Page 237 of Filthy Promises

“Weak,” he hisses. “She’s made you weak.”

“She’s made me see clearly,” I correct him. “For the first time in my life.”

My father’s face contorts with disgust. “Listen to yourself. You sound like a lovesick teenager, not the heir to the Akopov empire.”

“Maybe that’s because I don’t want your empire,” I say quietly. “Not the way it is.”

“Then you are not my son.”

I knew that was coming, but it still cuts deeper than I expected.

“If that’s your choice,” I say after a pained moment, “so be it.”

He strides closer, his eyes narrowed into furious slits. “You would throw away everything—your heritage, your birthright, your family—for this woman? This outsider?”

I meet his gaze unflinchingly. “In a fucking heartbeat.”

“So be it. Let’s see what it costs you then.”

I don’t need to ask if it’s a threat. Nor do I need to consider how I could reply.

I just pull out my gun and press it to my father’s forehead.

It would be so easy. One clean shot. The ultimate solution to the Andrei problem, just like he taught me.

Eliminate threats ruthlessly. Leave no loose ends.

But Rowan’s voice echoes in my mind.There’s always another way, Vince. A better way.

My father sees my hesitation and laughs, even as the barrel of my weapon is still kissing the wrinkled skin between his eyes. “As I thought. Weak. She’s neutered you, my son.”

“Because I won’t murder my own father?” I shake my head in disgust. “That’s not weakness. It’s humanity.”

He spits on the ground between us. “In our world, humanity gets you killed. Worse—it gets those you love killed.”

Something in his tone makes every nerve in my body go on high alert. “What have you done?”

He smiles again, and this time, there’s a sickening kind of triumph in it. “I wonder… while you’re here, playing at revolution with me, who’s watching your precious Rowan?”

My blood freezes. “Arkady?—”

“—is sitting in a car half a block away,” he finishes for me. “Exactly where you told him to be. Far from your house. Far from your wife.”

I reach for my phone, but he grabs my wrist.

“I’d focus on our conversation if I were you, Vincent.” His grip is strong despite his age. “It would be a shame to miss our last moments together.”

Rage surges through me, hot and familiar. I wrench my arm free and grab him by the throat, slamming him against a nearby support column.

“If you’ve touched her—if you’ve ordered anyone to go near her—I won’t just kill you,” I snarl, tightening my grip. “I’ll make you beg for death first.”

He doesn’t struggle or fight back. Just stares at me with those cold eyes so like my own.

“There he is,” he wheezes through my chokehold. “There’s my son. The killer. Thepakhan. The man who would do anything for what’s his.”

His words are ice water down my spine. I release him abruptly, stepping back as if burnt.

He’s right.

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