Page 117 of Filthy Lies

The negative pregnancy test rattled her more than she wants to admit; that much is clear. But there’s something else—something darker—eclipsing her usual fire.

It’s in all the signs. The way she clutched those papers to her chest when I caught her rifling through my briefcase. The way she scurried out of our bedroom with panic bleeding from every pore.

She found something. And whatever it was, it’s making her look at me the way people look at snakes in glass terrariums: wondering if the glass is thick enough to keep them safe.

I’m still trying to figure out exactly what she discovered when Arkady marches into my study without knocking, phone pressed to his ear, eyes wide with what can only be described as pure fucking glee.

“The Solovyovs are crumbling,” he announces, tossing a thick folder onto my desk. “The FBI raid happened twenty minutes ago. Federal agents are swarming their warehouses from Brighton Beach to Staten Island.”

I lean forward and pass an eye over the surveillance photos inside the folder. The picture they paint is grim, if you’re in the Solovyov business. Men in tactical gear hauling crates from buildings. Solovyov lieutenants in handcuffs being shoved into unmarked vans. A glimpse of Agent Carver’s smug face directing operations, grinning from ear to ear like the Cheshire Cat.

“What exactly did you give the FBI?” I ask Arkady. “The intel Rowan provided couldn’t have been this comprehensive.”

“That’s just it.” He beams as he flops into the chair across from me. “We didn’t have to give them anything beyond the initial tip. The momentum of their investigation did the rest. Carver’s people got one thread and pulled until the whole fucking sweater unraveled.”

My eyes narrow. “And our operation?”

“Utterly and completely untouched. Damn near virginal, baby.” He spreads his hands and laughs incredulously. “The FBI is so focused on the Solovyovs they haven’t spared a single glance in our direction. It’s like we’ve become goddamn invisible.”

I lean back and let this news settle into my bones. When Rowan first told me about her meeting with Carver, I’d been furious.When she explained her strategy—offering the Solovyovs as sacrifice to redirect FBI attention—I’d been skeptical at best.

But now…

Well, fuck. She was right.

“There’s more,” Arkady continues. He taps something on his phone before sliding it across the desk to me. “The Barkov family—what’s left of them—has reached out. They want to meet. The Yershovs, too. Even the fucking Kozlovs are making noise about a potential alliance.”

“Opportunistic fucks,” I mutter in disgust.

“They’re rats fleeing a sinking ship,” Arkady corrects. “Afraid they’re next on the FBI’s hit list. They want our protection—and they’re willing to pay top fuckin’ dollar for it, man. This shit is a gold mine.”

The irony isn’t lost on me. For months, we’ve been fighting a multifront war—Solovyovs, my father’s loyalists, the FBI, various disgruntled Bratva families who saw us as vulnerable.

Now, those same enemies are crawling on their bellies to our door, begging for sanctuary.

“My wife,” I say slowly, a vicious pride spreading through my chest like blood in water, “is a fucking genius.”

Arkady snorts. “Don’t tell her that. Her ego’s already big enough.”

“Schedule the meetings. One by one, not all at once. We negotiate from a position of strength.” I stand, gathering the files. “And double the security detail on the compound. Justbecause they’re asking for alliance doesn’t mean they won’t try to eliminate competition if the opportunity presents itself.”

“As always, it is already done, because I’m the best.” Arkady rises, then pauses halfway to his feet. “You going to tell her?”

“Tell who what?”

“Rowan, dumbass.” He gives me a look that suggests I’m being deliberately dense. “That her crazy plan actually worked.”

I look toward the open door and the yawning hallway beyond it. “Yeah,” I say. “I’m going to tell her.”

I find Rowan in our bedroom, sitting cross-legged on the bed with a book open in her lap. She’s not reading it. The pages haven’t turned in the three minutes I’ve been standing in the doorway watching her stare at nothing.

“You were right,” I say, finally stepping into the room.

Her head jerks up, startled. Those green eyes—Grigor’s eyes, not that I’ll ever say that out loud—widen with something that looks dangerously like fear.

“About…?”

“The FBI.” I close the door behind me. “Your plan worked. Better than we could have imagined. They’re dismantling the Solovyovs as we speak.”

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