Page 169 of Filthy Lies

“Broken,” I correct him. “That’s what you did to me. You broke me and called it strength.”

The tension between us shifts, decades of resentment and pain rippling beneath the surface.

“I want to see her,” he says suddenly.

“Who?”

“Sofiya. My granddaughter.” His voice softens. “I’ve never held her. Never really looked at her. She’s my blood, too, Vincent.”

The request blindsides me. In all our years of conflict, I’ve never heard vulnerability in his voice.

“Why now?” I ask, suspicious.

“Because…” He hesitates, something close to emotion shadowing his features. “Because she’s all that will be left of me when I’m gone.”

For a heartbeat, I almost believe him. I almost see the father I wanted instead of the one I got. The grandfather Sofiya deserves instead of the beast who tried to have me killed.

“Please, Vincent,” he says, and it’s the ‘please’ that catches me off-guard. Andrei Akopov doesn’t beg. “One moment with my granddaughter. I have rights as her grandfather.”

Something cold settles in my stomach.Rights. Not a request, not a plea.Rights. As if Sofiya is a piece of property to be claimed.

“And if I refuse?”

The mask slips. Just for a second, but long enough for me to see the monstrous gnashing beneath. “Then I might have to reconsider what I do next.”

There it is.

“You would use my daughter as leverage,” I state. “You’d threaten to take her from us if I don’t give you what you want.”

“I would do whatever necessary to ensure the Akopov legacy continues properly.”

In that moment, clarity passes through me. There is no redemption here. No reconciliation. No path forward where my father exists in the same world as my daughter.

He wrote his own eulogy. I just provided the stage.

“You know, Otets,” I say, moving to my desk, “I’ve spent my entire life trying to earn your approval. Trying to be the son you wanted. The heir you deserved.” I open the drawer, fingers closing around cold metal. “And I’ve finally realized something important.”

“What’s that?” he asks, oblivious to the sentence I’ve just passed on him.

I straighten, gun in hand, leveled at his chest. “You were never worth the effort.”

His eyes go huge. “You wouldn’t. I’m your father.”

“You’re a threat to my daughter.” My voice is steady, but my hand is even steadier. “You’re a threat to my wife. You’re a threat to everything I love. And I don’t leave threats alive.”

“Vincent, think about what you’re doing.” His hands rise slightly. “The council will never?—”

“The council will follow whoever holds the power. And after tonight, that will still be me.” I step closer, gun aimed at his heart. “You taught me that, remember? Power is the only currency that matters in our world.”

“If you do this,” he warns, “there’s no coming back. The feds will know. Carver will know. Your deal will be worthless.”

He’s right. Killing him could jeopardize everything I’ve built with the FBI. Carver will see it as a breach of our agreement, proof that I haven’t really changed. That I’m still the reckless criminal they believe me to be.

But Sofiya’s safety matters more than anything else.

“I would burn everything to the ground,” I tell him, “before I let you near my daughter again.”

His eyes narrow, condescending even now. “You won’t pull that trigger. You’re too afraid of the consequences.”

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