Page 129 of Filthy Lies

I want to believe him. I want it with a desperation that borders on madness. But the truth pulsates between us, and it says otherwise.

“She loved me too much to keep letting me destroy her world.” I stand, decision made. “Send out the order. Operation canceled. Effective immediately.”

“And what should I tell the men?”

I move to the window, staring out at the compound that feels more like a mausoleum than a home now. “Tell them the truth. Vincent Akopov is standing down.”

47

ROWAN

Running away from Vince was like cutting off my own hand. Necessary to survive a deadly infection, but still excruciating.

I stand on the wraparound porch of this weathered beach house, watching waves crash against the shore like my heart smashes against my ribcage—relentless, furious, destructive.

Sofiya sleeps in her makeshift crib inside, blissfully unaware that her mother shattered her family to save it.

It’s been three days since I peeled away Vince’s tracking necklace and fled the life we built together. That means three days of waking up expecting his arms around me, only to find emptiness. Three days of phantom limb syndrome, but the missing limb is my husband’s entire fucking existence.

The beach house sits on a forgotten stretch of Rhode Island coastline, tucked between overgrown dunes and twisted pines that shield it from prying eyes. It’s a place Grigor mentioned in one of the letters to my mother, describing it as “off the books, off the grid, off the fucking radar.” Perfect for a woman hiding from the most dangerous man in New York.

Wind whips strands of hair across my face, stinging my eyes.

Or maybe those are tears. I can’t tell the difference anymore.

“You’re making the right choice,” I whisper to myself. “You’re protecting her. You’re protecting your father.”

But if I’m so right, why does every cell in my body scream that I’m wrong?

Inside, Sofiya stirs awake, cooing softly. Her voice draws me back to reality. I go to her, lifting her tiny body against my chest.

“Good morning, little troublemaker,” I murmur as I pepper her with kisses. “Did you sleep well?”

She gurgles in response, her blue eyes staring up at me with innocent trust that guts me completely.

“I wonder what your daddy is doing right now,” I say. “Probably tearing the world apart looking for us, if I know anything about him.”

My phone sits on the kitchen counter, dead and battery removed. The burner phone I bought lies beside it, used exactly once to contact Natalie after our escape. Even that feels like a risk too great. Vince’s network is vast, his resources limitless.

And his rage? Well, that’s infinite.

“We need groceries,” I tell Sofi as I strap her into the baby carrier against my chest. “A little normalcy wouldn’t kill us.”

The nearest grocery store is twenty minutes away, far enough to be inconspicuous. I drive there in the nondescript sedan I bought with cash, Sofiya babbling happily in her car seat behind me.

It almost feels normal for a second there.

“You know what I miss most about your daddy?” I ask her as we pull into the parking lot. I swallow hard against the lump in my throat. “I miss the way he smelled. Like sandalwood and gunpowder andhome. Nothing else smells quite like that, does it?”

Inside the store, I push a cart through fluorescent-lit aisles, tossing in essentials. Diapers. Formula. Coffee strong enough to keep me alert through the nightmares that plague me whenever I close my eyes.

Sofiya watches everything with wide-eyed fascination from her perch against my chest.

It’s in the produce section that the hairs on the back of my neck stand up.

He’s good—I’ll give him that. But I spent too long living with predators not to recognize when I’m being hunted.

Six-foot-two. Athletic build beneath a casual jacket. The man’s eyes never quite focus on the apples he’s pretending to select. One hand rests slightly inside his jacket, ready to reach for what I’m certain is a weapon.

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