Page 178 of Filthy Lies

“I still want to bend you over every surface of this fucking resort,” I growl low enough that only she can hear.

“Starting with the check-in desk?” she whispers back, green eyes dancing with mischief.

“That’s just the appetizer.”

The ribbon falls. Cameras flash. Our children cheer. And somewhere in the crowd, Agent Carver watches with his shark eyes.

He approaches as the crowd begins to flow inside for the champagne reception. He looks older, gray at the temples, but no less dangerous. A wolf in a fed’s clothing.

“Congratulations, Akopov,” he says, extending his hand. “The Bureau is impressed with your transition to legitimate enterprise.”

I shake his hand, my grip tighter than necessary. A reminder that the man who once executed enemies with his bare hands still lives.

“High praise coming from you,” I reply evenly. “I trust that means our monitoring period is officially over?”

His smile doesn’t reach his eyes. “Let’s discuss that later, shall we? This is a celebration, after all.”

Rowan’s hand finds mine, her fingers digging slightly into my palm. A warning.Stand down.

“Of course,” I concede. “Please, enjoy the party.”

We separate to mingle. I watch Rowan work the room like she was born to it—charming investors, flattering politicians, her laughter floating across the space like the deadliest kind ofmusic. She’s learned the game so well it’s easy to forget she once trembled in my presence.

Now, she’s the mother of my children, my partner in every sense, and sometimes—in moments like this—I wonder if she’s surpassed me.

An hour into the reception, I find myself cornered by the Costa Rican Minister of Tourism, a man whose enthusiasm for our resort is matched only by his enthusiasm for the kickbacks I’ve arranged to fatten his wallet.

“Mr. Akopov, this property will transform our entire coastline!” He claps me on the shoulder with uncomfortable familiarity. “You must tell me, what inspired such vision?”

What inspired it? Good question. The need to launder millions in blood money? The FBI breathing down my neck? The desire to give my children a legacy that doesn’t include weekly visits to prison?

“My wife,” I say instead. “She saw potential where others saw obstacles.”

It’s not the whole truth, but it’s not a lie, either.

I excuse myself and head to the balcony overlooking the infinity pool that stretches toward the Pacific Ocean. The sun is beginning its descent, casting everything in a golden glow that feels like absolution I don’t deserve.

Rowan finds me there, slipping beside me with a glass of champagne in each hand. “To legitimate success,” she offers with a raised glass.

I take the flute. “Is there such a thing for people like us?”

“We’re making it exist.” She clinks her glass against mine. “Drink. Celebrate. You’ve earned this, Vince.”

I down the champagne in one swallow. It’s exquisite, but I barely taste it. My mind is elsewhere. On the future, perhaps.

“This is more than just a hotel,” I say quietly, gesturing to the sprawling property below. “This is proof.”

“Proof of what?”

“That we can build instead of destroy.” I turn to face her fully. “There’s more to the Akopov legacy than blood and fear.”

Her eyes soften. “I never doubted it.”

“Liar.” I smirk. “You doubted everything about me. With good reason.”

“Not anymore.” She sets down her glass and steps closer, her body flush against mine. “I know exactly who you are, Vincent Akopov. The good, the bad, the very fucking scary. And I’m still here.”

I grasp her chin between my thumb and forefinger. “Why?”

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