Page 165 of Filthy Promises

For the first time in my life, I see something like doubt cross my father’s face.

“What do you want?” he finally asks.

“First, you will apologize to Ms. St. Clair for putting your hands on her. Then you will leave and never contact her directly again.” My voice is ice. “Second, the inheritance clause stands—but the timeline is mine to determine, not yours.”

“And third?”

“Third, you will support whatever decision I make regarding my child and its mother. Publicly and privately.” I cross my arms. “Those are my terms.”

My father studies me for a long moment, weighing his options. “And if I refuse?”

“Then it’s war,” I say simply. “Between us. Between the old Bratva and the new. And I promise you, Father—you won’t win that fight.”

Another long silence stretches between us.

Then, to my surprise, he nods once. A soldier’s acknowledgment.

“You’ve made your point.” He straightens his jacket. “I’ll speak to the girl.”

“Her name is Rowan,” I correct sharply. “And you’ll keep your distance while you apologize.”

He nods again, his expression unreadable.

I move to the bedroom door, knocking once before opening it. Rowan sits on the edge of the bed, Arkady hovering protectively nearby. Her eyes meet mine, wary but steady.

“My father has something to say to you,” I tell her. “If you’re willing to hear it.”

She hesitates, then nods slowly.

I hold out my hand to her without thinking. After a pause that feels like eternity, she takes it, allowing me to help her up. Her fingers are cold in mine, but they don’t tremble.

Together, we return to the living room where my father waits.

“Ms. St. Clair,” he begins, stiff as a fucking gravestone. “I behaved… rashly. You have my apology.”

It’s probably the most genuine apology Andrei Akopov has ever given, which isn’t saying much.

But it’s something.

Rowan says nothing, just watches him with those perceptive green eyes that seem to see through all our Akopov bullshit.

“I think it’s time for you to leave,” I tell my father.

“This isn’t over,” he says quietly.

“It is for tonight.”

He nods once more, then turns and walks out the door. I don’t watch him go. My attention is already back on Rowan, on the marks my father’s fingers left on her throat.

“Are you alright?” I ask.

She twists away from me. “I’ve been better.”

“I didn’t know he was coming here. Arkady called me?—”

“It doesn’t matter.” She wraps her arms around herself. “I want both of you to leave, too.”

“Rowan—”

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