Page 55 of Filthy Lies

Something in his expression makes my heart stutter. I follow him to the small sitting area adjacent to Margaret’s room, close enough that I’ll hear if she wakes.

“What’s wrong?”

Vince runs a hand through his silver-streaked hair. “Agent Carver served papers today. He’s formally requesting your testimony in their ongoing investigation of Akopov Industries.”

My blood runs cold. “He can’t just ‘request’ my testimony. I’m your wife.”

“He can and he did. This isn’t a casual chat over coffee like before. This is formal, Rowan. Federal agents. Sworn statements. Potential charges if they think you’re lying.”

“Charges? What charges? I haven’t done anything!”

Vince’s voice turns gentle. “In their eyes, you’re married to the head of what they believe is a criminal organization. That makes you complicit.”

I sink onto the sofa, mind racing. “If I refuse?”

“Then they’ll issue a summons. And if you ignore that…” His voice trails off.

“They’ll arrest me.”

“I won’t let that happen.” The steel in his voice would be comforting if I didn’t know firsthand that even Vince Akopov can’t control everything.

“When?”

“Next week. Tuesday.”

I nod slowly, processing. “Okay. We have time to prepare.”

Vince sits beside me, taking my hand. “I’ve already called the lawyers. We’ll have a strategy session tomorrow. They’ll coach you on what to say, what not to say.”

“I know how to handle Carver,” I say with more confidence than I feel.

“This isn’t just Carver anymore. It’s his superiors. The whole fucking Justice Department.” His grip tightens. “They’re using you to get to me, Rowan. You know that, right?”

“Of course I know that.” I pull my hand from his and stand. “I’m not naive, Vince. Not anymore.”

His eyes follow me as I pace the small room. “I’m sorry,” he says finally.

“For what? You didn’t do this.”

“For all of it. Your mother. Carver. Grigor.” He gestures broadly. “This isn’t the life you signed up for.”

A bitter laugh escapes me. “Isn’t it? I knew who you were when I married you.”

“Not all of it.”

“No,” I concede. “Not all of it.”

We sit in silence for a moment, surrounded by all the things we cannot say.

“She thinks I should meet him,” I blurt suddenly.

Vince doesn’t need to ask who I’m talking about. “And what do you think?”

I sit beside him again, closer this time. “I think she might be right. If only to understand what we’re dealing with.”

His jaw tightens, but he doesn’t immediately reject the idea. Progress.

“If—and I meanif—we were to consider this, it would be on our terms. Neutral ground. Security protocols in place.”

---