Page 162 of Filthy Promises

“Do you? Because let me be crystal clear.” I step closer, anger overtaking fear as I jab a finger into the chest of a man who could easily have me killed. “I am not for sale. My baby is not for sale. And if Vince sent you here to?—”

“Vincent knows nothing of this visit,” Andrei interrupts. “In fact, he would be rather displeased if he knew I was here.”

That stops me short. “Then why are you?”

“Because despite my son’s many strengths, he lacks finesse in these matters.” Andrei moves to my window, sneering out at the dismal view.

“You don’t say,” I mutter.

“You’ve made quite an impression on him, Ms. St. Clair.” Andrei’s voice takes on a thoughtful quality. “I’ve never seen him so distracted.”

I don’t know what to say to that. Part of me—the pathetic, lovesick, silly little schoolgirl part—wants to ask what he means. How has Vince been distracted? Has he talked about me? Shown any sign that his feelings go beyond the transactional?

Does he love me, or does he love me not?

But I squash that impulse. I won’t give Andrei the satisfaction.

“If you think this little good cop/bad cop routine is going to work, you’re mistaken,” I say instead. “I’m not marrying Vince. Not for your money, not for his ‘protection,’ not for any reason except love—which, clearly, isn’t on the table.”

Andrei turns from the window, his expression hardening. “Love is a luxury, Ms. St. Clair. People in our position cannot afford it.”

“Well, lucky for me, I’m not in your position. I never will be.”

“But you carry an Akopov,” he counters. “That puts you squarely in our world, whether you like it or not.”

He steps closer, towering over me in a way that’s clearly meant to intimidate.

Unfortunately, it’s effective.

“Listen carefully, girl. That baby you’re carrying is not just any child. It’s the heir to an empire. My grandson.”

“Or granddaughter,” I interrupt. “It could be a girl, you know.”

His mouth twitches. “Girl or boy, it doesn’t matter. What matters is that the child is raised properly.”

The implication makes my blood run cold. “Are you threatening me?”

“Merely stating facts. A child born into the Akopov family has responsibilities. Expectations.”

“And if I don’t want those expectations for my child?”

“Then perhaps you should have been more careful about who you spread your legs for.”

My face screws up tight. I’ve done this once already tonight. I don’t have to stand here and listen to yet another Akopov man try to bully me into submission.

So I do the same thing I did before.

“Get out,” I whisper. “Get the fuck out before I start to scream.”

I don’t have time for fear as Andrei’s face darkens like a storm cloud about to unleash hell. His enormous hand shoots out, grabbing my throat with surprising speed for a man his age.

“I tried being nice,” he hisses, eyes glacial. “Perhaps I ought to adjust my approach. You’re nothing. A convenience. A warm body my son decided to fuck. So if you think you can talk to me like that, you are mistaken.”

I claw at his fingers, but they’re like steel bands crushing my windpipe. Black spots dance at the edges of my vision.

“The Akopov name will be on that birth certificate,” he growls. “One way or another.”

The threat isn’t subtle.I’m disposable. The baby isn’t.

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