Page 147 of Filthy Lies

Just grim understanding.

It hits me then, like a bullet to my own chest: Vince has spent his entire life surrounded by people who are supposed to love him unconditionally—his father, his right-hand man, me—and all of us have betrayed him in our own ways.

I fled with his daughter.

Arkady held a gun to his head.

Andrei orchestrated it all.

And still, he stands. Still, he shows compassion. Still, he promises to save Arkady’s family despite everything.

The unwanted empathy floods through me, cracking the ice I’ve carefully packed around my heart. I don’twantto feel for him. Don’twantto understand. It’s easier to hate him, to hold him accountable for all the darkness in our lives.

But watching him now, I can’t help but feel his pain.

Vince takes Arkady to a spare room. I sit in the empty, silent office and stare at the gun on the desk. My hands tremble with aftershocks of adrenaline.

Eventually, Vince slips back in. I look up at him.

“Your own father,” I say. “Your own fucking father would murder his son.”

Vince’s eyes meet mine from across the room. “And you’re surprised?”

“I shouldn’t be. Nothing in this goddamn life should surprise me anymore.”

I take a step forward, then another, until there’s barely space between us. His pulse throbs visibly in his neck—the only sign that he’s affected by nearly dying tonight.

I reach up, my fingertips hovering just above the spot where Arkady’s gun pressed against his skin. “I hate that I still care,”I confess. “I hate that watching you almost die just now felt like my own heart stopping.”

“Rowan—”

“No.” I press my palm against his chest. “Shut up. Just… shut up for once.”

Tears I didn’t know I was holding back spill hot down my cheeks. I curl my fingers into the fabric of his shirt as I clutch him like he might disappear.

“I want to hate you. I’ve tried. God knows I’ve fucking tried.”

“But you don’t.”

“No,” I whisper, my voice a shattered thing. “And that’s the cruelest part of all this.”

In one swift motion, he pulls me against him. “I’m not leaving,” he murmurs into my hair. “The FBI, my father, all of it—we face it together or not at all.” His thumb brushes away a tear. “I’d rather die on my feet with you than live on my knees without you.”

It’s not forgiveness. It’s not even trust restored. But as his forehead presses against mine, our shared breath creating a tiny universe between us, I know it’s a beginning.

Tomorrow, we face hell together.

54

VINCE

The predawn sky is as ugly as a bruise above me—purples and blues and nasty, vicious streaks of red.

Not unlike the inside of my mind right now. Hell, all of me is beaten and battered. How the fuck could it not be?

My own father ordered my execution. He hired my best friend to put a bullet in my brain—and he very fucking nearly got what he wanted.

The coffee in my hand has gone cold, forgotten as I stand on the roof of our compound and watch darkness retreat from the sky. I haven’t slept. How could I? With Rowan’s tears still damp on my shirt and the ghost of Arkady’s gun barrel still pressed against my forehead?

---