Page 53 of Filthy Lies

ROWAN

“She’s coming to live with us, and that’s final.”

I stand in the middle of Vince’s study, arms crossed, feet planted. My voice doesn’t waver. It’s the same tone I used when I told that blonde Solovyov bitch she couldn’t take my newborn daughter.

It says,I’m not asking permission.

Vince looks up from his laptop. “Rowan, the security concerns?—”

“I don’t give a flying fuck about security concerns. My mother is dying, Vince. She won’t last much longer in that hospital.”

He closes his laptop. “The compound is a target right now. With Grigor’s men still patrolling our perimeter, with whoever killed Peterson still out there?—”

“All the more reason to have her here, where I can see her. Where I can spend whatever time she has left with her.”

Something in my face must show just how serious I am, because Vince’s shoulders drop.

“The east wing,” he says after a moment. “We can convert the guest suite. It has separate access for medical staff, and it’s far enough from Sofiya’s nursery that your mother won’t be disturbed by crying.”

Relief floods through me, loosening the knot that’s been sitting in my chest since Dr. Patel’s call.

“Thank you.”

Vince rises from his desk and crosses to me. His hand cups my cheek, thumb brushing away a tear I didn’t realize had fallen.

“I can’t fix this for you,” he says softly. “I wish I could.”

I lean into his touch. “Just help me make her comfortable. That’s all I ask.”

“Consider it done.”

Three days later, the east wing has been transformed. Hospital bed, medical monitors, oxygen tanks—everything Margaret might need. I’ve added personal touches, too. Her favorite quilt at the foot of the bed. Family photos on the nightstand. Yellow daisies—fresh ones every day—in the bluest vase I could find.

When the medical transport brings her from the hospital, I’m shocked by how much she’s declined in just a few days. Her once-vibrant eyes are sunken, cloudy.

But she smiles when she sees the room I’ve prepared.

“You’ve been busy,” she remarks as the nurses help her settle into the bed.

“I wanted it to feel like home.”

Once the nurses leave, promising to return in a few hours to check her vitals, I perch carefully on the edge of her bed.

“How are you feeling, Ma? Really?”

Mom’s laugh turns into a cough. “Like I’m dying, sweetheart. No point sugarcoating it.”

I swallow hard. “Mom?—”

“It’s okay, Row. I’ve made my peace with it.” She reaches for my hand with fingers like winter twigs. “But before I go, there are things we need to discuss.”

Something in her tone makes my stomach clench. “What things?”

“Grigor, for one.”

Just the name sends a chill down my spine. “What about him?”

“You need to meet him, Rowan.”

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