Page 177 of Filthy Lies

We look good together.

Later, as we lie in our sheets, Vince’s hand comes to rest over my stomach. “Do you ever regret it?” he asks out of nowhere. “Choosing this life? Choosing me?”

I consider my answer for a moment. “Sometimes,” I admit. “In the quiet moments when I remember who I used to be.”

His body tenses against mine.

“But then I look at you, at Sofiya, at everything we’ve built together…” I find his hand, interlacing our fingers. “And I realize that regret is for people who had choices.” I turn to face him, cupping his cheek. “We never did, Vince. We were always meant to find each other. Always meant to create this beautiful, terrible thing between us.”

He nods slowly, eyes simmering with that deep ocean blue. “Our children will never know what it cost us,” he whispers.

I touch his scarred knuckles. “They’ll never have to.”

As sleep claims him, I remain awake, staring at the ceiling, replaying in my head every sin, every sacrifice, every moment that led us here.

And I wonder, not for the first time, if the price we’ve paid—will continue to pay—is truly worth the life we’re building.

But then Vince murmurs my name in his sleep, arms tightening around me possessively, and I know my answer.

For him? For us? I’d burn the whole world down and make glitter from the ashes.

“Until the end,” I whisper into the darkness, “whatever it brings.”

EPILOGUE II: VINCE

FIVE YEARS LATER

The future is bright. So is the Costa Rican sun in my eyes.

But as we stand at a literal finish line, scissors in hand, all I can think is that the metaphors are hideously on the nose today.

The ribbon before us is a crimson slash against the pristine white facade of the resort—a deliberate choice. In my world, red has always represented power. Blood spilled. Debts paid. Enemies vanquished.

But today, it symbolizes something else. A rebirth.

I glance at Rowan beside me. Fucking hell, the years have only enhanced her. Pregnancy has sculpted her body into a weapon of mass destruction, fuller in the hips, tits that make my mouth water. Her caramel hair spills down her back, catching the light like melted gold. She’s traded her usual emerald dress for a white power suit that hugs her curves, but a flick of green silk at the collar pays homage to the color I’ll always associate with her.

The color she wore when I first noticed her.Reallynoticed her.

Our six-year-old Sofiya stands in front, her little brother Arkasha—nearly four and already a menace—perched on Arkady’s hip. My best friend who once held a gun to my head is now godfather to my son. The contradictions of our lives would be poetic if they weren’t so fucking twisted.

“You going to cut that ribbon or just eye-fuck your wife all day?” Arkady murmurs just loud enough for me to hear.

Rowan doesn’t miss a beat. “He can do both,” she returns with a savage little smile that goes straight to my cock.

It’s been five years since Andrei’s body was discovered in the Hudson, throat cut and cold. Five years of navigating the FBI’s watchful eye.

Five years of trying to become a man who deserves her.

But I’m not that man. I never will be. My hands are still stained with the blood of those who threatened what’s mine.

I’ve just gotten better at washing it off before coming home.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” the announcer booms over the microphone, “please welcome Vincent and Rowan Akopov as they officially open Emerald Bay Resort!”

The crowd erupts in applause. Politicians, business leaders, celebrities—all eager to rub elbows with the wunderkind developers who transformed a stretch of undeveloped coastline into whatTravel + Leisurehas already dubbed “the crown jewel of luxury eco-resorts.”

We step forward in unison, scissors positioned at the ribbon. As the metal blades slice through, I lean close to Rowan’s ear.

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