Page 139 of Filthy Lies

“That snake,” she mutters.

“It gets worse. They want me as a confidential informant. Against the Solovyovs, against my father, and—” I swallow hard. “—against Grigor.”

Rowan’s face whitens. “No.”

“I have twenty-four hours to decide. I either wear a wire or they bury me so deep I’ll never see daylight—or Sofiya—again.”

Her knees buckle. She sits down on the sofa across from me, clutching our daughter like a life preserver in open water.

“They can’t,” she whispers. “They promised me immunity.”

“For you. Not for me.” I keep my distance, though every cell in my body screams to cross the room, to touch her, to press my face into Sofiya’s hair and inhale the scent that’s been haunting me for days. “They used you, Rowan. And now, they’ve got us by the throat.”

My wife’s face hardens into something I barely recognize. “Sofi needs to sleep.”

It’s not what I expected her to say. But as frustrated as I am, I’m not about to argue.

“Her room is just as you left it.”

Rowan stands, still not allowing me near. “I’ll put her down. Then we’ll talk.”

I nod and watch them disappear up the staircase. Part of me is terrified she’ll slip out a window, vanish again. But I force myself to remain where I am, to give her the space she clearly needs.

The minutes stretch into an eternity. I pace the living room, leaving bloody fingerprints on everything I touch.

When Rowan returns, her face is a carefully constructed mask. “She’s asleep.”

“Good.” I gesture to the couch. “Please.”

She sits at one end. I take the opposite, maintaining the chasm between us. We’re like magnets with the wrong poles facing—so desperate to connect but repelled by forces beyond our control.

“What are you going to do?” she asks finally.

“I don’t know yet,” I whisper. “If I refuse, I go to prison and lose everything. If I accept, I’m signing my own death warrant. The Bratva finds out I’m wearing a wire, they’ll kill me. Worse, they might come after you and Sofiya as punishment.”

“And if we run?”

“Good luck. The FBI is watching every exit. Every account. Carver was very clear.”

Silence expands between us, pulsing like a living thing.

“I saw my father,” she says suddenly. “At the beach house. He found me.”

“I know.”

Her eyes flash. “No, Vince. You don’t know. Hetalkedto me. About you. About us. About how respecting Mom’s choice to leave was the hardest thing he’s ever done.” Her voice cracks. “Do you understand what I’m telling you? The man you’ve spent years trying to destroy showed more restraint, more respect for my autonomy, than you ever have.”

My eyes dart to meet hers. “I’ve never tried to control you, Rowan.”

“Are you kidding me right now?” A bitter laugh escapes her. “You tracked me. You bugged me. You kept me on a leash with that fucking necklace?—”

“To protect you!”

“No.” She shakes her head. “To protect yourself from the possibility of losing me. There’s a difference.”

I lurch up abruptly. “You’re right. The assault on the Petrovs, on Grigor—I kept you in the dark. If you hadn’t found out, I never would have told you. I’d have covered it up, buried it deep, just like every other sin I’ve ever justified in the darkness. That’s the kind of man I am.”

Rowan rises, too, though she’s careful to keep the coffee table between us. “Has anything changed?”

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