Page 178 of Filthy Promises

She’s sitting up in bed, looking better than she has in months. The treatment is working—at least that much wasn’t a lie.

“Thanks for the confidence boost.” I force a smile, leaning down to kiss her forehead. “You, on the other hand, look great.”

“Don’t change the subject.” She pats the bed beside her. “Sit. Tell me what’s wrong.”

I perch on the edge of her mattress, wondering how much I can safely say. How much she already knows.

Is my entire life a carefully constructed fiction? Did Mom knowingly have a child with a Russian crime lord, or was she just as manipulated as I’ve been?

“Just pregnant stuff,” I lie. “Morning sickness. Fatigue. The usual.”

She studies my face, clearly not buying it. “And things with Vincent?”

The sound of his name alone makes my chest ache. “Complicated.”

“Relationships usually are.” She reaches for my hand. “Especially when the men in question are strong-willed.”

I look up sharply. “What do you mean by that?”

“Just that your fiancé strikes me as a very determined man.” She shrugs. “The type who’s used to getting his way.”

“You have no idea,” I mutter.

“Try me.” There’s something in her voice: a steeliness I don’t usually associate with my gentle, long-suffering mother.

For a moment, I’m tempted to spill everything. To ask if she knows who—or what—Grigor Petrov is. To demand the truth about my parentage.

But one look at her face stops me.

She’s finally getting better after years of suffering. The last thing she needs is to learn that her daughter is caught between two warring crime families, carrying the grandchild of one and possibly being the biological child of the other.

Some truths are too heavy to bear.

“It’s nothing,” I say, squeezing her hand. “Just pre-wedding jitters, I guess.”

“Hm.” She doesn’t believe me, but she doesn’t press. “Well, whatever’s happening, I’m here if you need to talk. I always have been.”

Have you?I think.Or have you been keeping secrets, too?

We spend the next hour making small talk about her treatment, the hospital food, the new nurse with the unfortunate combover who keeps flirting with her.

Normal things. Safe things. As if my entire world isn’t collapsing around me.

When I finally leave, promising to return tomorrow, I spot them immediately: two men in dark suits, trying very hard to look inconspicuous near the hospital entrance.

Vince’s security detail.

Rage bubbles up so fast I’m halfway across the lobby before I even realize I’m moving. I march right up to the taller one—Dimitri, I think—and poke him in the chest.

“Tell your boss if he wants to know where I am, he can ask me himself instead of having me followed like I’m some kind of criminal!”

Dimitri blinks down at me, clearly surprised by the five-foot-four tornado suddenly in his face. “Ms. St. Clair?—”

“No, you listen to me.” I’m causing a scene, but I don’t care.Can’tcare. Not anymore. “I am not Vince’s property. I’m not a surveillance target. I’m a person, goddammit!”

“A person who’s about to get herself killed if she keeps shouting in public like this.”

I whirl around to find Arkady standing behind me, his usual easygoing demeanor replaced with something tight and wary. His eyes scan the hospital lobby constantly, like he’s expecting an attack from any direction.

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