Page 33 of Filthy Promises

“And when will that be?”

I think of the thud outside my office door. The lingering scent of her cheap perfume. The report that she went straight home, told no one what she heard, did not pass Go, did not collect two hundred dollars. All positive signs, and yet…

“That remains to be seen.”

Arkady leans forward, suddenly serious. “Just remember—civilian attachments are liabilities in our world. If she becomes a problem…”

He doesn’t finish the thought. He doesn’t need to.

We both know what happens to problems in the Bratva.

“She won’t be,” I say with more certainty than I feel. “She’s smart. Desperate. And she wants something only I can give her.”

“A good fucking?” Arkady suggests with his usual dose of grace and chivalry.

I smile despite myself. “That, too. But more than that—security. Status. A way out of the pit her life has become.”

“What happens when she discovers the pit you’re offering is much, much deeper?”

It’s a good question. One I don’t have an answer for yet.

“We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it,” I say. Then I shrug. “Or we’ll set the bridge on fire. Either way is fine with me.”

Arkady sighs and tops off both our glasses. “To beautiful, desperate women,” he says, raising his cup in a toast. “May they never realize how dangerous we really are until it’s too late.”

I clink my glass against his, but my mind is elsewhere.

Back in my office, with Rowan’s scent lingering in the air.

Back to the moment I realized she might have heard something she shouldn’t have.

Back to the decision I now face—trust her, or eliminate the risk she represents.

For some reason I can’t quite name, I’m hoping for the former. Which is strange, becausehopehas never been part of my vocabulary.

Until now.

10

ROWAN

Mom’s hospital room always smells the same.

Antiseptic. Stale air. The faint, lingering scent of whatever sad cafeteria food they brought her for lunch.

And flowers. Always flowers, because I can’t visit without bringing some. Today, it’s yellow daisies, cheap but cheerful. Mom loves daisies.

“There’s my girl!” Her face lights up when I walk in. Despite everything, she still has the brightest smile I’ve ever seen. “Two visits in one week? What did I do to deserve such special treatment?”

I lean down to kiss her forehead. “Just missed your face, that’s all.”

She looks better today. Her color is good, and she’s sitting up in bed. The doctors say the new treatment is working, slowing the cancer’s spread. Not eliminating it, but buying time.

Time costs money, though. A lot of it.

“Tell me everything,” she orders playfully, patting the edge of her bed. “How’s work? How’s that handsome boss of yours?”

I nearly choke.

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