Page 17 of Filthy Lies

And that’s when I hear it.

A baby’s cry.

High-pitched, distressed, unmistakable.

My baby.

My. Fucking. Child.

Something shifts inside me—a tectonic plate sliding beneath the bedrock of who I am. The world narrows to a tunnel, and at the end of that tunnel is that sound.

Nothing else matters. Not the mission. Not the danger. Not even my own survival.

I move without thinking, without strategy, without anything but pure instinct driving me forward.

“Akopov, wait—” Daniel hisses, but I’m already gone.

The hallway stretches before me, doors on either side. I follow the sound. Northwest corner. Last room on the left.

Another cry, louder now. And something else—a woman’s voice. Angry, threatening, proud.

Rowan.

I don’t check for traps. Don’t signal Arkady. Don’t do anything that Vincent Akopov, calculated tactician and ruthlesspakhan, would normally do.

I just kick the fucking door off its hinges and storm in, gun raised.

And freeze.

Rowan is alive.

Rowan is alive… andshe’s holding our child.

She’s pale—too pale—with dark circles beneath her eyes and dried blood on her thighs. Her hair is a tangled mess, sweat-soaked and matted against her skull. Her dress is torn and filthy.

She’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.

In her arms is a tiny bundle, wrapped in rags. Our child. Our baby. Alive and crying andhere.

But it’s not just that she’s alive. It’s what she’s doing.

Rowan, who once fainted at the sight of blood, who cringed when I raised my voice, who embodied everything soft and gentle in this world—she has a syringe pressed against a frail blonde woman’s throat.

And she looks very fucking willing to use it.

“Vincent.” My name comes out on her exhale.

The guard takes advantage of her distraction, lunging forward. Without hesitation, I put a bullet between the woman’s eyes. Her body crumples at my feet.

Instantly dead. Instantly forgotten.

I’m across the room in three strides, pulling Rowan and our child against my chest with my free arm while keeping my gun trained on the door.

“You found us,” she whispers into my neck. “You found us.”

“Always,” I manage, my voice raw. “I will always find you.”

The baby squirms between us, still crying. Rowan shifts and adjusts the bundle so I can see.

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