Page 171 of Filthy Lies

“If my husband wanted to kill his father,” I interject, “he wouldn’t be stupid enough to do it at a party full of witnesses with an FBI agent in attendance.” I tilt my head, letting my hair cascade over one shoulder. “And he certainly wouldn’t leave evidence for you to find.”

Carver’s attention shifts to me. His eyes track from my face down to where my hand rests on Vince’s thigh, then back up. “Mrs. Akopov, I understand loyalty to your husband, but?—”

“Two plus two is four, Agent Carver.” I stand, moving to the desk where I’ve placed a folder. “We’ve been expecting something like this since Andrei learned about our arrangement with you. He had enemies everywhere, not just within his own family.”

I open the folder, spreading photographs across the desk. Surveillance photos of Nikolai Barkov meeting with representatives from the Solovyov family two days before our party. Phone records showing calls between Barkov and several known Solovyov associates.

And Andrei in the thick of it all.

“Barkov has been working with what’s left of the Solovyovs since their leadership was arrested,” I explain. “They blame Andrei for failing to warn them about the FBI’s investigation. They think he sold them out to protect his own interests.”

I slide another document toward Carver—a transcript of a conversation between Barkov and a Solovyov lieutenant, discussing plans to “make an example” of Andrei.

“Where did you get these?” Carver asks in suspicion.

“We have eyes and ears everywhere, Agent Carver,” I say with a small smile. “Just like you.”

Carver examines the evidence, his brow furrowed. “This could easily be manufactured.”

“It could,” Vince agrees, speaking for the first time since I took over. “But why would we bother? My father was a liability, but he was also the past. The council had already transferred power to me. Killing him would create exactly the kind of suspicion we’re dealing with now. It’s a risk with no reward.”

Except the satisfaction of eliminating the man who tried to have you murdered,I think but don’t say.And the protection of our daughter from a man who’d only use her to further his own ends.

Carver still looks unconvinced, but I can see doubt creeping in at the edges. “The timing is extremely convenient.”

“The timing is exactly what the Solovyovs wanted,” I counter. “Create discord within our organization just as we’ve secured a deal with the FBI. Make it look like Vince murdered his father to protect that deal. It’s elegant, really.” I gesture to the documents. “And it would have worked… if we hadn’t been watching them.”

The tension in the room is thick enough to choke on. I can feel Vince’s eyes on me, burning with a mixture of pride and need.

Carver gathers the documents, face still furrowed in a skeptical frown. “I’ll have these analyzed.” His voice is tight, strangled. “But hear me now, both of you—if I find even a shred of evidence linking either of you to Andrei’s disappearance, our agreement is null and void. I’ll personally see to it that the full weight of the RICO case comes down heavy on the Akopov organization.”

Vince rises without shying away. “We understand each other perfectly, Agent.”

After Carver leaves, silence settles over the office. I turn to Vince, my heart thumping against my ribs—not from fear, but from something completely different. Adrenaline courses through my veins like liquid fucking lightning.

“Do you think he believed us?” I ask, though it’s not really what I want to say.

What I want to say is this:

I just lied to a federal agent to cover up your murder of your father…

… and I’ve never felt more alive.

Vince crosses to me, his eyes blazing with that cold blue fire that sets my insides ablaze. He grips my face between his hands. “He believed you enough to create reasonable doubt. Which is all we needed.”

Then he kisses me. I taste blood—his or mine, I don’t know. Don’t care. His hands are everywhere, tearing at my clothes, roaming my skin.

“You were magnificent,” he growls against my throat. “A fucking queen.”

I arch into him, my body responding to his praise, needier than ever. “I did what needed to be done.”

“You lied to the FBI,” he says, his voice thick with arousal. “You protected a murderer.”

“I protected my family,” I correct him, biting his lower lip hard enough to make him hiss.

He yanks me toward the door. His grip on my wrist is just shy of painful. For a moment, I think we’re heading to our bedroom,but he pulls me into a supply closet just off the main hallway, slamming the door behind us.

“What are you?—”

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