Page 173 of Filthy Lies

Sofiya squirms in Vince’s arms, her chubby legs kicking against his black suit. At eighteen months, she’s a force of nature—Vince’s blue eyes, my stubborn chin, and a temper that’s pure Akopov.

“Stay still, princess,” Vince whispers against her dark curls, his voice honey-rough. “Almost done.”

She pats his face in response, her tiny fingers tracing the silver streaks in his beard with fascination.

“Papa,” she croons, loud enough to echo through the ancient rafters.

Several heads turn, including Grigor’s, who sits three rows ahead on the bride’s side. My father’s expression softens when he sees Sofiya, and he offers a subtle nod that Vince returns with equal restraint.

This fragile peace between them still astounds me. Six months ago, I’d have bet my life that one would kill the other before year’s end. Instead, they’ve achieved something resembling mutual respect, united by shared blood and common enemies.

The priest finishes the ceremony, and Daniil kisses his bride with an intensity that quickly veers toward not-so-family-friendly. Then they turn, newly minted as husband and wife, both beaming uncontrollably. I feel Vince’s hand squeeze mine with crushing pressure.

“That could have been us,” he murmurs, his breath hot against my ear. “If we’d done it proper the first time.”

I turn, meeting his gaze. “You want to renew our vows?”

“No.” His laugh is predatory. “I want to feel you squirm on my cock while you wear white and pretend you’re pure.”

Heat floods my core immediately. Some things never change. Vince snarling filthy words in inappropriate places is one of those things.

“Careful,” I whisper back, “or I’ll take you into that confessional and do some very unholy things to you.”

His eyes darken to midnight. “Promise?”

The reception is held in a converted warehouse by the river, transformed into a winter wonderland of crystal and ice. Vince and I move through the crowd, playing the roles we’ve come to know so well—legitimate business owners, devoted parents, pillars of a community built on blood money and secrets.

Sofiya stays glued to my hip, wide-eyed at the opulence surrounding her. She’s too young to understand that her father once tortured men to death in places like this, or that I’ve covered up murders and fabricated evidence to keep our family safe.

One day, she’ll know everything.

But not today.

“Rowan.” Grigor’s voice cuts through my thoughts. He stands before us, champagne in hand, looking oddly normal in his tuxedo. “May I hold my granddaughter?”

I transfer Sofiya to Grigor’s arms, watching carefully as she studies his face with innocent curiosity.

“Da-da?” she asks, confused.

“No,solnishka,” Grigor corrects gently. “Grandfather.” He bounces Sofiya in his arms, and she rewards him with a broad grin. “She has your eyes, Vincent. But everything else…” His gaze flicks to me. “That’s Petrov.”

“Good genes on both sides,” Vince agrees evenly. “She’ll be unstoppable.”

The tension drains from my shoulders. Progress—real fuckingprogress—after months of careful negotiation and delicate trust-building.

It’s almost enough to make me believe in happily ever afters.

“Dance with me,” Vince says after Grigor returns Sofiya to us. He passes our daughter to a waiting Anastasia, who’s only too happy for baby cuddles, even on her wedding day.

Vince leads me to the dance floor, one hand at my lower back, possessive and warm. We move together in perfect synchronicity. His hand splays across my waist, fingers dipping slightly lower than propriety allows, tracing the curve where my ass begins.

“You’re glowing,” he murmurs. “And yet different somehow.”

I smile, heart thundering against my ribs. “Am I?”

“Yes.” His gaze sharpens. “Tell me why.”

I lean closer, until my lips brush the shell of his ear. “Because there’s another Akopov growing inside me.”

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