Page 217 of Filthy Promises

It’s a complete bluff—I have no idea if Kevin ever embezzled anything. But in my years working under him, I saw enough ethical corner-cutting to know he wasn’t completely clean.

And the way his Adam’s apple bobs nervously tells me I’ve hit close enough to the mark.

“You’re making that up,” he says, but his voice lacks conviction.

“Am I?” I give him a sharp-fanged smile. “Would you like to find out? Because while my husband values privacy in his business dealings, he’sextremelythorough when it comes to protecting what’s his.” I rest my hand over my swollen belly. “And make no mistake, Kevin: I am very much his. As is this child. As is everything and everyone under the Akopov name.”

Kevin takes an involuntary step back. “Are you threatening me?”

“Goodness, no!” I laugh softly. “I’m simply having a conversation with a former colleague about the importance of discretion in one’s professional endeavors.” I lean in closer and drape my fingers over his trembling wrist. The whiskey sloshes in his grip. “But if Iwerethreatening you, I’d say that pursuing your current line of inquiry could have unforeseen consequences. For your career. For your reputation.” I pause meaningfully. “And for your continued ability to enjoy free, top-shelf whiskey at elegant events like this one. Unless, of course, you like drinking through a breathing tube.”

The blood drains from his face so rapidly I think he might faint. “I—I think I should rejoin my associates.”

“I think that’s wise,” I agree pleasantly. “And Kevin? Let’s not cross paths again. For your sake.”

He nods jerkily before nearly tripping over himself to get away from me. As I watch him disappear into the crowd, adrenaline surges through my veins.

What the hell did I just do?

Did I justthreatena man? Did I just channel my inner mob wife to protect Vince’s interests?

Most disturbingly, did I justenjoyit?

63

ROWAN

I need a moment to collect myself, so I duck into a small alcove behind a massive floral arrangement. My hands are shaking, but not from fear—from a strange, intoxicating sense of power I’ve never experienced before.

It’s the feeling of protecting what’s mine.

Because that’s what Vince is now. Mine. My husband. My child’s father. My partner in this complicated, dangerous, exhilarating life we’re building together.

God, when did that happen? When did I stop seeing myself as a victim of circumstances and start seeing myself as a willing participant? As someone with agency and power and stakes in this game?

“There you are.” I look up to find Vince standing before me. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you. Are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” I assure him. “Just needed a minute to catch my breath.”

His eyes narrow. “What happened?”

“Not here,” I say quietly. “I’ll tell you when we get home.”

He hesitates, then nods, respecting my need for privacy. “The car is waiting whenever you’re ready.”

“I’m ready now,” I tell him. “I’ve had enough socializing for one evening.”

“Thank God,” he mutters. “I was about to fake a medical emergency to get us out of here.”

I laugh, slipping my arm through his as we make our excuses and head for the exit. In the back of the car, I finally allow myself to relax, leaning against Vince’s solid presence beside me.

“So,” he says once we’re safely ensconced in privacy, “what happened back there?”

I replay my encounter with Kevin, not sparing any details. As I speak, Vince’s expression darkens, but he remains silent until I finish.

“I’m sorry,” I conclude. “I probably overreacted. I just—I got so angry when he threatened you. Us.”

For a long moment, Vince says nothing. Then, to my surprise, he takes my hand and brings it to his lips.

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