Page 122 of Filthy Promises

If she knew, she might feel obligated. Might think she owes me something. And while the old me would have enjoyed that power, would have used it to my advantage—the thought leaves me cold now.

I want her to come to me because she chooses to, not because she’s paying a debt.

The realization is unsettling.

I’m halfway to the elevator when I hear her voice. She’s leaving her mother’s room, heading in my direction.

Fuck.

I duck into a supply closet, feeling ridiculous even as I do it. Vincent Akopov, futurepakhanof the Russian Bratva, hiding in a hospital closet like a goddamn teenager avoiding his girlfriend’s parents.

I wait until I hear her footsteps pass, then count to thirty before reemerging.

When I do, the coast is clear. I make my way to the elevator and back down to where Arkady waits.

“Well?” he asks when I approach. “Mission accomplished?”

“Yes.” I don’t elaborate.

“You know you’re acting weird as fuck, right?” he observes, falling into step beside me as we leave the hospital. “Following assistants to hospitals, throwing money at sick mothers… What’s next? Adopting puppies? Hand-feeding the homeless?”

“Shut up,” I growl.

“Just saying.” He raises his hands in surrender. “I’ve never seen you like this over a woman before. It’s concerning.”

“I’m not ‘like this’ over her,” I snap. “I’m protecting an investment. She can’t work effectively if she’s distracted by her mother’s illness.”

We both know it’s a lie, but Arkady is smart enough not to call me on it. At least not directly.

“Right. An investment.” He grins. “One you’re fucking on every available surface.”

I shoot him a look that would make most men piss themselves. He just laughs.

“Fine, keep your secrets.” He claps me on the shoulder. “But whatever this is? It’s changing you.”

I shake his hand off. “Nothing’s changing.”

But as I slide into my car, I know that isn’t true. Something is changing.I’mchanging.

I think about Rowan’s face when she got that call. The naked fear in her eyes. The weight she’s been carrying alone.

And I think about how, for the first time in my life, I’ve gone out of my way to lift someone else’s burden without expecting anything in return.

What the fuck is happening to me?

I’m Vincent fucking Akopov. I don’t do charity. I don’t do selfless. I definitely don’t hide in closets to avoid being seen doing something kind.

I pull out my phone, staring at the screen for a long time without really seeing it.

Eventually, I type out a text:How is she?

The response comes quickly.Not good. They want to try a new treatment, but we can’t afford it.

I stare at those words for a long moment. In a day or two, she’ll learn that they can afford it after all. That some mysterious benefactor has stepped forward to save the day.

She’ll be relieved. Grateful to whatever anonymous saint made it possible.

She’ll never know it was me.

---