Page 236 of Filthy Promises

“Be careful,” she warns.

If she only knew.

The warehouse at the docks hasn’t been used for Bratva business in years. It’s too exposed, too many cameras nearby. But for today’s meeting, those are advantages, not liabilities. My fatherwon’t risk open violence where law enforcement might be watching.

At least, that’s the theory.

Arkady pulls the car to a stop half a block away. “You sure about this, boss?”

“No,” I answer honestly. “But it needs to be done.”

“I don’t like it,” he says, checking his weapon. “Let me come in with you.”

I shake my head. “This is between him and me.”

“At least wear this.” He hands me a small device. “Panic button. Press it twice, my team storms the place.”

I slip it into my pocket, though I have no intentions of using it. “Two hours. If you don’t hear from me by then?—”

“I’ll come in shooting,” he finishes grimly.

“Not you.” I meet his eyes in the rearview mirror. “You go straight to Rowan. Get her somewhere safe. That’s an order.”

He nods once. “Good luck, Vin.”

I don’t believe in luck. Never have. But as I approach the weathered metal door of the warehouse, I find myself wishing I did.

My father is already inside, standing in a shaft of dusty sunlight that filters through the high windows. He looks older than when I saw him last week—the silver in his hair more pronounced, the lines around his mouth carved deeper.

Or maybe I’m just seeing him clearly for the first time.

“Vincent.” He doesn’t move from his spot. “I was beginning to think you wouldn’t come.”

“I said I would.” I stop ten feet away, maintaining distance. Caution. “You said you wanted to talk. So talk.”

“Always so direct.” He smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “No time for pleasantries, even with your own father.”

“Pleasantries are for friends,” I reply. “Are we friends,Otets?”

“We’re family.” He spreads his hands. “Blood. That is—or at least, it should be—a bond that transcends friendship or business. Or temporary distractions.”

I feel my jaw tighten. “If that’s how you see my wife, we have nothing to discuss.”

“Oh, I think we do.” He begins to pace, his footsteps echoing in the empty space. “Your American bride has been busy, hasn’t she? Digging through records. Connecting dots. Playing detective.”

My skin prickles with goosebumps. He knows about Rowan’s research. Which means he’s watching her. Watching us.

“Stay away from my wife,” I say, my voice deadly quiet.

“Or what?” He laughs. “You’ll kill me? Your own father?”

The thought has crossed my mind over the last week. More than once.

“I’ve given you every opportunity to be part of our future,” I say instead. “You could help build something that will last beyond our lifetime. And at every turn, you’ve chosen sabotage.”

“I’ve chosen tradition!” he thunders suddenly, his composure cracking. “I’ve chosen the path that made us strong, that kept us alive when others fell! And what have you chosen, Vincent? Legitimacy?” He spits the word like poison. “Corporate boardrooms and tax returns and bowing to American laws?”

“I’ve chosen survival,” I counter. “I looked at the road you wanted to walk down and I saw blood on the ground, Father. So instead, I picked a future where my child doesn’t have to carry a gun to school or wonder which of their friends might betray them for the right price.”

---