Page 136 of Filthy Lies

He leans forward, elbows on his knees. “We want you to work with us.”

“You want me to be a rat.” Even saying that aloud makes me want to vomit.

“A confidential informant, yes. Against not only the Solovyovs, but your father’s remaining operations.” He pauses, watching me carefully. “And Grigor Petrov’s entire network.”

The enormity of what he’s asking crashes through me. He wants me to betray not just my world, but my wife’s father. The grandfather of my child. The man who shares blood with the woman I worship.

I just spared Grigor, and now, I’ve got a loaded gun to my head demanding that I damn him in a far worse way than I ever planned.

“You’re asking me to commit suicide,” I snarl. “If the Bratva discovers I’m wearing a wire?—”

“Oh, I’ve seen those crime scene photos. Very ugly. I suggest you don’t get caught.” Carver stands, crossing to me. “This is the deal, Akopov. The only deal you will ever get. You work with us while we progressively dismantle the criminal elements. In return, we allow your legitimate businesses to continue. If you refuse…” He shrugs. “… Well, then that would mean thirty-plus years in federal prison while your daughter grows up calling another man ‘Daddy.’”

The glass shatters in my grasp. Whiskey and blood mingle as they drip onto the hardwood floor. I don’t feel the pain. I don’t feel anything except the overwhelming urge to tear this man apart with my bare hands.

“There’s one more thing you should see.” Carver returns to his briefcase and extracts another envelope. “These were taken last night.”

He hands me photographs. My wife. My Rowan. Meeting with Grigor Petrov at a beach house I don’t recognize. They’re sittingclose, talking intimately. In one image, Rowan is holding Sofiya while Grigor looks on, his expression unbearably tender.

“We’ve had Petrov under surveillance for months,” Carver explains. “Your wife’s actions unintentionally exposed her location to our team.”

Every word he’s saying is chosen precisely. And I’m no fool—I understand the implications. If I accept Carver’s offer, I betray Grigor—which means betraying Rowan. If she ever discovers I’ve used her father to save myself…

But if I refuse, I lose everything anyway. My freedom. My empire. Any chance of watching my daughter grow up without cell bars between us.

“I need time,” I croak hoarsely.

“Twenty-four hours,” Carver agrees as he carefully pries the photos back out of my hands. They disappear back into his briefcase, though his smile stays plastered in place. “Then I need an answer. Or we move forward with the indictment.”

He pauses at the door. “For what it’s worth, Akopov, I do actually believe you’re different from the others. You’ve been working to legitimize your operations. This arrangement could accelerate that transition.”

“Get out,” I whisper, blood still dripping from my clenched fist.

He shrugs one last time. “As you wish.”

When the door closes behind him, I breathe until his footsteps fade away. Only then do I allow myself ten seconds of pure, unfiltered rage.

The remaining whiskey decanter crashes against the wall.

A chair splinters under my boot.

My fist drives through drywall with a satisfying crunch.

Then, just as quickly, the storm passes.

I need to find Rowan. I have to tell her about Carver’s ultimatum before she hears it from someone else. Then I have to see my daughter’s face one more time before I make a decision that could destroy us all.

My phone sits heavy in my hand as I dial the number for my most discreet pilot.

“Prepare the jet,” I order. “Newport, Rhode Island.”

I hang up the phone and stare at the blood dripping from my mangled knuckles. It’s fitting that I’m bleeding all over this fucking house. This place has always fed on pain—first my father’s, then mine. Will Sofiya inherit that birthright?

Twenty-four hours. That’s all Carver’s giving me before he either gets me on my knees as his personal rat or buries me under a RICO case so thick that my daughter will be graduating college before I taste freedom again.

“Arkady,” I call out, knowing he’s never far. He materializes in the doorway. “Have the car brought around.”

“Vin, you’re bleeding.” His eyes flick to my hand, to the shattered glass, to the hole in the wall. “What happened with Carver?”

---