Page 103 of Filthy Lies

I cross to them and press my palm to Sofiya’s forehead. Heat pours from her skin like she’s been lit from within. Her cheeks are flushed scarlet, eyes glassy. When I pull my hand away, it trembles.

“Get her things,” I order, already lifting Sofiya from the crib. Her tiny body is a burning coal against my chest. “We’re going to the hospital. Now.”

“Vince, babies get fevers all the?—”

“Now, Rowan.”

She must see something in my face that silences her. She hurries to gather Sofiya’s essentials while I carry our daughter downstairs, barking orders into my phone.

“Full security protocol. I want the hospital wing swept and secured. Medical staff vetted. Anyone who came near this house in the last forty-eight hours is to be identified and interrogated.”

Sofiya whimpers against my neck. Quick, shallow pants. Each one is a knife between my ribs.

“What are you doing?” Rowan appears beside me, diaper bag in hand.

“Protecting our daughter.”

“From what? It’s just a fever, Vince.”

I turn to her, jaw clenched so tight I can hear my molars grinding. “There are no coincidences in our world. Not ever.”

“What are you talking about?”

“The timing is fucked. Less than twenty-four hours after you find those letters, after Grigor shows up at the funeral, she’s suddenly sick?” I secure Sofiya in her car seat while Arkady holds the door. “No. They’ve found another way in.”

Rowan’s face drains of color. “You think someone poisoned our baby?”

“I think nothing happens by accident.”

The ride to the hospital is eternal torment. Sofiya’s cries weaken, her body alternating between rigid and limp in her car seat. Sweat beads along her hairline and dampens the dark curls that match her mother’s. Her blue eyes—my eyes—struggle to focus through the fever.

Cold fear wraps itself around my spine. I’ve faced death countless times without flinching. I’ve inflicted suffering without remorse.

But the sight of my daughter in pain turns me inside out.

By the time we reach the hospital, I’ve deployed half my organization. Men in tactical gear pace the perimeter. Others sweep the private wing reserved for the Akopov family. The emergency entrance is flanked by men with concealed weapons, their faces carved from the same stone as mine.

I carry Sofiya inside myself, trusting no one. Not even the nurses who rush to meet us.

“I want every doctor vetted,” I inform the head of security. “Anyone who touches her gets searched first. Full biochemical protocol.”

“Sir, this is a pediatric ward,” a nurse protests, stepping toward us. “We need to examine your daughter immediately.”

“You’ll examine her when I say you can.” My voice could freeze hell itself. “Afteryou’ve been cleared.”

The woman retreats, eyes wide.

“Vince.” Rowan’s hand finds my arm. “She needs medical attention now.”

“She’ll get it. After I know it’s safe.”

“This is ridiculous—” A doctor approaches, flanked by two of my men. “Mr. Akopov, I’m Dr. Oakley. I’ve been through your security protocols.” He eyes the guards with barely concealed unease. “May I please examine your child?”

I reluctantly allow him to lead us to an examination room, though I refuse to release Sofiya until Arkady confirms the space is secure. Only then do I place her on the examination table, my body positioned between her and the door.

Dr. Oakley checks her vital signs. “Her temperature is 103.6. Concerning, but not immediately life-threatening.”

“Test her for everything,” I demand. “Poisons. Toxins. Biological agents.”

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