Page 133 of Filthy Lies

“May I see her?” he asks, so quietly I almost miss it. “Properly this time? Not as enemies across a negotiating table, but as…”

“Family,” I finish for him.

He nods like he can’t rely on his voice to do the work for him.

I shouldn’t trust him. I’ve spent too long in Vince’s world to trust anyone easily. But there’s something in Grigor’s eyes—something that mirrors the desperate love I feel for Sofiya—that makes me nod.

“Wait here.”

I fetch my sleepy, fussing daughter, who calms the moment I lift her against my chest. When I return, Grigor stands by the window, bathed in moonlight.

He turns, and I see the exact moment he truly sees Sofiya—his whole face transforms, decades of hardness melting away.

I move closer, still keeping a safe distance. “This is your grandfather, Sofi. Your mother’s father.”

Sofiya blinks sleepily at him, unimpressed by the introduction. Then, without warning, she stretches her arms toward him, fingers grasping at air.

“Papa?” she asks hopefully.

I freeze, blood turning to ice water in my veins. “No, sweetheart, that’s not Papa. That’s… that’s…”

But Sofiya is insistent. Her little face scrunches up in frustration. “Papa! Papa!”

Grigor chuckles, though it’s tinged with sadness. “She wants her father.”

“She’s confused,” I murmur. “She doesn’t understand?—”

“She understands perfectly.” Grigor steps back, hands clasped tightly behind him as if to physically restrain himself from reaching for her. “She knows who her father is, and she wants him.”

Sofiya struggles in my arms, her cries growing more insistent. “Papa! Papa!”

“Shhh, baby girl,” I whisper against her hair. “Papa’s not here right now.”

“When did she start speaking?” Grigor asks, visibly trying to change the subject.

“She doesn’t, not really. Just ‘Mama’ and...” I swallow hard. “‘Papa.’ Vince spent hours with her before bedtime every night. Reading to her, talking to her. He was… he was a good father.”

“And yet you ran from him.”

“I found plans—detailed assault plans—for your compound.” I look up at him, challenging. “He was going to kill you, and he didn’t even have the decency to tell me first.”

Whether he knew that already or not, it’s impossible to say. Grigor’s expression doesn’t change. “Would you have stopped him?”

“I—” Well, would I have? Three months ago, maybe not. But now? After meeting Grigor? After reading my mother’s letters? “… Yes. I would have stopped him.”

“Well, I suspect he knew that. Which is why he didn’t tell you.”

I’m quiet.

“You’ve changed him,” Grigor continues. “More than you realize. The Vincent Akopov I’ve known for years wouldn’t havesuspended an operation just because his wife discovered it. He would have accelerated it, eliminated the threat, then begged forgiveness afterward. Or, more likely, not begged at all.”

“How do you know he’s really suspended it?” I challenge. “Maybe it’s a trap.”

“Because I have people inside his organization, just as he has people in mine. The order came down three days ago, immediately after your disappearance.Complete stand-down. No one goes near Petrov territory.”

I sink back onto the couch. Sofiya burrows into my neck, her tears dampening my skin.

“If I go back…” I begin.

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