Page 118 of Filthy Lies

For a split second, triumph flashes across her face—a glimpse of the fierce woman I married. Then it’s gone, replaced by the sameguarded wariness that’s been shadowing her eyes since I came home.

“That’s good,” she says at last.

“Good?” I laugh as I join her on the edge of the bed. “It’s fucking brilliant, Rowan. The Bratva families that have been gunning for us are now begging for protection. The FBI is so focused on the Solovyovs they’ve forgotten we exist. You turned our worst enemies into our biggest opportunity.”

She nods, eyes averted. “I’m glad.”

“Glad? That’s all you have to say?” I reach for her hand, but she pulls it back. I frown. “Talk to me, Rowan. What’s going on?”

“Nothing’s going on.” She closes her book with a snap. “I’m tired, Vince. It’s been a long few days.”

“Bullshit.” I stand. Frustration crackles through me like lightning seeking ground. “You’ve been looking at me like I’m a stranger since I got back from Costa Rica. Like you’re afraid of me.”

“I’m not afraid of you,” she says, but there’s no conviction in it.

“Then what? The pregnancy test? I told you, we can try again when?—”

“The Cayman Islands,” she blurts out, looking immediately like she wishes she could stuff the words back down her throat. “Does that mean anything to you?”

Understanding dawns cold and sharp. It’s absurd that I didn’t see it before, but all she had to say was those three little words and the whole piece swims into resolution.

“You think I’m planning… You found the offshore accounts in my name and thought—what? That I’m building myself an escape hatch without you and Sofiya?”

Her silence is answer enough.

Jesus fucking Christ.

“You actually believe I could do that,” I say flatly.

“I didn’t know what to think, Vince.” She wraps her arms around herself, suddenly small and vulnerable in a way that makes my chest ache. “All those accounts in your name only. Properties I’ve never heard of. Money I didn’t know existed. Two plus two is four, you know?”

I scrub a hand down my face, marveling at how spectacularly I’ve failed to communicate with the one person who matters most.

“Those accounts are adecoy, Rowan.”

Her eyes snap to mine. “What?”

“A red herring. Breadcrumbs.” I sit beside her again, close enough to touch but not reaching for her yet. “The FBI, the Bratva, our enemies—they’re all looking for my assets. For leverage they can use against us.” I gesture toward the door, where somewhere beyond it, Sofiya sleeps in her crib. “For ways to hurt the people I love.”

Her lips part in shock as I keep talking.

“So I built a convincing trap. Accounts that look like hidden assets but are actually monitored by the FBI. Properties that appear to be secret hideaways but are under surveillance. Money trails designed specifically to be found and followed—leading everyoneawayfrom where the real assets are kept.”

“And where are the real assets kept?” she asks, still not entirely convinced.

I hold her gaze steadily. “In trusts under shell companies—registered toyou and Sofiya.All that stuff is protected by lawyers who don’t know they’re working for me, and it’s accessible to you—andonlyto you—in the event of my death or imprisonment.”

Her jaw falls all the way open. “You… you put everything inournames?”

“Everything that matters.” I reach for her hand again, and this time, she doesn’t wrench away. “I’m not building an escape route for myself, Rowan. I’m building a safety net for my girls.”

Tears well in her eyes, threatening to spill over. “I thought you were planning to leave us behind.”

“Never.” I cup her face in my hands, willing her to believe me. “You and Sofiya are the only things in this world I wouldn’t leave behind.”

A tear slips down her cheek. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry for doubting you. I’m an idiot.”

“No.” I brush the tear away with my thumb. “I’m sorry for not telling you. For letting you think, even for a moment, that I’d abandon my family.”

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