Page 114 of Filthy Promises

He actually laughs at that—a real laugh, not his usual sardonic chuckle. “I’ll have you know my money-counting pool is being cleaned this week.”

I smile weakly, then fall into a coughing fit that makes my ribs ache.

Vince’s amusement vanishes instantly. He helps me sit up, holding a glass of water to my lips. “Small sips.”

I obey, letting the cool liquid soothe my raw throat. “I’m sorry. For being such a burden.”

His eyes narrow. “Is that what you think you are? A burden?”

“What else would you call it? You’re stuck here babysitting me instead of doing… whatever crime lords do on Wednesday afternoons.”

“I’m not stuck anywhere.” His voice takes on that hard edge I’ve come to recognize as genuine emotion breaking through his controlled facade. “I’m exactly where I want to be.”

Something shifts in my chest at his words. Something scary and warm that has nothing to do with my fever.

“Why?” I ask before I can stop myself.

He looks away, jaw tightening. “You need rest, not an interrogation.”

“Vince.” I catch his hand, forcing him to look at me. “Why are you taking care of me?”

For a moment, I think he won’t answer. Then: “Because no one takes care of you, Rowan. You’re always the one caring for others—your mother, your friends, even me in your own way. Someone should return the favor occasionally.”

His honesty steals my breath more effectively than the fever.

“Oh,” is all I can manage.

His smile turns rueful. “Don’t look so surprised. I’m not completely heartless.”

“I never thought you were,” I whisper.

And it’s true. For all his danger, all his darkness, I’ve never believed Vince Akopov is without a heart.

I’ve just been terrified of what might happen if I found it.

No.I can’t go down that road. Can’t let myself think about hearts and feelings and anything beyond the physical connection we share. That way lies nothing but devastation.

“Sleep,” he says, squeezing my hand once before releasing it. “Doctor will be here in a few hours to check on you.”

“Doctor? You called a doctor for the flu?”

“I calledmydoctor foryou,” he corrects. “And we don’t know it’s the flu.”

I sink back against the pillows, lacking the energy to argue. “Thank you.”

He nods, then hesitates at the door. “Need anything else before I make some calls?”

Just you,I think treacherously.I just need you.

“No,” I say instead. “I’m fine.”

The doctor confirms it’s a nasty strain of flu, prescribes rest, fluids, and medication I’m pretty sure isn’t available to normal people without black market connections.

I sleep most of the day away, waking in the evening to find Vince sitting in a chair beside the bed, reading something on his tablet.

“You’re still here,” I croak.

He looks up, setting the tablet aside. “Where else would I be?”

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