Page 224 of Filthy Promises

“And Peterson? You trust him to stay quiet?”

“I trust his self-interest. Costa Rica is paradise compared to the alternatives.”

Arkady gives me a sideways look. “Still… the old Vince wouldn’t have left any loose ends.”

I stare out at the passing city lights. “The old Vince didn’t have a wife who believes he can be better. Or a child who deserves a father outside of prison walls.”

“She’s changed you.”

It’s not a question, but I answer anyway.

“She hasn’t changed who I am. Just how I solve problems.” I turn to face him. “The goal remains the same: protect what’s mine. But the methods… the methods can evolve.”

Three days later, Rowan storms into my study.

“You had him killed, didn’t you?” she demands without preamble.

I set down my pen, studying her carefully. Two months of marriage have taught me when to tread carefully with my wife.

This is definitely one of those times.

“Who are we discussing?” I ask, though I already know.

“Don’t play dumb, Vincent. It doesn’t suit you.” She slams her phone down on my desk. “Kevin Peterson. My former boss. He’s gone. Vanished. His apartment is empty, his office cleaned out, his mother moved from her care facility.”

I maintain eye contact. “And you immediately assumed I had him killed.”

She crosses her arms over her swollen belly. “What was I supposed to think? The man approaches me at an event, makes vague threats about your business practices, and then disappears without a trace three days later?”

“You could have asked me first,” I point out, “instead of storming in here, hurling accusations.”

“I’m asking now,” she spits. “Did you have Kevin killed?”

I rise from my desk and move toward her slowly. “No, Rowan. I did not have Kevin Peterson killed.”

Relief flashes across her face, quickly replaced by suspicion. “Then what happened to him?”

“I offered him a job.”

She blinks rapidly. “A… job?”

“Marketing Director for our Costa Rica development.” I guide her to the leather sofa against the wall, helping her sit as I lower myself beside her. “Triple his salary, company housing, comprehensive benefits for himself and his mother.”

Rowan’s eyes narrow. “Why would you do that?”

“Because he was working with the FBI,” I say simply. “And a rival organization. Gathering evidence against the Akopov family.”

Her face pales. “He… he what?”

“After your encounter with him at the event, I had him investigated. He was meeting regularly with Nikolai Barkov, a minor player trying to curry favor with federal authorities.”

“So you offered him a job?” She sounds incredulous. “Instead of…”

“Instead of having him killed, like he deserved?” I finish for her. “Yes.”

Her hand finds mine, fingers interlacing. “Why? I mean, I’m grateful you didn’t, but it’s not exactly your standard operating procedure.”

The truth rises to my lips before I can consider a more strategic answer. “Because of you.”

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