Page 231 of Filthy Promises

She nods. “I know we’ve been avoiding the topic, but we can’t keep calling it ‘Baby Akopov’ forever.”

I’ve been dreading this conversation. In Bratva families, there are traditions. Firstborn sons are typically named after their grandfathers—a sign of respect and continuity.

But naming my child after my father feels wrong now. Especially after what I’ve just learned.

“What did you have in mind?” I ask carefully.

“If it’s a boy, I was thinking Aleksandr.” She watches my reaction closely. “It means ‘defender of the people.’ I thought that was fitting, given what we’re trying to build.”

“Aleksandr,” I repeat, testing the name. It feels right. Strong but not harsh. Traditional without being tied to my father. “I like it.”

Relief steals over her face. “Really? You’re not just saying that?”

“I mean it.” I take her hand. “It’s perfect.”

“And if it’s a girl…” She hesitates. “I was thinking maybe Sofiya. After your mother.”

Emotion tightens my throat unexpectedly. “Sofiya,” I manage. “She would have liked that.”

Rowan squeezes my hand. “Is that a yes?”

“It’s a yes.” I bring her fingers to my lips. “Aleksandr or Sofiya Akopov. A new beginning.”

She beams at me, and for as long as that lasts, everything else fades away. My father’s betrayal, the collapsed deal, the uncertain future of our plans to take the Bratva legit—noneof it matters compared to the sight of Rowan’s smile and the knowledge that, soon, we’ll hold our child in our arms.

“I have meetings this morning,” I tell her reluctantly. “But I’ll be back for lunch. Is there anything you need before I go?”

“Just a kiss,” she says, tugging me closer. “And maybe help getting to the bathroom. This bowling ball makes movement challenging.”

I laugh and help her up, supporting her weight as she waddles to the en suite. Before I leave, I press one more kiss to her lips.

“I love you,” I tell her, meaning it more than I ever have.

“I love you, too,” she replies. “Try not to terrorize too many people today.”

Not too many,I almost say.Today’s list has only one name.

67

VINCE

My father’s study door looms as it always has. Grandiose, overly large, suffused with its own importance.

I don’t knock before entering. Those days are long past.

Andrei looks up from his desk, surprise flickering across his features before his expression settles into careful neutrality.

“What an unexpected surprise, son.”

“Is it?” I close the door behind me. “I thought you might be anticipating this visit.”

He sets down his pen. “Something on your mind?”

“Several somethings. First National Bank.” I watch his face closely. “The Costa Rica development.”

Not a flicker of guilt crosses his features. My father has always been an excellent liar. It’s a skill he passed down to me, along with his capacity for violence and his unwavering belief in family above all else.

“Ah,” he says simply. “So you’ve heard.”

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