Page 155 of Filthy Lies

“The kind that involves your father.” I lock eyes with Daniil. “And your loyalty to my husband.”

Daniil’s jaw tightens. “My loyalty is to Anastasia. Not to Vincent.”

“But it’s his protection keeping you both alive.” I take a sip of my bitter coffee. “How long do you think you’d last without his guards, his connections, his resources?”

“Is that a threat?” Anastasia asks.

“No. It’s reality.” I set down my cup. “Vince is on the brink. If we don’t act now, he’ll go after his father without a plan, without backup, and he’ll either end up dead or in federal prison.”

Daniil exchanges a glance with Anastasia. Some silent communication passes between them—the kind that only exists between people who have survived hell together.

“What exactly are you asking us to do?” he finally asks.

“I need you to arrange a meeting between my father and my husband. Without either of them knowing I initiated it.”

Daniil’s eyebrows shoot up. “This is a suicide mission. They’ll kill each other on sight.”

“Not if we set it up properly. Neutral ground. Limited security. High stakes for both sides.” I clutch the edge of the table. “My father respects strength. And strategy. If Daniil approaches him as a son seeking reconciliation, using the FBI threat as leverage…”

“He’d consider it,” Anastasia finishes for me. “Especially if it meant protecting his granddaughter’s future.”

“And Vince?” Daniil challenges. “How do you propose to convince a man who’s built his entire identity on destroying the Petrovs to sit down with Grigor?”

“You leave Vince to me.” My smile feels brittle on my face. “Just make it happen.”

They agree, ultimately. Not because they trust me—they don’t, not fully—but because they recognize the lifeline I’m offering. A path to reconciliation with Grigor would mean freedom for them. An end to the hiding, the skulking, the borrowed security.

We part ways with no hugs, no warm goodbyes. Maybe one day, we’ll get there, but it’s too soon for that right now.

We have nothing to celebrate. Not yet.

My next stop is even riskier.

Natalie waits for me in her cramped apartment, the place unchanged since college except for the framed photos of us that have mysteriously disappeared. I don’t blame her for taking them down. How do you display friendship pictures when one friend is married to a monster and the other was paid to spy on her?

“You look—” she begins.

“Like shit. I know.” I brush past her into the living room. “I already heard that once this morning.”

Natalie closes the door behind me, locks it, then slides the chain into place. “I?—”

“I need access to the financial records you collected on Barkov.” I get straight to the point. “The ones that link him to Andrei’s sabotage of the Costa Rica development.”

Her face goes pale. “If Vince finds out I gave you those files?—”

“He won’t.” I catch her wrist, squeezing just tight enough to convey seriousness without causing pain. “This isn’t about Vince. It’s about making sure my daughter still has a father when this is over.”

Natalie studies my face, searching for something—sincerity, perhaps, or the last remnants of the woman she once knew. Something in my expression must convince her, because she pulls away and crosses to a locked cabinet.

“You’ve changed,” she says, voice muffled as she kneels to open the safe hidden behind a false panel. “And not in a good way, Row.”

“We all change. It’s called survival.”

She emerges with a flash drive clutched in her hand. “Everything I have on Barkov and Andrei is here.” She hesitates before handing it over. “What are you going to do with it?”

“Create leverage.” I pocket the drive.

“And then what? You think Carver will just back off because you hand him a different target?”

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