Page 32 of Filthy Promises

I chuckle. “Already told him. Not with your poetry, of course. But the message was received.”

“I’ll get that printed on a Hallmark card in case he forgets. Then I’ll fold the card until it’s all corners and shove it up said shit-covered ass. Only then will it truly be ‘message received.’”

He’s a motor mouth, but the fucker knows how to make me laugh. One of the few alive who does that on a semi-regular basis.

The meeting continues, covering territory disputes, protection payments, and upcoming business ventures. Some of it is legal. Most of it is not. The dual nature of the Akopov empire requires constant balancing—the legitimate face we show the world, and the shadow organization that truly wields the power.

One’s a hell of a lot more fun than the other, though.

An hour later, business concluded, the lieutenants file out to go give the Korean massage parlor a not-so-happy ending, leaving only Arkady and me lounging at the table.

“Drink?” he offers, heading to the bar.

“Vodka. Neat.”

He pours two glasses and returns, sliding one across to me. “I heard you got a new assistant. Vanessa finally get shipped off to Siberia?”

“Singapore,” I correct, sipping the vodka. “And yes, I replaced her.”

“Anyone interesting?”

I consider the question. Is Rowan interesting? A marketing associate with a sick mother and a five-year crush on me? Does that qualify?

“Perhaps,” I finally answer. “She’s… different.”

Arkady raises an eyebrow. “Different how? And please don’t tell me you’re fucking this one, too.”

“Not yet.”

He sighs dramatically. “Vince, when will you learn? Sleeping with the help always ends badly.”

“This isn’t about sex.”

Though, as the words leave my mouth, I know they’re partially a lie. Of course it’s about sex—at least partly. I’ve been half-hard all day just watching her fumble through her new duties. That green dress is a fucking crime against humanity, if only because it belongs in tatters next to my bed.

“Then what is it about?” he presses.

I swirl the clear liquid in my glass, watching the light refract through it. “My father is pushing the marriage issue again.”

Understanding dawns on Arkady’s face. “Ah. The inheritance clause. Tick-tock. Seven months left, right?”

“Six and a half.”

“And you think this girl might be…?”

I shrug. “She could be useful. For maintaining my cover, if nothing else.”

Arkady studies me for a long moment. He sees past the facade; he always has. “You’re playing a dangerous game, my friend. Using some innocent girl as a shield against your father’s demands?”

“She’s not that innocent.” Even as I say it, though, I recall the wide-eyed look she gave me when I mentioned her crush. The blush that followed. The whisperedOh.“And she’ll be well-compensated for her troubles.”

“Money ain’t everything, bub.”

“Says the man with three penthouses and a yacht.”

He laughs, conceding the point. “Fair enough. But still—does she know what she’s getting into?”

“No.” I finish my drink. “And she won’t. Not until I’m sure she can be trusted.”

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