Page 32 of Filthy Lies

His chest rumbles with a quiet laugh. “Poor kid. Let’s hope that’s all she gets from me.”

I turn to face him, studying his features in the dim light. “She could do worse. You’re not half-bad to look at.”

He kisses my forehead, his beard scratching pleasantly against my skin. I like that he’s growing it longer these days. “You should sleep. Morning comes too soon.”

I want to. But sleep means more nightmares. More blood. More fear.

“Tell me something,” I whisper. “Something good to think about.”

Vince is quiet for a moment. His fingers trace idle patterns on my back. “I’ve been thinking about teaching Sofiya to swim when she’s older,” he says finally. “There’s a lake near one of our hunting lodges in Vermont. Clear blue water. Safe.”

I close my eyes and imagine it. Vince teaching our daughter to float, to trust the water. His strong hands supporting her tiny body. The sun warming our skin.

“I’d like that,” I murmur.

With that picture in my mind, I drift back to sleep.

Morning brings a different kind of tension.

“Agent Carver called,” Vince announces as I’m nursing Sofiya in the living room. “He wants to meet.”

My stomach tightens. Special Agent David Carver of the FBI—the man who’s been investigating Vince’s business dealings for the past year. The man who questioned me after the FBI raid on Akopov Industries months ago. Not exactly the best friend of the Bratva, all things considered.

“Why now?” I ask.

“Your kidnapping caught their attention.” Vince’s jaw tightens. “Not the details, but enough for them to take a renewed interest in us.”

“What did you tell him?”

“Nothing yet.” He paces the room. Restless energy slakes off of him in pulsating waves. “I told him I’d get back to him.”

I adjust Sofiya at my breast. Her tiny hands scrabble at my skin. “We knew this was coming. The FBI isn’t exactly known for their lack of follow-through.”

“You don’t have to talk to him. We can refuse.”

I look up sharply. “And make them even more suspicious? Make them think we have something to hide?”

“Wedohave something to hide, Rowan.”

“No,” I counter. “The Solovyovs have something to hide. They’re the ones who took me.”

Vince stops pacing, his blue eyes locked on mine. “And what about my father’s involvement? The Bratva connection? Are you prepared to explain all that under federal deposition?”

I take a deep breath. “I think we need to be strategic about this. Selective cooperation.”

“There’s no such thing.” His voice hardens. “You give them an inch, they take a mile. That’s how they operate.”

“So does refusing to talk. It only makes them dig deeper.” I switch Sofiya to the other breast. After a brief whine, she latches on and begins suckling again. “What if we used this as an opportunity?”

“An opportunity for what?”

“To redirect their attention. Away from your legitimate business and toward the Solovyovs.”

He sits beside me, expression guarded. “Explain.”

“I tell them a version of the truth. That I was kidnapped by Russian criminals. That they wanted to use me and the baby as leverage in some kind of turf war. I don’t mention your father or the Bratva directly.”

But he’s already shaking his head before I even finish. “It’s too risky,” he says. “You slip up once, say the wrong thing, and they’ll have enough to build a case against me.”

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