to bury us. Thirty years in prison, asset forfeiture, RICO charges¡­ I did what I had to do to protect our family.¡±

    ¡°Our family?¡± He fixes his cor, face flushed with anger orck of oxygen or both. ¡°You mean your pretty little wife and the child who¡¯s half Petrov? That¡¯s not our family, Vincent. That¡¯s your weakness.¡±

    The rage inside me is so pure it almost feels like calm. I¡¯ve never understood the phrase ¡®seeing red¡¯ until now, because my vision actually blurs with it¡ªa crimson haze coating everything in sight. It¡¯s beautiful, in a strange way.

    ¡°Let¡¯s talk about what you¡¯ve done, hm, Father? You tried to have me killed,¡± I say. ¡°You ordered Arkady to put a bullet in my head. And when he couldn¡¯t do it, you hired someone to finish the job. A job that nearly killed the most loyal man I¡¯ve ever known.¡±

    ¡°Survival of the fittest.¡± He shrugs, disgustingly unrepentant. ¡°You were bing a liability. I did what needed to be done.¡±

    ¡°And now?¡± I spread my hands. ¡°What do you think happens now, Dad? You¡¯vee here, announcing to everyone that I¡¯ve been working with the feds. You¡¯ve painted a target on my back, on Rowan¡¯s, on Sofiya¡¯s. Was that your n? To get us all killed?¡±

    ¡°I want what¡¯s best for the Bratva,¡± he says.

    ¡°Bullshit. You want what¡¯s best for you. You can¡¯t stand that I¡¯ve taken your ce, that I¡¯ve found a better way forward. You¡¯d rather see everything burn than admit I might be right.¡±

    He moves to the window, looking out at the city lights. For a moment, he seems smaller, older. The monster of my childhood reduced to a bitter old man clutching at the remnants of his power.

    ¡°I made mistakes,¡± he admits quietly. ¡°With your mother. With you. But I did what I thought was necessary to prepare you for this life.¡±

    ¡°You beat me unconscious because I cried at Mama¡¯s funeral,¡± I remind him. ¡°You locked me in a closet for two days when I was twelve because I refused to watch you torture a man who stole from us. You handed me a gun at fourteen and ordered me to execute someone to prove I wasn¡¯t weak.¡±

    ¡°And look at you now.¡± He turns back to me. ¡°Strong. Feared. Respected.¡±

    ¡°Broken,¡± I correct him. ¡°That¡¯s what you did to me. You broke me and called it strength.¡±

    The tension between us shifts, decades of resentment and pain rippling beneath the surface.

    ¡°I want to see her,¡± he says suddenly.

    ¡°Who?¡±

    ¡°Sofiya. My granddaughter.¡± His voice softens. ¡°I¡¯ve never held her. Never really looked at her. She¡¯s my blood, too, Vincent.¡±

    The request blindsides me. In all our years of conflict, I¡¯ve never heard vulnerability in his voice.

    ¡°Why now?¡± I ask, suspicious.

    ¡°Because¡­¡± He hesitates, something close to emotion shadowing his features. ¡°Because she¡¯s all that will be left of me when I¡¯m gone.¡±

    For a heartbeat, I almost believe him. I almost see the father I wanted instead of the one I got. The grandfather Sofiya deserves instead of the beast who tried to have me killed.

    ¡°Please, Vincent,¡± he says, and it¡¯s the ¡®please¡¯ that catches me off-guard. Andrei Akopov doesn¡¯t beg. ¡°One moment with my granddaughter. I have rights as her grandfather.¡±

    Something cold settles in my stomach. Rights. Not a request, not a plea. Rights. As if Sofiya is a piece of property to be imed.

    ¡°And if I refuse?¡±

    The mask slips. Just for a second, but long enough for me to see the monstrous gnashing beneath. ¡°Then I might have to reconsider what I do next.¡±

    There it is.

    ¡°You would use my daughter as leverage,¡± I state. ¡°You¡¯d threaten to take her from us if I don¡¯t give you what you want.¡±

    ¡°I would do whatever necessary to ensure the Akopov legacy continues properly.¡±

    In that moment, rity passes through me. There is no redemption here. No reconciliation. No path forward where my father exists in the same world as my daughter.

    He wrote his own eulogy. I just provided the stage.

    ¡°You know, Otets,¡± I say, moving to my desk, ¡°I¡¯ve spent my entire life trying to earn your approval. Trying to be the son you wanted. The heir you deserved.¡± I open the drawer, fingers closing around cold metal. ¡°And I¡¯ve finally realized something important.¡±

    ¡°What¡¯s that?¡± he asks, oblivious to the sentence I¡¯ve just passed on him.

    I straighten, gun in hand, leveled at his chest. ¡°You were never worth the effort.¡±

    His eyes go huge. ¡°You wouldn¡¯t. I¡¯m your father.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re a threat to my daughter.¡± My voice is steady, but my hand is even steadier. ¡°You¡¯re a threat to my wife. You¡¯re a threat to everything I love. And I don¡¯t leave threats alive.¡±

    ¡°Vincent, think about what you¡¯re doing.¡± His hands rise slightly. ¡°The council will never?¡ª¡±

    ¡°The council will follow whoever holds the power. And after tonight, that will still be me.¡± I step closer, gun aimed at his heart. ¡°You taught me that, remember? Power is the only currency that matters in our world.¡±

    ¡°If you do this,¡± he warns, ¡°there¡¯s noing back. The feds will know. Carver will know. Your deal will be worthless.¡±

    He¡¯s right. Killing him could jeopardize everything I¡¯ve built with the FBI. Carver will see it as a breach of our agreement, proof that I haven¡¯t really changed. That I¡¯m still the reckless criminal they believe me to be.

    But Sofiya¡¯s safety matters more than anything else.

    ¡°I would burn everything to the ground,¡± I tell him, ¡°before I let you near my daughter again.¡±

    His eyes narrow, condescending even now. ¡°You won¡¯t pull that trigger. You¡¯re too afraid of the consequences.¡±

    I think of Rowan, of the life we¡¯re trying to build. My daughter is out there. Sofiya Akopov, innocent and perfect, untouched by the darkness that defines her father and grandfather. There is blood on my hands, pain in my past, graves that I dug myself¡ªbut does she have to be touched by those things?

    No.

    I do it for her.

    So that she does not have to.

    And after all, what¡¯s one more sin in a lifetime of them?

    ¡°Goodbye, Father,¡± I say softly.

    His expression shifts from contempt to fear. ¡°Vincent, wait?¡ª¡±

    I shake my head.

    Then I pull the trigger.

 Filthy Lies: Chapter 63

    This is the way the world ends.

    This is the way the world ends.

    This is the way the world ends.

    Not with a bang but a whimper.

    Andrei Akopov¡¯s body hitting the floor in Vince¡¯s study doesn¡¯t sound like the momentous event it is. Just a soft thud, a gentle exhale as thest breath leaves his lungs.

    I stand in the doorway, having followed Vince and Andrei against my better judgment, my hand pressed against my mouth to stifle any scream that might escape. I watch my husband kill his father, and I don¡¯t say a word.

    Some women would run screaming from the room. Some would vomit. Some would call the police.

    But I¡¯m not ¡°some women.¡±

    I¡¯m Rowan fucking Akopov.

    And as I watch the blood pool beneath my father-inw¡¯s head, all I feel is a vicious, savage relief.

    Vince and I lock eyes across the corpse. His are cold, emotionless. He doesn¡¯t apologize.

    ¡°Get Dimitri,¡± he rasps. ¡°Tell him to bring cleaning supplies. And Rowan¡ª¡± He pauses. ¡°Make sure no onees near this room.¡±

    I nod and go to do as my husband said.

    The party continues in blissful ignorance for another hour before the whispers start. Andrei went in but never came out. Where is the elder Akopov? What happened in that study?

    By morning, it¡¯s a full-blown crisis.

    ¡°You understand how this looks, don¡¯t you?¡± Agent Carver paces Vince¡¯s office, his immacte suit at odds with the chaos of the situation. ¡°Andrei publicly threatens to expose your FBI cooperation. You two have a private meeting. He disappears.¡± He stops, hands on his hips. ¡°And now, his car is found abandoned at the docks, with blood in the trunk.¡±

    The blood was my idea. A calcted risk, using some of what we cleaned from the study floor. Just enough to suggest violence but not death. Enough to make it look like a kidnapping, not a murder.

    Vince remains seated, one ankle crossed over his knee, the very picture of rxed confidence. ¡°You¡¯re jumping to conclusions, Agent Carver.¡±

    ¡°Am I?¡± Carver¡¯s eyes thin out into angry slits. ¡°Because it sounds to me like you eliminated a problem. The same kind of ¡®problem-solving¡¯ our agreement was supposed to prevent.¡±

    ¡°If my husband wanted to kill his father,¡± I interject, ¡°he wouldn¡¯t be stupid enough to do it at a party full of witnesses with an FBI agent in attendance.¡± I tilt my head, letting my hair cascade over one shoulder. ¡°And he certainly wouldn¡¯t leave evidence for you to find.¡±

    Carver¡¯s attention shifts to me. His eyes track from my face down to where my hand rests on Vince¡¯s thigh, then back up. ¡°Mrs. Akopov, I understand loyalty to your husband, but?¡ª¡±

    ¡°Two plus two is four, Agent Carver.¡± I stand, moving to the desk where I¡¯ve ced a folder. ¡°We¡¯ve been expecting something like this since Andrei learned about our arrangement with you. He had enemies everywhere, not just within his own family.¡±

    I open the folder, spreading photographs across the desk. Surveince photos of Niki Barkov meeting with representatives from the Solovyov family two days before our party. Phone records showing calls between Barkov and several known Solovyov associates.

    And Andrei in the thick of it all.

    ¡°Barkov has been working with what¡¯s left of the Solovyovs since their leadership was arrested,¡± I exin. ¡°They me Andrei for failing to warn them about the FBI¡¯s investigation. They think he sold them out to protect his own interests.¡±

    I slide another document toward Carver¡ªa transcript of a conversation between Barkov and a Solovyov lieutenant, discussing ns to ¡°make an example¡± of Andrei.

    ¡°Where did you get these?¡± Carver asks in suspicion.

    ¡°We have eyes and ears everywhere, Agent Carver,¡± I say with a small smile. ¡°Just like you.¡±

    Carver examines the evidence, his brow furrowed. ¡°This could easily be manufactured.¡±

    ¡°It could,¡± Vince agrees, speaking for the first time since I took over. ¡°But why would we bother? My father was a liability, but he was also the past. The council had already transferred power to me. Killing him would create exactly the kind of suspicion we¡¯re dealing with now. It¡¯s a risk with no reward.¡±

    Except the satisfaction of eliminating the man who tried to have you murdered, I think but don¡¯t say. And the protection of our daughter from a man who¡¯d only use her to further his own ends.

    Carver still looks unconvinced, but I can see doubt creeping in at the edges. ¡°The timing is extremely convenient.¡±

    ¡°The timing is exactly what the Solovyovs wanted,¡± I counter. ¡°Create discord within our organization just as we¡¯ve secured a deal with the FBI. Make it look like Vince murdered his father to protect that deal. It¡¯s elegant, really.¡± I gesture to the documents. ¡°And it would have worked¡­ if we hadn¡¯t been watching them.¡±

    The tension in the room is thick enough to choke on. I can feel Vince¡¯s eyes on me, burning with a mixture of pride and need.

    Carver gathers the documents, face still furrowed in a skeptical frown. ¡°I¡¯ll have these analyzed.¡± His voice is tight, strangled. ¡°But hear me now, both of you¡ªif I find even a shred of evidence linking either of you to Andrei¡¯s disappearance, our agreement is null and void. I¡¯ll personally see to it that the full weight of the RICO casees down heavy on the Akopov organization.¡±

    Vince rises without shying away. ¡°We understand each other perfectly, Agent.¡±

    After Carver leaves, silence settles over the office. I turn to Vince, my heart thumping against my ribs¡ªnot from fear, but from somethingpletely different. Adrenaline courses through my veins like liquid fucking lightning.

    ¡°Do you think he believed us?¡± I ask, though it¡¯s not really what I want to say.

    What I want to say is this:

    I just lied to a federal agent to cover up your murder of your father¡­

    ¡­ and I¡¯ve never felt more alive.

    Vince crosses to me, his eyes zing with that cold blue fire that sets my insides aze. He grips my face between his hands. ¡°He believed you enough to create reasonable doubt. Which is all we needed.¡±

    Then he kisses me. I taste blood¡ªhis or mine, I don¡¯t know. Don¡¯t care. His hands are everywhere, tearing at my clothes, roaming my skin.

    ¡°You were magnificent,¡± he growls against my throat. ¡°A fucking queen.¡±

    I arch into him, my body responding to his praise, needier than ever. ¡°I did what needed to be done.¡±

    ¡°You lied to the FBI,¡± he says, his voice thick with arousal. ¡°You protected a murderer.¡±

    ¡°I protected my family,¡± I correct him, biting his lower lip hard enough to make him hiss.

    He yanks me toward the door. His grip on my wrist is just shy of painful. For a moment, I think we¡¯re heading to our bedroom, but he pulls me into a supply closet just off the main hallway, mming the door behind us.

    ¡°What are you?¡ª¡±

    His hand covers my mouth. ¡°Anyone could walk by,¡± he whispers against my ear. ¡°So you¡¯ll need to be very, very quiet. Can you do that for me? Can you be my quiet good girl?¡±

    I nod, dripping wet at the danger, the forbiddenness of it all. This sick, twisted, beautiful thing between us.

    Vince spins me to face the wall, yanking my skirt up to my waist. His fingers find me soaking through the thince of my panties.

    ¡°So fucking wet,¡± he groans. ¡°You liked it, didn¡¯t you? Lying for me. Covering up what I did.¡±

    ¡°Yes,¡± I admit. ¡°I shouldn¡¯t, but I did. I fucking did.¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t you see?¡± His teeth graze my shoulder as he tears my panties aside. ¡°This is who we are. This is what we¡¯ve always been. Monsters who found each other in the dark.¡±

    I hear his zipper, feel the thick head of him pressing against my entrance. He¡¯s huge, always too much at first, forcing my body to yield to him.

    ¡°Say it,¡± he demands as he teases me with just the tip. ¡°Say what you are.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m yours,¡± I gasp. I press back against him, desperate to be filled.

    ¡°What else?¡± He holds himself still because he knows I¡¯m dying here.

    I don¡¯t have to ask what he¡¯s pushing me to say. He wants to know what I¡¯ve be. What I¡¯ll always be now.

    ¡°I¡¯m a monster,¡± I whisper. ¡°Just like you.¡±

    He rewards me by mming home in one brutal thrust that makes me bite my fist to keep from screaming.

    ¡°My beautiful, perfect monster,¡± he praises. ¡°My queen.¡±

    He fucks me against the wall of the supply closet, one hand mped over my mouth to muffle my cries, the other digging bruises into my hip. Ie so hard I ck out for a second, my vision swimming with dark spots as pleasure crashes through me.

    When it¡¯s over, we stand there panting, still joined, my cheek pressed against the cool ster wall. His lips brush the shell of my ear, making me shiver despite the heat between us.

    ¡°Do you regret it?¡± he asks. ¡°Any of it?¡±

    I turn in his arms, meeting his gaze in the dim light filtering through the crack beneath the door. ¡°I regret many things, Vince. But protecting you?¡± I trace the silver streak in his hair, the one that matches his father¡¯s. ¡°Never. Not even if it damns me to hell.¡±

    He presses his forehead to mine. ¡°Then we¡¯ll burn together,¡± he promises. ¡°You and me and all the bloody secrets we keep.¡±

    ¡°I wouldn¡¯t have it any other way,¡± I whisper against his lips. ¡°But Vince?¡±

    ¡°Yes?¡±

    ¡°Next time you decide to kill someone in our house¡ª¡± I dig my nails into his shoulders. ¡°¡ªat least give me a fucking heads-up first.¡±

 Filthy Lies: EPILOGUE I

    <h2 id="id__798_75_" ss="heading_s1">SIX MONTHS LATER</h2>

    They say monsters need love, too, which is probably why this church is bursting with them.

    Six months after thest of our problems was scrubbed out of existence, we stand inside the gilded sanctuary of St. Basil¡¯s Cathedral to watch two other reformed monsters exchange vows.

    Anastasia is breath-stealing in her couture gown, a confectioner¡¯s dream of white silk and handmadece that hugs her torso before cascading outward, framing her like a vengeful angel.

    Daniil stands beside her, his faceposed but eyes burning with an intensity that prates the solemnity of the asion.

    Between them and our pew, dozens of men who¡¯ve killed without blinking sit in their Sunday best, weapons undoubtedly concealed beneath Savile Row tailoring.

    No one ever said two rival crime families merging together would be a neat and tidy affair. But so far, everyone has been on their best behavior. Mostly.

    Sofiya squirms in Vince¡¯s arms, her chubby legs kicking against his ck suit. At eighteen months, she¡¯s a force of nature¡ªVince¡¯s blue eyes, my stubborn chin, and a temper that¡¯s pure Akopov.

    ¡°Stay still, princess,¡± Vince whispers against her dark curls, his voice honey-rough. ¡°Almost done.¡±

    She pats his face in response, her tiny fingers tracing the silver streaks in his beard with fascination.

    ¡°Papa,¡± she croons, loud enough to echo through the ancient rafters.

    Several heads turn, including Grigor¡¯s, who sits three rows ahead on the bride¡¯s side. My father¡¯s expression softens when he sees Sofiya, and he offers a subtle nod that Vince returns with equal restraint.

    This fragile peace between them still astounds me. Six months ago, I¡¯d have bet my life that one would kill the other before year¡¯s end. Instead, they¡¯ve achieved something resembling mutual respect, united by shared blood andmon enemies.

    The priest finishes the ceremony, and Daniil kisses his bride with an intensity that quickly veers toward not-so-family-friendly. Then they turn, newly minted as husband and wife, both beaming uncontrobly. I feel Vince¡¯s hand squeeze mine with crushing pressure.

    ¡°That could have been us,¡± he murmurs, his breath hot against my ear. ¡°If we¡¯d done it proper the first time.¡±

    I turn, meeting his gaze. ¡°You want to renew our vows?¡±

    ¡°No.¡± Hisugh is predatory. ¡°I want to feel you squirm on my cock while you wear white and pretend you¡¯re pure.¡±

    Heat floods my core immediately. Some things never change. Vince snarling filthy words in inappropriate ces is one of those things.

    ¡°Careful,¡± I whisper back, ¡°or I¡¯ll take you into that confessional and do some very unholy things to you.¡±

    His eyes darken to midnight. ¡°Promise?¡±<hr>

    The reception is held in a converted warehouse by the river, transformed into a winter wondend of crystal and ice. Vince and I move through the crowd, ying the roles we¡¯vee to know so well¡ªlegitimate business owners, devoted parents, pirs of amunity built on blood money and secrets.

    Sofiya stays glued to my hip, wide-eyed at the opulence surrounding her. She¡¯s too young to understand that her father once tortured men to death in ces like this, or that I¡¯ve covered up murders and fabricated evidence to keep our family safe.

    One day, she¡¯ll know everything.

    But not today.

    ¡°Rowan.¡± Grigor¡¯s voice cuts through my thoughts. He stands before us, champagne in hand, looking oddly normal in his tuxedo. ¡°May I hold my granddaughter?¡±

    I transfer Sofiya to Grigor¡¯s arms, watching carefully as she studies his face with innocent curiosity.

    ¡°Da-da?¡± she asks, confused.

    ¡°No, solnishka,¡± Grigor corrects gently. ¡°Grandfather.¡± He bounces Sofiya in his arms, and she rewards him with a broad grin. ¡°She has your eyes, Vincent. But everything else¡­¡± His gaze flicks to me. ¡°That¡¯s Petrov.¡±

    ¡°Good genes on both sides,¡± Vince agrees evenly. ¡°She¡¯ll be unstoppable.¡±

    The tension drains from my shoulders. Progress¡ªreal fucking progress¡ªafter months of careful negotiation and delicate trust-building.

    It¡¯s almost enough to make me believe in happily ever afters.

    ¡°Dance with me,¡± Vince says after Grigor returns Sofiya to us. He passes our daughter to a waiting Anastasia, who¡¯s only too happy for baby cuddles, even on her wedding day.

    Vince leads me to the dance floor, one hand at my lower back, possessive and warm. We move together in perfect synchronicity. His hand sys across my waist, fingers dipping slightly lower than propriety allows, tracing the curve where my ass begins.

    ¡°You¡¯re glowing,¡± he murmurs. ¡°And yet different somehow.¡±

    I smile, heart thundering against my ribs. ¡°Am I?¡±

    ¡°Yes.¡± His gaze sharpens. ¡°Tell me why.¡±

    I lean closer, until my lips brush the shell of his ear. ¡°Because there¡¯s another Akopov growing inside me.¡±

    Vince freezes mid-step. His entire body goes rigid against mine. For one terrifying heartbeat, I wonder if I¡¯ve miscalcted, if he¡¯s not ready, if?¡ª

    Then his mouthes down on mine, social niceties forgotten as he ims me in front of everyone. He makes Daniil¡¯s kiss with Anastasia on the altar look like a schoolyard peck on the cheek.

    When he breaks away, his eyes ze. ¡°You¡¯re sure?¡±

    ¡°Doctor confirmed it yesterday. Twelve weeks.¡±

    ¡°Twelve weeks?¡± His brow furrows. ¡°And you¡¯re only telling me now?¡±

    ¡°I wanted to be certain. Afterst time, with the false positive¡­¡± I trail off, remembering the devastation, theplicated grief of mourning something that never existed. ¡°I couldn¡¯t go through that again.¡±

    Understanding softens his features. His palm slides to my stomach. There¡¯s nothing to feel yet, no external sign of the life forming inside me, but the weight of his hand there feels like an anchor.

    ¡°Another warrior for the Akopov legacy.¡± Pride suffuses his voice, but there are other things, too¡ªwonder, humility, gratitude.

    This pregnancy feels nothing like my first. Then, I was terrified, alone, convinced Vince would see our child as an inconvenience at best, a liability at worst.

    Now, standing in his arms as he looks at me like I¡¯ve hung the moon and stars, I feel only joy. Fierce, all-consuming joy.

    ¡°You¡¯re happy?¡± I search his face for confirmation.

    Hisugh is incredulous. ¡°Happy doesn¡¯t begin to cover it, Rowan. I¡¯m fucking transcendent.¡±

    We dance through three more songs, lost in our private bubble of exhration. When Anastasia finally interrupts to return a fussy Sofiya, Vince takes our daughter with gentle hands and hoists her high overhead.

    ¡°Sofi,¡± he asks, ¡°how would you like to be a big sister?¡±

    She blinks at him and smiles. She doesn¡¯t get it, but she will soon enough.

    Vince¡¯s eyes meet mine over Sofiya¡¯s dark curls, and the raw love I see there nearly brings me to my knees. This man who has killed without remorse, who has built and destroyed empires, looks at his daughter and wife with such tenderness that it fractures something inside me.

    ¡°I need air,¡± I say suddenly. ¡°Watch her for a minute?¡±

    I don¡¯t wait for his response. I¡¯m already pushing through the crowd toward the terrace doors. Outside, the night air hits my lungs like salvation, cooling my flushed skin. The Hudson River stretches before me, dark and silent, carrying secrets to the sea.

    ¡°Hiding from your own party?¡±

    I turn to find Natalie standing in the doorway, champagne flute in hand. She looks beautiful in deep burgundy, her hair longer than I remember.

    ¡°Just needed a moment.¡± I gesture for her to join me at the railing. ¡°Congrattions. The event nning is wless.¡±

    She smiles, taking thepliment in stride. Not that long ago, the sound of her voice would have sent rage spiraling through me¡ªmy closest friend, paid by Vince to spy on me for years.

    But time and shared trauma have tamped down the edges of that betrayal. When she stood by me after Andrei¡¯s death, helping fabricate evidence to protect Vince, she proved her loyalty ran deeper than money ever could.

    ¡°I have something to ask you,¡± I say, diving straight in. ¡°Something important.¡±

    Her eyebrows rise. ¡°I¡¯m listening.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m pregnant.¡±

    Her smile is immediate, genuine. ¡°Rowan, that¡¯s amazing! Congrattions!¡±

    ¡°And I want you to be the godmother.¡±

    Natalie freezes, ss halfway to her lips. ¡°What?¡±

    ¡°You heard me.¡± I turn to face her fully. ¡°I want you to be this baby¡¯s godmother.¡±

    ¡°After everything I?¡ª¡±

    ¡°After everything,¡± I confirm. ¡°You made mistakes. So did I. But when it mattered, when Vince¡¯s life was on the line, when Sofiya¡¯s future hung in the bnce, you were there. That¡¯s worth more than anything else.¡±

    Tears fill her eyes, threatening to spill over. ¡°I don¡¯t deserve your forgiveness.¡±

    ¡°Probably not,¡± I agree with a wink. ¡°But you¡¯re getting it anyway.¡±

    Sheughs wetly, dabbing at her eyes. ¡°Then yes. I¡¯d be honored.¡±

    Relief surges through me. Our friendship will never be what it was¡ªtoo much has happened, too many secrets and lies between us¡ªbut this new rtionship, built on hard-earned trust and painful honesty, might be stronger for having been broken.

    ¡°How¡¯s Arkady doing?¡± Natalie asks, recovering herposure. ¡°I haven¡¯t seen him at the office since¡­ well, since the shooting.¡±

    Something in her tone makes me nce at her sharply. ¡°He¡¯s better. Physical therapy is kicking his ass, but he¡¯s trudging through it. Doctors say it¡¯s a miracle he survived.¡±

    ¡°And he¡¯s here tonight?¡± Her attempt at casualness fallsically short.

    ¡°Inside, probably harassing the bartender for stronger vodka.¡± I study her with growing amusement. ¡°Why do you ask?¡±

    A blush creeps up her neck. ¡°No reason. Just¡­ professional concern.¡±

    ¡°Bullshit.¡± Iugh, genuinely delighted by this unexpected development. ¡°You like him.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t?¡ª¡±

    ¡°You do.¡± I bump her shoulder with mine. ¡°And that¡¯s okay. He¡¯s a good man. Loyal to a fault.¡±

    ¡°He tried to kill your husband,¡± she reminds me.

    ¡°And then took a bullet for him.¡± I shrug. ¡°Complicated rtionships are kind of our brand around here.¡±

    Natalie bites her lip, considering. ¡°Do you think he¡¯d¡­ I mean, would Vince allow?¡ª¡±

    ¡°Vince doesn¡¯t control who Arkady dates.¡± I pause. ¡°But he might kill him if he hurts you. So there¡¯s that to consider.¡±

    Sheughs, the sound genuinely happy, and I realize how long it¡¯s been since I¡¯ve heard it. ¡°I¡¯ll keep that in mind.¡±

    It¡¯s so perfect, the idea of the two of them together, that I have to forcibly keep myself from grinning like a lunatic. After everything Natalie¡¯s ex put her through¡ªmaking her a mom and then a single mom in the span of a year so he could go ball out in Vegas with their life savings¡ªshe deserves a happy ending as much as anyone.

    The music swells inside, drawing our attention back to the celebration. Through the ss doors, I can see Vince dancing with Sofiya in his arms. He holds her out and spins her in gentle circles as she squeals with delight.

    ¡°You look happy, Rowan.¡± Natalie¡¯s voice is soft. ¡°I never thought it was possible, after everything, but you actually look really, truly happy.¡±

    ¡°I am,¡± I say quietly. ¡°Not always. Not every day. But in the moments that matter?¡±

    I watch my husband tenderly cradling our daughter, and my heart swells with a love so fierce it borders on violence.

    ¡°¡­ In the moments that matter, I¡¯m fucking transcendent.¡±

    Natalie smiles, raising her ss. ¡°To moments that matter, then.¡±

    We clink sses, and I return my gaze to Vince, who has spotted me through the window. His eyes lock on mine, intense and possessive even across the distance. He mouths something I can¡¯t hear but understand perfectly:

    Mine.

    I nod once, acknowledging the im, and mouth back:

    Always.<hr>

    Later, as we¡¯re preparing to leave, Vince pulls me into a darkened alcove, his hands instantly finding my ass, gripping hard enough to bruise.

    ¡°I want to fuck you right here,¡± he growls against my throat. ¡°Bend you over that table and make you scream my name while everyone wonders where the bride¡¯s maid of honor disappeared to.¡±

    Heat res low in my belly, my body responding to him like it always has, like it always will.

    ¡°Not here,¡± I gasp as his fingers go hunting beneath my dress. ¡°Vince, we can¡¯t?¡ª¡±

    ¡°We can do whatever the fuck we want.¡±.

    I consider protesting, but why bother? There¡¯s something hot about a man who couldn¡¯t give a single shit less about the rules. And when he wants you bad enough to break every single one of them¡­

    Well, that¡¯s hot, too.

    ¡°Take me home first,¡± I beg. ¡°Take me home and fuck me properly.¡±

    Heughs against my skin. ¡°Patience never was your strong suit, was it, Mrs. Akopov?¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re not exactly Mr. Patient yourself.¡±

    We collect Sofiya, who has fallen asleep in Daniil¡¯s arms, and say our goodbyes.

    As we¡¯re leaving, Arkady approaches, looking healthier than I¡¯ve seen him since the shooting. He¡¯s got a slight limp and he takes way too much pleasure in swinging his cane around everywhere like Willy Wonka, but it¡¯s good to see him on his feet again.

    ¡°Leaving so soon?¡± he asks.

    ¡°We¡¯ve got business to attend to,¡± Vince says wickedly.

    Arkady shudders, never one to miss a bit. ¡°You could¡¯ve just said yes, you know. The vulgarity was rather unnecessary.¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t be such a prude,¡± I tease, poking him in the ribs.

    He scowls and taps me on the shins with his cane. ¡°Get thee away from me, wench.¡±

    Vince snarls yfully and punches his friend in the shoulder. ¡°Talk to my wife like that again and I¡¯ll give you a limp on the other side to match.¡± Then his face eases. ¡°Besides, you¡¯ve got some business of your own to handle.¡±

    Arkady¡¯s face scrunches up. ¡°Huh?¡±

    In unison, Vince and I both turn and ogle Natalie, who¡¯s standing at a bar across the room, glowing like a dime-piece with her hair in an elegant updo and her legs looking yboy-worthy in her heels.

    Understanding dawns on Arkady¡¯s face, followed by confusion, then sheer glee. ¡°Is that an order, boss?¡±

    ¡°Consider it a strong suggestion.¡± Vince winks. ¡°From someone who knows how life-changing the right woman can be.¡±

    His hand finds mine, squeezing tightly as we walk away into the night. Outside, our driver holds the door to the sleek ck Bentley. Vince secures Sofiya in her car seat, then slides in beside me.

    I nuzzle against him on the other side. ¡°I love you,¡± he whispers into my ear. ¡°You, Sofiya, this baby¡ªyou¡¯re the only things I¡¯ve ever truly loved.¡±

    I touch his knuckles. ¡°And we love you. All of you. Even the parts that terrify everyone else.¡±

    Heughs softly, hands cradling my face with unexpected tenderness. ¡°Especially those parts, if your pussy¡¯s reaction is anything to go by.¡±

    I smack his chest yfully. ¡°Asshole.¡±

    ¡°Your asshole,¡± he corrects, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. ¡°Forever.¡±

    The car pulls up to ourpound, the gates opening automatically to admit us.

    Us. My monsters, my loves, my safe haven in a world that would destroy us if it could.

    We look good together.<hr>

    Later, as we lie in our sheets, Vince¡¯s handes to rest over my stomach. ¡°Do you ever regret it?¡± he asks out of nowhere. ¡°Choosing this life? Choosing me?¡±

    I consider my answer for a moment. ¡°Sometimes,¡± I admit. ¡°In the quiet moments when I remember who I used to be.¡±

    His body tenses against mine.

    ¡°But then I look at you, at Sofiya, at everything we¡¯ve built together¡­¡± I find his hand, intecing our fingers. ¡°And I realize that regret is for people who had choices.¡± I turn to face him, cupping his cheek. ¡°We never did, Vince. We were always meant to find each other. Always meant to create this beautiful, terrible thing between us.¡±

    He nods slowly, eyes simmering with that deep ocean blue. ¡°Our children will never know what it cost us,¡± he whispers.

    I touch his scarred knuckles. ¡°They¡¯ll never have to.¡±

    As sleep ims him, I remain awake, staring at the ceiling, reying in my head every sin, every sacrifice, every moment that led us here.

    And I wonder, not for the first time, if the price we¡¯ve paid¡ªwill continue to pay¡ªis truly worth the life we¡¯re building.

    But then Vince murmurs my name in his sleep, arms tightening around me possessively, and I know my answer.

    For him? For us? I¡¯d burn the whole world down and make glitter from the ashes.

    ¡°Until the end,¡± I whisper into the darkness, ¡°whatever it brings.¡±

 Filthy Lies: EPILOGUE II

    <h2 id="id__798_76_" ss="heading_s1">FIVE YEARS LATER</h2>

    The future is bright. So is the Costa Rican sun in my eyes.

    But as we stand at a literal finish line, scissors in hand, all I can think is that the metaphors are hideously on the nose today.

    The ribbon before us is a crimson sh against the pristine white facade of the resort¡ªa deliberate choice. In my world, red has always represented power. Blood spilled. Debts paid. Enemies vanquished.

    But today, it symbolizes something else. A rebirth.

    I nce at Rowan beside me. Fucking hell, the years have only enhanced her. Pregnancy has sculpted her body into a weapon of mass destruction, fuller in the hips, tits that make my mouth water. Her caramel hair spills down her back, catching the light like melted gold. She¡¯s traded her usual emerald dress for a white power suit that hugs her curves, but a flick of green silk at the cor pays homage to the color I¡¯ll always associate with her.

    The color she wore when I first noticed her. Really noticed her.

    Our six-year-old Sofiya stands in front, her little brother Arkasha¡ªnearly four and already a menace¡ªperched on Arkady¡¯s hip. My best friend who once held a gun to my head is now godfather to my son. The contradictions of our lives would be poetic if they weren¡¯t so fucking twisted.

    ¡°You going to cut that ribbon or just eye-fuck your wife all day?¡± Arkady murmurs just loud enough for me to hear.

    Rowan doesn¡¯t miss a beat. ¡°He can do both,¡± she returns with a savage little smile that goes straight to my cock.

    It¡¯s been five years since Andrei¡¯s body was discovered in the Hudson, throat cut and cold. Five years of navigating the FBI¡¯s watchful eye.

    Five years of trying to be a man who deserves her.

    But I¡¯m not that man. I never will be. My hands are still stained with the blood of those who threatened what¡¯s mine.

    I¡¯ve just gotten better at washing it off beforeing home.

    ¡°Ladies and gentlemen,¡± the announcer booms over the microphone, ¡°please wee Vincent and Rowan Akopov as they officially open Emerald Bay Resort!¡±

    The crowd erupts in apuse. Politicians, business leaders, celebrities¡ªall eager to rub elbows with the wunderkind developers who transformed a stretch of undeveloped coastline into what Travel + Leisure has already dubbed ¡°the crown jewel of luxury eco-resorts.¡±

    We step forward in unison, scissors positioned at the ribbon. As the metal des slice through, I lean close to Rowan¡¯s ear.

    ¡°I still want to bend you over every surface of this fucking resort,¡± I growl low enough that only she can hear.

    ¡°Starting with the check-in desk?¡± she whispers back, green eyes dancing with mischief.

    ¡°That¡¯s just the appetizer.¡±

    The ribbon falls. Cameras sh. Our children cheer. And somewhere in the crowd, Agent Carver watches with his shark eyes.

    He approaches as the crowd begins to flow inside for the champagne reception. He looks older, gray at the temples, but no less dangerous. A wolf in a fed¡¯s clothing.

    ¡°Congrattions, Akopov,¡± he says, extending his hand. ¡°The Bureau is impressed with your transition to legitimate enterprise.¡±

    I shake his hand, my grip tighter than necessary. A reminder that the man who once executed enemies with his bare hands still lives.

    ¡°High praiseing from you,¡± I reply evenly. ¡°I trust that means our monitoring period is officially over?¡±

    His smile doesn¡¯t reach his eyes. ¡°Let¡¯s discuss thatter, shall we? This is a celebration, after all.¡±

    Rowan¡¯s hand finds mine, her fingers digging slightly into my palm. A warning. Stand down.

    ¡°Of course,¡± I concede. ¡°Please, enjoy the party.¡±

    We separate to mingle. I watch Rowan work the room like she was born to it¡ªcharming investors, ttering politicians, herughter floating across the space like the deadliest kind of music. She¡¯s learned the game so well it¡¯s easy to forget she once trembled in my presence.

    Now, she¡¯s the mother of my children, my partner in every sense, and sometimes¡ªin moments like this¡ªI wonder if she¡¯s surpassed me.

    An hour into the reception, I find myself cornered by the Costa Rican Minister of Tourism, a man whose enthusiasm for our resort is matched only by his enthusiasm for the kickbacks I¡¯ve arranged to fatten his wallet.

    ¡°Mr. Akopov, this property will transform our entire coastline!¡± He ps me on the shoulder with ufortable familiarity. ¡°You must tell me, what inspired such vision?¡±

    What inspired it? Good question. The need tounder millions in blood money? The FBI breathing down my neck? The desire to give my children a legacy that doesn¡¯t include weekly visits to prison?

    ¡°My wife,¡± I say instead. ¡°She saw potential where others saw obstacles.¡±

    It¡¯s not the whole truth, but it¡¯s not a lie, either.

    I excuse myself and head to the balcony overlooking the infinity pool that stretches toward the Pacific Ocean. The sun is beginning its descent, casting everything in a golden glow that feels like absolution I don¡¯t deserve.

    Rowan finds me there, slipping beside me with a ss of champagne in each hand. ¡°To legitimate sess,¡± she offers with a raised ss.

    I take the flute. ¡°Is there such a thing for people like us?¡±

    ¡°We¡¯re making it exist.¡± She clinks her ss against mine. ¡°Drink. Celebrate. You¡¯ve earned this, Vince.¡±

    I down the champagne in one swallow. It¡¯s exquisite, but I barely taste it. My mind is elsewhere. On the future, perhaps.

    ¡°This is more than just a hotel,¡± I say quietly, gesturing to the sprawling property below. ¡°This is proof.¡±

    ¡°Proof of what?¡±

    ¡°That we can build instead of destroy.¡± I turn to face her fully. ¡°There¡¯s more to the Akopov legacy than blood and fear.¡±

    Her eyes soften. ¡°I never doubted it.¡±

    ¡°Liar.¡± I smirk. ¡°You doubted everything about me. With good reason.¡±

    ¡°Not anymore.¡± She sets down her ss and steps closer, her body flush against mine. ¡°I know exactly who you are, Vincent Akopov. The good, the bad, the very fucking scary. And I¡¯m still here.¡±

    I grasp her chin between my thumb and forefinger. ¡°Why?¡±

    ¡°Because monsters need love, too,¡± she says. ¡°And no one loves like we do.¡±

    I kiss her then, hard and possessive, not giving a fuck who sees. Let them watch. Let them see.

    We have nothing to hide anymore.

    When we break apart, I see Carver watching us from inside. He raises his ss in a mock toast before disappearing back into the crowd.

    ¡°He¡¯s up to something,¡± Rowan murmurs against my chest.

    ¡°He¡¯s always up to something.¡± I run my hand down her spine. ¡°But not even he can take this away from us. Not now.¡±<hr>

    Hourster, when thest guest has departed and our children are asleep in the presidential suite under the watchful eye of their godparents, I find Rowan in our private vi, standing on the terrace that overlooks the bay for which we named the resort.

    She¡¯s stripped down to nothing but moonlight and shadows, her naked back to me as she stares out at the water. I pause in the doorway to drink in the sight of her.

    Mine. Still mine, after everything.

    ¡°They¡¯ll never stop watching us, will they?¡± she asks without turning. She knows my footsteps, my breathing, my presence like her own heartbeat.

    ¡°No.¡± I don¡¯t sugarcoat it. Never have, never will. ¡°But they¡¯ll find nothing to see.¡±

    ¡°Nothing they can prove, you mean.¡± She faces me then, gloriously nude and unashamed. ¡°What did Carver really want today?¡±

    I cross to her, still fully dressed in contrast to her nakedness. The power dynamic should be in my favor, yet she¡¯s never looked more in control. I reach for the buttons of my shirt.

    ¡°He wants to extend the monitoring period,¡± I say. ¡°Another five years.¡±

    Her eyes sh. ¡°On what grounds?¡±

    ¡°New intelligence suggesting ties between our shipping operations and the Ozerov Bratva.¡± I step out of my pants, leaving them pooled on the floor. ¡°It¡¯s bullshit, of course. A fishing expedition.¡±

    ¡°Can he do that? Legally?¡±

    ¡°There¡¯s legal, and then there¡¯s federal.¡± I¡¯m naked now, too, my cock already hardening at the proximity to her. ¡°They can do whatever the fuck they want if they sell it right.¡±

    Her hand finds my cheek andbs through my beard. ¡°Then we¡¯ll fight it. Together. Like we¡¯ve fought everything else.¡±

    I capture her wrist so I can press my lips to her pulse point. ¡°Tomorrow. Tonight, I want to christen every goddamn surface of this ce.¡±

    Sheughs, the sound like broken ss and honey. ¡°Where do we start?¡±

    I lift her by the waist, setting her on the balcony rail. The sixty-foot drop to the rocks below doesn¡¯t faze her. Nothing does anymore.

    ¡°Right here,¡± I growl. ¡°Where anyone could see you. Where anyone could witness that you belong to me, and I to you.¡±

    Her legs wrap around my waist, drawing me to her center. She¡¯s already wet, already eager, already mine.

    ¡°I¡¯m all yours, Mr. Akopov.¡±

    Five years, and still my cock responds to her like it¡¯s the first fucking time. Like I haven¡¯t been inside her thousands of times before. Like she hasn¡¯t birthed two of my children, carried my name, worn my ring, held my bloodied hands when they needed cleaning.

    Her body gleams in the moonlight, soft curves begging to be carved up by my hard edges. My cock is rigid against my stomach.

    ¡°You¡¯re so beautiful,¡± she whispers as she taps my chin.

    ¡°Beautiful?¡± Iugh. ¡°What I¡¯m about to do to you is many things, but beautiful isn¡¯t one of them.¡±

    Her pupils dte, swallowing the green until only a thin slice of it is left dancing around the edges. But she swallows and arches a brow. ¡°Prove it.¡±

    The balcony overlooks the entire resort. Anyone could look up and see the CEO and his wife, naked under the Costa Rican moon. Anyone could witness how I fucking worship her.

    I dare them to.

    I grip her throat, not squeezing yet, just establishing dominance. Her pulse hammers against my palm. ¡°Touch yourself, moya zhena,¡± Imand. ¡°Let me see how wet you are for a killer.¡±

    She obeys instantly, one hand sliding down her stomach to the apex of her thighs. Her fingers part her slick folds and reveal a glistening pink that makes my mouth water. She strokes herself slowly, deliberately, putting on a show.

    ¡°Soaking,¡± she confirms, bringing her fingers to my lips. ¡°Taste what you do to me.¡±

    I suck her fingers into my mouth to taste her arousal¡ªtangy, sweet, familiar. My grip on her throat rxes as I release her fingers with an obscene pop. ¡°My turn.¡±

    I drop to my knees, dragging her to the edge of the balcony rail. Her scent hits me first¡ªthat perfumed musk that¡¯s driven men to war for centuries. I spread her wider.

    ¡°Mine,¡± I growl before burying my face between her legs.

    The first stroke of my tongue makes her gasp. The second makes her moan. By the third, she¡¯s threading her fingers through my hair, holding me against her core. I devour her, alternating between deep strokes and targeted flicks against her clit.

    ¡°Fuck, Vince,¡± she pants as she rolls her hips against my face. ¡°Right there. Don¡¯t stop.¡±

    I have no intention of stopping. Not until she¡¯s trembling, until she¡¯s begging, until she remembers exactly who she belongs to.

    I seal my lips around her clit and suck hard, slipping two fingers inside her at the same time.

    Her back bends as she cries out. I curl my fingers forward, seeking that spot inside her that makes her crumble. When I find it, her entire body convulses.

    ¡°That¡¯s it,¡± I murmur against her flesh. ¡°Come for me. Let everyone hear who¡¯s making you scream.¡±

    Her thighs mp around my head as shees undone. I work her through it, relentless, until she¡¯s pulling at my hair, oversensitive and gasping.

    Then I rise and rece my mouth with my hand. I continue to stroke her as I im her mouth in a bruising kiss. She tastes herself on my tongue, moaning into me as I press a third finger inside her.

    ¡°Now, you,¡± she demands, reaching for my cock.

    I swat her hand away. ¡°Not yet. I¡¯m not done ying.¡±

    I lift her from the rail and turn her to face the view. The drop beneath us is dizzying, the resort lights twinkling like earthbound stars. I press her forward until she¡¯s bent over the rail, ass in the air,pletely exposed.

    ¡°Look at you,¡± I growl, running my hand down her spine to the curve of her ass. ¡°The mighty Rowan Akopov, bent over like a slut. What would our board of directors think if they could see you now?¡±

    She looks back at me over her shoulder, eyes heavy-lidded with desire. ¡°They¡¯d think I¡¯m the luckiest woman alive.¡±

    I smack her ass hard enough to leave an immediate red handprint. ¡°Lucky? To be fucked by a monster?¡±

    ¡°By my monster,¡± she corrects. ¡°The only one who knows what I really need.¡±

    I reach around to stroke her clit again. My other hand wraps around my cock, stroking slowly, teasingly, letting her feel it brush against her entrance without pushing in.

    ¡°You want this?¡± I ask. ¡°You want to be split open on my cock while the whole fucking world could be watching?¡±

    ¡°Yes,¡± she hisses. ¡°Please, Vince.¡±

    I withdraw my hand from her clit, bringing my fingers to her mouth. ¡°Suck,¡± I order. ¡°Get them nice and wet.¡±

    She takes my fingers eagerly, tongue swirling around them, coating them with saliva. When I pull them out, they¡¯re glistening. I trace a path down her spine, between her cheeks, until I find her puckered back entrance.

    ¡°Here, too?¡±

    Her breath hitches. ¡°Yes. Everywhere. All of me belongs to you.¡±

    I press one finger inside her ass, slowly, carefully, even as my other hand guides my cock to her core. The double pration makes her gasp, body tensing momentarily before rxing into the intrusion.

    ¡°That¡¯s it,¡± I praise, working my finger deeper as I inch my cock inside her. ¡°Take all of me.¡±

    When I¡¯m fully seated, buried to the hilt in her pussy with my finger firmly inside her ass, I pause. The feeling is exquisite¡ªher tight heat around my cock, the clutch of her body around my finger. I lean forward, my chest against her back, and wrap one hand around her throat again.

    I feel her pussy tightening around me, her lust spiking with the controlledck of oxygen. I know exactly how much pressure to apply, exactly how long to hold¡ªwe¡¯ve done this dance many times before.

    It never, ever gets old.

    I release her throat. She desperately gulps in air as I pick up the pace. The sound of skin pping against skin mingles with her moans and my grunts. I add a second finger alongside the first in her ass, stretching her, preparing her.

    ¡°You take me so well,¡± I praise, kissing her shoulder. ¡°My perfect fucking whore. My beautiful queen. My everything.¡±

    Her head drops forward as she pushes back against me. ¡°More,¡± she whimpers. ¡°Harder.¡±

    I withdrawpletely so I can spin her around to face me. In one smooth motion, I lift her, impaling her on my cock again as I press her back against the wall next to the balcony door.

    ¡°Look at me,¡± Imand, one hand returning to her throat. ¡°I want to see your eyes when youe on my cock.¡±

    She meets my gaze, her eyes hazy with pleasure and the beginnings of oxygen deprivation. My grip tightens again as I thrust upward, changing the angle to hit that spot inside her that makes her see God.

    ¡°That¡¯s it,¡± I growl as her walls begin to pulse around me. ¡°Come for me, Rowan. Show me what only I can give you.¡±

    The pressure on her throat increases for a moment before I releasepletely, allowing blood to rush back just as her orgasm crashes through her. Thebination sends her into a frenzy, nails raking down my back, leaving trails of fire in their wake.

    ¡°Vince!¡± she screams. ¡°Oh, God, Vince!¡±

    Her pussy grips me like a vise, pulsating around my length, pulling me deeper. I lose myself in her, in the sensation, in the knowledge that this woman is mine.

    I carry her to the bed inside, still buried inside her, unwilling to break our connection. Then I drop her to the mattress.

    ¡°On your knees,¡± I order hoarsely. ¡°Ass up.¡±

    Sheplies immediately, positioning herself with her face pressed into the mattress and her ass raised high. I kneel behind her and run my cock through her soaked folds before positioning it at her back entrance.

    ¡°Ready?¡± I ask.

    ¡°Yes,¡± she moans, pushing back against me. ¡°Please, Vince. I need you everywhere.¡±

    I press forward slowly, watching as her body epts my intrusion. The tight heat of her ass around my cock is almost unbearable, pleasure so intense it borders on pain. When I¡¯m fully seated, I pause, allowing her to adjust.

    ¡°Fuck,¡± I groan, leaning over to kiss her spine. ¡°You¡¯re perfect. So fucking perfect.¡±

    I begin to move, shallow thrusts at first, one hand continuing to work her clit while the other grips her hip for leverage. As her moans increase in volume, I pick up the pace, fucking her ass with the same intensity I¡¯d shown her pussy minutes before.

    ¡°Touch yourself,¡± Imand again. ¡°I want to feel youe while I¡¯m in your ass.¡±

    She reaches between her legs as I continue pounding into her. She¡¯s making sounds I¡¯ve never heard before, but fuck if they aren¡¯t as perfect as all the ones I¡¯ve spent years memorizing already.

    ¡°That¡¯s it,¡± I praise. ¡°Come for me again. Show me how much you love taking my cock in your ass.¡±

    Her third orgasm of the night hits hard, her entire body convulsing as she screams into the mattress. The spasming around my cock pushes me over the edge, and I follow her into oblivion, emptying myself inside her with a roar.

    It feels like I give her my soul as Ie.

    When there¡¯s nothing left to give, I copse beside her. Her body is slick with sweat, her hair a tangled mess, her lips swollen from my kisses. She¡¯s never looked more beautiful.

    ¡°Fuck,¡± she whispers. ¡°That was¡­¡±

    ¡°I know.¡± I kiss to her temple, gentler now that the storm has passed. My hand drifts to her stomach, a gesture that¡¯s be a habit over the years. ¡°I love you, Rowan. More than I ever thought possible.¡±

    She turns in my arms to face me. ¡°I love you, too, Vincent. All of you. I always have.¡±

    We lie in silence for a moment, basking in the afterglow, in the miracle of us¡ªtwo broken people who somehow fit together perfectly.

    When we get our wind back, we fuck again, slower and softer this time. We lose ourselves in each other, happily, gratefully.

    Eventually, dawnes to spoil the party. It breaks through the windows, painting Rowan¡¯s naked body in gold and crimson.

    Blood and sunlight. The perfect metaphor for the life we¡¯ve built.

    I trace the scar on her abdomen from Arkasha¡¯s birth¡ªa permanent reminder of how close I came to losing everything. My hand drifts higher, feeling her heartbeat beneath my palm. Strong. Unbreakable. Just like her.

    ¡°Remember when all we had were filthy lies?¡± I murmur against her hair. ¡°That you were just my assistant. I was just your boss. We were just fucking. That it all meant nothing.¡±

    She turns in my arms. ¡°And now?¡±

    ¡°Now, we have filthy truths.¡± My voice breaks slightly, a crack in the foundation I¡¯d never allow anyone else but her to see. ¡°I would do terrible things if it meant keeping you and our children safe. I still want to consume you, even after five years. You make me want to be better.¡±

    Her fingers trace the silver in my beard, nails lightly scraping my skin. ¡°I wouldn¡¯t change a single lie that brought us here.¡±

    Outside, our empire glitters in the morning light¡ªlegitimate on paper, baptized in blood beneath. Inside, our children sleep peacefully, innocent and oblivious to the violence in their DNA.

    This is our legacy. Not the money. Not the power. But this brutal, beautiful truth between us.

    Some monsters deserve love.

    Some lies be gospel.

    Some promises, even the filthiest ones, are meant to be kept forever.

    Ours is one of those.

    The Novel will be updated first on this website. Come back and

    continue reading tomorrow, everyone!