Page 196 of Filthy Promises

Rowan’s mother approaches us first with tears streaming down her face. She looks better than she did a month ago—fuller cheeks, more color, stronger. The treatment is working.

“I never thought I’d live to see this day,” she says, embracing her daughter. “My baby, married.”

“Mom, stop,” Rowan laughs, but I see the tears in her eyes, too. “You’re going to make me cry and ruin my makeup.”

Margaret St. Clair turns to me then, studying me with eyes so like her daughter’s. “Take care of her,” she says simply. “She deserves the world.”

“She’ll have it,” I promise. “Whatever she wants.”

For the rest of the reception, I keep Rowan close, my hand at the small of her back as we greet guests. Many approach with gifts—envelopes of cash, jewelry, rare bottles of vodka. Traditional Bratva wedding presents, along with the whispered respect due to the futurepakhanand his bride.

For as long as it lasts, I allow myself to believe this might work. That we might find our way back to what we had before. That I might earn her trust again, her love again.

I should’ve known the moment wouldn’t last long.

“Boss.”

Arkady’s voice cuts through my thoughts. His tone is all wrong.

I turn to find him standing at my elbow, his face carefully neutral, but his eyes telling a different story.

“What?” I ask quietly.

“You need to see this.” He inclines his head subtly toward the gift table. “Arrived just now.”

I excuse myself from Rowan’s side, telling her I’ll be right back. She nods, already deep in conversation with another guest.

At the gift table, Arkady points to a box. Plain cardboard, no wrapping. Not like the other gifts. On top is a card, sealed with wax pressed with a familiar crest.

The Solovyov family crest.

“Fuck,” I mutter. “Who brought this in?”

“Delivery man,” Arkady says grimly. “Got past the first checkpoint with a fake uniform. Dima is questioning him now, but I doubt he knows shit. Just a messenger.”

I take the card, breaking the seal to read the message inside.

To the happy couple. May your union be blessed with all the joy you deserve.

The words themselves are innocuous enough. But this is no friendly gesture. It’s a message. The Solovyovs found a hole in our security on my wedding day. They got close enough to deliver this.

Which means they could get close enough to deliver something far worse.

“The box,” I say quietly. “Have you checked it?”

“X-rayed. Nothing explosive. But...”

“But?”

Arkady hesitates. “You should see for yourself.”

I open the box carefully, pulling back the flaps to reveal what’s inside.

A baby’s rattle. Silver, antique. Beautiful…

… and completely soaked in what can only be blood.

Rage rises in me so fast and hot that for a moment, I can’t see. Can’t breathe. Can’t think beyond the overwhelming need to destroy whoever dared threaten my child. My wife.

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