Page 230 of Filthy Promises

Why? What could he possibly gain from undermining his own son? His own legacy?

Unless…

Unless he never intended for me to leave the criminal world at all. What if all his talk of “transition” and “evolution” was just that: talk? Empty words meant to placate me while he ensured the Bratva remained exactly as it has always been?

Bloody.

Violent.

Inescapable.

“Vince?” Rowan’s sleepy voice calls from the bedroom. “Everything okay?”

I school my features before stepping back inside. “Everything’s fine,” I lie smoothly. “Just a work call.”

She struggles to sit up, and I move quickly to help her, arranging the pillows behind her back. “At six in the morning?”

“International business. Time zones are a bitch.” I press a kiss to her temple. “How are you feeling?”

“Like I swallowed a bowling ball.” She smiles ruefully, rubbing her belly. “Your child has decided that my ribs make an excellent punching bag.”

I place my hand beside hers, feeling the strong kicks against my palm. “Already fighting. A true Akopov.”

“God help us all,” she jokes, but her eyes search mine. “You sure everything’s okay? You look a little tense.”

I debate telling her about my father’s interference, but it doesn’t take long to decide against it. She has enough to worry about with the baby coming any day now. This is my problem to solve.

“Just thinking about all the work waiting for me,” I say instead. “But it can wait. I was going to surprise you with breakfast in bed.”

Her face lights up. “Pancakes?”

“With extra syrup, just how you like them.” I tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. “Stay here. I’ll be right back.”

In the kitchen, I work methodically. It’s easier to focus on the simple task of making breakfast rather than the rage simmering beneath the surface. The Costa Rica developmentwas a cornerstone of our legitimization plan—a major resort that would generate substantial legal income while providing jobs for many of our people transitioning out of criminal enterprises.

Without it, we lose both momentum and credibility with those who were skeptical about the change in direction.

And that’s exactly what my father wants.

By the time I return to our bedroom with a tray of pancakes, fresh fruit, and orange juice, I’ve made my decision. This ends today. I will not allow Andrei Akopov to dictate my future—or the future of my family—any longer.

He’ll learn his lesson, one way or another.

For his sake, I hope he learns it quickly.

“You’re spoiling me,” Rowan accuses as I set the tray across her lap.

“You deserve to be spoiled.” I sit beside her. I can’t help but grimace as she drizzles an obscene amount of maple syrup over her stack.

“Mmm.” She closes her eyes as she takes the first bite. “Add this to the list with foot massages and blindfolded sex.”

I smile despite my dark thoughts. “High praise indeed.”

We eat in comfortable silence for a few minutes before she speaks again.

“I’ve been thinking,” she says, setting down her fork. “About names.”

“For the baby?”

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