Page 207 of Filthy Promises

The kneeling man sputters something incomprehensible in Russian, blood dribbling from his split lip.

“English,” Vince commands. “For the benefit of our other guests.”

Only then do I notice the others in the room. Arkady, of course, leaning against the bookshelf with his customary casual posture that doesn’t quite mask his watchfulness. Several men I recognize from the wedding. And standing near the window, looking uncomfortable but resolute: Anastasia Kuznetsov.

“I swear,” the kneeling man groans in heavily accented English, “I did not know the information would go to Solovyov. I thought?—”

“You thought what?” Vince interrupts. “That selling shipping schedules was harmless? That putting my men—myfamily—at risk was acceptable?” He moves around the desk, each step deliberate, predatory.

“Please,” the man begs. “My children?—”

“—should have been in your thoughts before you betrayed me.” Vince’s voice is black ice.

I should leave. Turn around. Pretend I never saw this.

But my legs won’t move.

Vince glances at Arkady. Some unspoken communication passes between them. Then he turns to Anastasia. “Your father requested you witness this. To understand the consequences of betrayal.”

She nods, her face expressionless. “I understand.”

Vince returns his attention to the kneeling man. “Igor Federov. You have served the Bratva for fifteen years. In that time, you’ve been paid well, protected well, treated like family.”

“It was only once,” Igor pleads. “Only the one shipment. I needed money for my son’s surgery?—”

“You could have come to me,” Vince cuts him off. “Asked for help. Instead, you went to our enemies.”

I watch, horrified, as Vince pulls a gun from inside his jacket. It looks like the same gun I once found in his desk drawer, what feels like a lifetime ago. Black steel has never looked so unforgiving.

“No,” I gasp, barely audible even to my own ears. “No, no, no.”

“Your betrayal warrants death,” he says flatly. “That is our way.”

Igor’s shoulders slump. He knows what’s coming. We all do.

But…

“However,” Vince continues, “your years of service have earned you this one mercy. Your children will be provided for. Your son’s medical care will be covered in full. And you will be given the opportunity to… reestablish your loyalty.”

The relief on Igor’s face is palpable. “Anything. Anything!”

“Good.” Vince turns to one of the men holding Igor. “Take him to the warehouse. Dimitri knows what to do.”

As they haul the beaten man to his feet, Vince adds, “Remember, Igor—this is your only chance. There won’t be another.”

I back away from the door as they move toward it. I need to get upstairs before anyone sees me, before Vince realizes what I’ve witnessed.

But as I turn, my elbow gets me in trouble again. Same as it did all those months ago.

It knocks against a vase on the hallway table. The porcelain wobbles, tilts, and crashes to the floor with a sound like gunfire.

Almost at once, the study door flies open. Vince stands there, his eyes widening when he sees me.

For a moment, neither of us speaks. Then…

“Rowan.” He sighs. “You shouldn’t be down here.”

“I gathered that much,” I say with a gulp.

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