Page 198 of Filthy Promises

“Never.”

Even as I make the promise, though, my eyes drift to where Arkady stands near the exit, the box containing the bloody rattle now hidden from sight.

I won’t let Rowan regret marrying me. And that means I’ll do whatever it takes to keep her safe—even things she can never know about.

Even things that might make her hate me all over again.

57

ROWAN

Turns out Bratva men can cut a rug, if the occasion calls for it. Who knew?

I’m dancing with Vince’s driver, Vasily, who insisted on having a turn with the bride. His weathered face is split in a rare grin as he spins me carefully, almost like a father.

“You make beautiful Akopov bride,” he croaks. “Strong. Not afraid.”

I laugh. “Oh, I’m definitely afraid. I’m just good at hiding it.”

He winks. “Secret safe with me.”

As the song ends, I feel a twinge in my lower abdomen. Sharp enough to make me wince, but gone as quickly as it came.

I’m probably just tired from all the dancing and excitement. But not a bad idea to take a seat for a little bit, I think.

I make my way back to our table, where Vince is deep in conversation with one of his lieutenants. He looks up the moment I approach.

“You’re flushed,” he observes, standing to pull out my chair. “Do you need water?”

“I’m fine,” I assure him. “Just a little warm from dancing.”

He doesn’t look convinced, but he doesn’t press. That’s new. The old Vince would have insisted on examining me himself or calling in his personal physician.

Progress is progress, I suppose.

I sip my water and scan the room. Mom is chatting with Marta, the housekeeper, both of them laughing like old friends. The sight warms my heart. She looks so much better these days, stronger, more vibrant. Modern medicine is a miracle. It almost makes me believe in?—

Another twinge hits, this one sharper than before. I inhale sharply as my hand flies to my stomach.

Vince notices immediately. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. Just—” The pain intensifies suddenly, radiating across my lower back. “Actually, I’m not sure.”

His brow furrows. “Tell me.”

“Cramping. It’s probably nothing?—”

Before I can finish, a warm trickle runs down my inner thigh. I look down to see a bright red stain spreading across the ivory silk of my wedding dress.

Oh, God.

“Vince,” I whisper, panic rising in my throat. “Vince, I’m bleeding.”

He moves with terrifying efficiency. One moment, he’s beside me; the next, he’s scooping me into his arms, barking orders in Russian that send his men scrambling in every direction.

“The baby,” I manage, my voice small and frightened. “Vince, the baby, the baby, the?—”

“Don’t talk,” he murmurs against my hair. “Save your strength. I’ve got you.”

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