Page 43 of Filthy Lies

“I’m sorry,” I whisper. “That was— I shouldn’t have said that.”

“It’s the truth.” His voice is flat. “But it doesn’t matter. It’s irrelevant, ultimately. I won’t let your naïveté put my family in danger.”

I pause as I hunt for the right words to explain the feeling that’s been growing since I first learned about Grigor.

“I’ve spent my entire life not knowing where I came from,” I whisper finally. “Who I got my green eyes from, or my terrible singing voice, or my tendency to overthink everything. And now, that person is right outside our door.”

Vince’s gaze doesn’t waver. “And if it’s a trap?”

“Then we handle it together. Like we’ve handled everything else.”

He turns away, bracing both hands on the counter. I can see the battle raging within him and I want like hell to be on his side to fight it.

“What if I lose you?” The question is so quiet I almost miss it.

I go to him, wrapping my arms around his waist and pressing my cheek against his back.

“You won’t.”

“You don’t know that.” His body remains rigid. “You don’t know what these people are capable of.”

“I know whatyou’recapable of.” I slip around to face him. “And I know that together, we’ve survived worse than a meeting with Grigor Petrov.”

He cups my chin. “I can’t lose you, Rowan.” His voice breaks. “Either of you. It would destroy me.”

“You won’t lose us.” I rise on tiptoes to kiss him. “I promise.”

18

ROWAN

Secrets have a weight to them. A density. That’s what nobody tells you—how heavy the truth is when it’s finally dumped in your lap. Like those weighted blankets they sell on Instagram, except instead of soothing your anxiety, it suffocates you.

For twenty-seven years, I existed in blissful ignorance. Margaret St. Clair was my mother. Father unknown and irrelevant.

Now, I discover I’m the daughter of Grigor Petrov.

And he wants to meet me.

I have three days to decide if I say yes or not. That’s not exactly a long time to figure out if I want to look into the eyes of the man whose DNA I carry, the man whose blood has made me a target in a war I never signed up for.

Vince wants me to hide.

Me? I want answers.

So now, we wait, trapped in this limbo of paramilitary paranoia, as Vince quadruples security and treats our compound like it’sabout to become the next Alamo. I can feel his fear—not for himself, but for Sofiya and me.

I should be focusing on staying safe. On being a mother to our newborn daughter. Healing from the trauma of birth-by-kidnapping is kind of a full-time job, y’know?

But I can’t stop thinking about the man in the woods. My father. The stranger with my eyes.

Life has a sick sense of humor sometimes.

It’s been two days since Grigor’s ultimatum. I’m in the nursery, folding Sofiya’s impossibly tiny onesies when my phone rings.

Weirdly, it’s Dr. Patel.

My heart flutters with recognition, my hands suddenly clumsy as I answer. “Hello?”

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