Page 229 of Filthy Promises

I pretend to frown. “Hm. It was definitely close. Let’s do them both again and see for sure.”

He drags me down to the mattress with a laugh. We don’t come up again for hours.

66

VINCE

I wake up before Rowan does. I’ve done that a lot lately. She spends most of the night tossing and turning, only finding true rest when the sun is starting to peek over the horizon.

These few minutes belong to me. I watch her breathe. Chest rising, falling, hair strewn everywhere. It’s torture not to touch the swell of her stomach, but I restrain myself.

She needs the rest. She’s doing the hard work of growing our child.

At thirty-nine weeks, every movement is a struggle, though she tries to hide her discomfort behind jokes and that stubborn independence that first drew me to her. I admire her bravery.

Last night was… unexpected. Her taking control, me surrendering it. I’ve never done that with anyone before. Never trusted anyone enough to let them see me vulnerable.

But with her, it felt right. Natural, even.

Who would’ve thought?

Careful not to make noise, I slip out from underneath the covers. There’s work to be done before she wakes, and I want to surprise her with breakfast in bed.

As I dress, my phone vibrates with an incoming call. Arkady. He knows better than to call this early unless it’s important.

“What is it?” I answer quietly, stepping into the hallway to avoid disturbing Rowan.

“We have a problem.” Arkady’s voice is tense. “The Costa Rica deal fell through.”

I frown. “That’s impossible. The contracts were finalized last week.”

“The bank pulled financing at the last minute. Cited ‘concerns about the project’s viability.’”

“Which bank?”

“First National.”

My jaw clenches. First National has been our primary financial institution for legitimate business for over a decade. They wouldn’t pull out without serious cause.

“Get me a meeting with De La Roche today,” I say, referring to the bank’s president.

“Already tried. He’s ‘unavailable.’” I can hear the air quotes in Arkady’s voice. “But his assistant mentioned something interesting. Apparently, they received some concerning information about our operation from ‘a trusted source.’”

Ice forms in my veins. “What trusted source?”

“That’s where it gets interesting,” Arkady says. “The paperwork had the Akopov family seal. The old one. The one only your father still uses.”

I close my eyes.Breathe, motherfucker. Breathe through the rage. It doesn’t serve you any longer. “Are you certain?”

“Positive. I had Pavel check the security footage at the bank. Guess who personally delivered an envelope to De La Roche’s office yesterday morning?”

“My father.”

“Bingo.”

I end the call and lean against the wall. There’s only one word for this: betrayal. My father—the man who raised me, who taught me everything I know about business and the Bratva—is actively sabotaging my legitimization efforts.

The very efforts I’m making to secure a better future for my wife and child.

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