Page 193 of Filthy Promises

I nod for him to continue.

“I had a plan for my life,” he says. “Everything mapped out. Take over the company. Lead the Bratva. Make the right alliances. It was all clear. Straightforward.” He shakes his head. “And then you walked into my office that day.”

I can’t help but smile. “While you were otherwise occupied.”

A ghost of a smile touches his lips, too. “Yes. Not my finest moment.”

“I don’t know. Vanessa seemed to be enjoying herself.”

He shakes his head sadly. “I don’t even remember her face anymore. Just yours. Standing there in the doorway, looking horrified and fascinated all at once.”

Heat creeps up my neck at the memory. “I was mortified.”

“You were beautiful,” he counters. “And from that moment, my carefully ordered world started to come apart.”

I clutch the blanket tighter. “Vince, where is this going?”

He stands up from the chair and drifts to the edge of the bed. But he doesn’t sit. Keeping his distance, as promised.

“I’ve been thinking about what you said. About how I don’t know how to love someone without controlling them.” His voice is rough with emotion. “You were right.”

The admission takes me by surprise. Vincent Akopov doesn’t admit when he’s wrong. Not easily, anyway.

“I started watching you years ago because you were Petrov’s daughter,” he continues. “A potential threat. Ikeptwatching because I couldn’t look away. I couldn’t stop thinking about you. And then, when I finally had you, I was terrified of losing you.”

“So you tried to control everything,” I finish for him.

“Yes.” He rakes a hand through his hair. “It’s how I was raised. How I was taught to handle anything of value. Control it. Own it. Protect it at all costs.”

“I’m not a thing to be owned, Vince.”

“I know that now.” His eyes lock with mine, intense and earnest. “I’m learning. Slowly. Probably not fast enough for someone as remarkable as you, but I swear to God, Rowan, I’m trying.”

My heart does a stupid little flip in my chest. “Why are you telling me this now? The night before our wedding?”

He takes a deep breath. “Because I need you to know something. Before you walk down that aisle. Before you say those vows.”

“Know what, Vince?”

“I love you.” He says it simply, directly. Those three words floating like motes of dust in the moonlit air between us. “Just you, Rowan St. Clair. I don’t deserve you, but I love you anyway.”

Tears prick at the corners of my eyes. I blink them away, determined not to crumble.

Not now.

“And if I can’t love you back?” I ask. “If this arrangement is all we ever have?”

“Then I’ll respect that, too.” His voice is steady, though I can see what it costs him to say it. “I’ll honor your boundaries. I’ll be whatever you need me to be—husband in name only, co-parent, protector. Even if you never let me back in.”

I gulp against a newfound tightness in my throat. “Why now?” I ask again. “Why tonight?”

He moves back to the chair, sitting down heavily. “Because tomorrow, in front of everyone, you’ll become my wife. And I need you to be absolutely certain that’s what you want.”

“I already agreed to this. We’ve made all the arrangements.”

“Plans can change.” He echoes his own words from the council meeting. “Nothing is final until you say, ‘I do.’”

I stare at him. “Are you giving me an out?”

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