Page 197 of Filthy Promises

“Get the box out of here,” I growl. “And post extra men around Rowan. Discreetly.”

“Already done.” Arkady takes the box and slides it under his jacket. Then he glances at my wife. “Should we tell her?”

I glance across the room to where Rowan stands, radiant in her wedding gown, one hand resting protectively over our child as she speaks with her mother.

She’s smiling—really smiling—for the first time in weeks.

“No,” I decide. “Not today. This is her wedding day. She deserves at least that much joy.”

“And tomorrow?”

I turn back to him, my decision already made. “Tomorrow, we send a message back to the Solovyovs. One they won’t forget.”

Arkady nods. There will be blood for this. A lot of it. None of it mine or Rowan’s.

I return to my wife’s side, schooling my features into something resembling calm. She turns to me, that smile still lighting her face, and something twists painfully in my chest.

“Everything okay?” she asks.

I take her hand and bring it to my lips. “Perfect,” I lie. “Just some business that can wait until tomorrow.”

“No business today,” she says firmly. “Today is just about us.”

“Just about us,” I agree, pulling her closer. “My wife.”

As the evening wears on, I keep her within arm’s reach at all times. I dance with her when tradition demands it, and if I hold her more tightly than necessary, well, no one but me will know why.

But the whole time, my eyes constantly scan the room, the doors, the windows. Looking for threats. Always looking.

When it’s time to cut the cake, I stand behind her, my front pressed to her back as we hold the knife together. I breathe in the scent of her hair, feel the warmth of her body against mine, and make a silent vow.

I’ll spill every last drop of blood in my veins to keep them safe.

“Penny for your thoughts?” Rowan asks as we drift back to our table, plates of cake in hand.

I look down at her—my bride, my weakness, my strength—and force a smile. “Just thinking how beautiful you look. How lucky I am.”

“You’re a terrible liar, Vincent Akopov.”

“On the contrary,” I reply softly, “I’m an excellent liar. Just not with you.”

She laughs at that. “Fair enough. So what’s really going on in that head of yours?”

I hesitate, then give her as much truth as I dare. “I’m thinking about how much I want to protect you. How I’d do anything to keep you safe.”

“I know you would.” She places her hand over mine on the table. “That’s why I’m here.”

For the second time today, something cracks open inside me—something I thought was already broken beyond repair. But as I look into my wife’s eyes, I realize I was wrong.

It was never broken. Just…waiting. Waiting for her to come back. Waiting for a chance to begin again.

I lean forward, pressing my forehead to hers. “Thank you,” I whisper.

“For what?”

“For coming today. For giving me a second chance.” I swallow hard. “For being braver than I deserve.”

She tilts her face up, brushing her lips against mine in a kiss so soft it’s barely there at all. “Don’t make me regret it,” she whispers.

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