Page 161 of Filthy Lies

She stands, moving to place Sofiya in my arms. My daughter’s warm weight grounds me, even as confusion and anger battle for dominance in my mind. Sofiya reaches up to pat my face. She’s happy, utterly oblivious to the tension crackling through the room.

“Look at her, both of you,” Rowan commands. “This is what matters. Not your vendetta. Not your territories. Not yourdamned pride. This little girl carries both your bloodlines. She’s the future of both families, whether you like it or not.”

I gaze down at my daughter, at her blue eyes, set in a face that somehow echoes Grigor’s features through Rowan.

“What do you propose?” Grigor asks after a long silence.

Rowan returns to her seat. “That we erase the lines between us and draw new ones.”

“You expect me to trust him?” I can’t keep the incredulity from my voice.

“I expect you both to be pragmatic,” Rowan replies. “The FBI doesn’t need to destroy you directly. They just need to keep you fighting each other while they pick apart your operations one by one.”

Grigor studies Rowan with an expression I can’t quite read. “Your wife is quite the strategist, Vincent,” he remarks.

He’s not wrong. She’s forcing us to see beyond ourselves. Beyond our hatred. Beyond the blood-soaked legacy we both inherited.

“We do this for Sofiya,” I say finally, meeting Grigor’s gaze directly. “For my daughter’s future.”

“On that, at least, we are in agreement,” Grigor replies.

For the next two hours, we hammer out the framework of a truce that isn’t quite peace but is far from war. Territories are divided with precision. Information channels established. Rules of engagement defined for when conflicts inevitably arise.

Through it all, Rowan guides the conversation with a diplomat’s touch. I find myself watching her more than Grigor, marveling at this side of her I’ve never fully appreciated.

A queen making bold moves on a chessboard occupied by kings.

When the meeting concludes, Grigor stands and offers his hand—not to me, but to Rowan.

“Your mother would be proud,” he tells her. “She had the same gift for seeing paths where others saw only walls.”

Rowan accepts his hand briefly, then steps back to my side, where she belongs.

Grigor nods once, then turns to me. “Take care of them, Akopov. They are precious beyond measure.”

“You don’t need to tell me how to protect my family,” I growl.

A hint of a smile flits across his lips. “No, I suppose I don’t.” He moves toward the door, pausing on the threshold. “I’ll have my man contact Dimitri with the FBI surveillance updates, as agreed.”

And then he’s gone, leaving only the faint scent of his cologne lingering in the air.

No one says a word as we listen to Grigor’s car fade into the distance. When I’m certain he’s truly gone, I turn to face my wife, who stands defiantly before me, chin raised and shoulders squared.

“You manipulated me,” I accuse. “You lied to get me here.”

“I did what was necessary,” she counters. “What neither of you was willing to do.”

I close the distance between us, looming over her. “You don’t make these decisions, Rowan. Not about my business. Not about my enemies.”

“They’re not just your enemies anymore.” Her eyes flash as she pushes a finger into my chest. “Grigor is my father. My daughter’s grandfather. And whether you like it or not, my family.”

Sofiya stirs in my arms, disturbed by our rising voices. I rock her gently until she calms. “Why didn’t you tell me?” I ask, quieter now. “Why go behind my back?”

“Because you wouldn’t have listened,” Rowan says simply. “You’d have seen it as a betrayal rather than the opportunity it is.”

“Opportunity?” I scoff. “To what? Hold hands with Grigor Petrov and sing fucking kumbaya?”

“To create a network neither of you could build alone.” Rowan paces the room as she speaks, passion igniting her words. “Think about it, Vince. I bridge both worlds. I have access to information neither of you can get. Connections neither of you can exploit.”

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