Page 205 of Filthy Promises

“She will. In time.”

“What time?” He laughs sharply. “There is notime, Vincent. While you play house with your American bride, our enemies circle closer. The Petrovs—her own blood—would tear you down in an instant if they knew her identity.”

The reminder sends ice through my veins. I push the thought away. “What exactly are you suggesting?”

“Involve her,” he says bluntly. “Bring her into the fold. Show her the books, the operations, the way we do business. Make her truly one of us.”

“Absolutely not.” The mere thought of exposing Rowan to the darker aspects of our world makes my skin crawl. “She stays clean.”

“‘Clean’? Be fucking serious, son! There is no ‘clean’ in our world. You of all people should know that.” He studies me, those eyes so like mine narrowing in calculation. “What are you afraid of? That she’ll see the real you and run?”

“She’s seen the real me,” I snap. “More than most.”

“She’s seen you kill, yes. But has she seen you torture? Has she seen you break a man until there’s nothing left but an empty shell begging for death? Has she seen what you’re truly capable of?”

My teeth clench of their own accord. “That’s not who I am anymore.”

“Isn’t it? Because the reports from the Solovyov situation suggest otherwise.”

My heart rate picks up. He shouldn’t know about that. About what I did after they sent that bloody rattle as a wedding gift.

About the violent, broken message I sent back.

“That was different,” I say carefully. “They threatened my family.”

“And they will continue to threaten your family,” he shoots back. “All of them will—the Solovyovs, the Egorovs, the Petrovs. As long as she remains ignorant, she remains vulnerable. Blind sheep can still be slaughtered, son.”

I rise from my desk, knuckles digging into the mahogany surface. “I won’t drag her into this, Father. I won’t make her complicit in what we do.”

“She became complicit the moment she said, ‘I do,’” he counters. “The sooner she understands that, the better equipped she’ll be to survive.”

“Survive what, exactly?”

“Our world, Vincent.” He sighs, suddenly looking older than his years. “You think you can protect her from it forever? You can’t. The day will come when you’re not there, when a choice must be made. In that moment, knowledge will mean the difference between life and death.”

His words hit a nerve. Because deep down, I know he’s right. The protections I’ve built around Rowan are formidable, but not infallible.

Nothing is.

“I won’t lose her,” I say quietly.

“Then prepare her.” He rises as well and begins to float toward the door. “Because if she remains unprepared, she’s already lost.”

After he leaves, I stand at the window of my office, staring out at the manicured grounds of the estate. In the distance, I can see the guest house where Rowan’s mother now stays, close enough for daily visits but separate enough to maintain her independence.

Another barrier I’ve erected—another way to keep Rowan happy, to give her a semblance of normalcy within these walls.

But it’s all illusion, isn’t it? The peaceful estate. The quiet days reading beside her bed. The futures we’ve begun to tentatively plan.

None of it changes what I am.

What I’ve done.

What I’d do again to keep her safe.

The memory of the Solovyov warehouse I destroyed rises unbidden. The screams. The pleas. The blood on my hands as I extracted the promise that no one—no one—would ever again threaten my wife or child without consequences too terrible to contemplate.

But will it be enough? I don’t know.Can’tknow.

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