Page 58 of Filthy Lies

Her eyes widen. “My father?”

“His presence would send a powerful message. The Petrovs standing with the Akopovs, even symbolically, would make the Solovyovs think twice.”

“You hate Grigor.”

“I do. But I love you and Sofiya more than I hate him.”

A small smile touches her lips. “That’s… surprisingly mature of you.”

“I have my moments.”

She joins me at the window, close enough that I can feel Sofiya’s gentle breath against my neck. “No publicity. No photos. Nothing that could appear in the press or on social media.”

“Agreed.” I kiss her forehead. “And afterward, we accelerate our plans to neutralize the Solovyov threat permanently.”

She nods and leans over to rest against my chest. “How did we get here, Vince? Sometimes, it just feels like we’re stuck in a bad dream.”

I wish I had a comforting answer. Something that would erase the weariness in her voice. But I only have the truth.

“This is our life, Rowan. For now. But not forever.”

“You promise?”

“I swear.” I tilt her chin up to look at me. “One day, we’ll plan Sofiya’s birthday parties without security protocols.”

Her smile is sad. “I wonder if we’ll even know how by then.”

24

ROWAN

My right leg won’t stop jittering.

“You don’t have to do this,” Vince says for the hundredth time. His hand covers my bouncing knee. “We can leave. Right now. Just say the word.”

I take a deep breath and stare out the car window. The private dining room of the Four Seasons stands as neutral territory—neither Petrov nor Akopov ground. Both sides have swept it for bugs, checked for snipers, and verified escape routes. War preparations for a joyful family reunion.

“I need to do this.”

Vince’s jaw tightens, but he nods. “I’ll be right beside you.”

I peek at the back seat where Arkady sits with Sofiya’s car seat situated between him and another guard. Sofi couldn’t care less about any of the dramatics. She’s fixated on Arkady’s goofy grin and puffed-out cheeks, giggling every time he looks at her.

If only life were still so simple.

“Ready?” Vince asks.

No.

“Yes.”

I scoop up my daughter, then we all get out of the car. We enter through a service corridor, avoiding the main restaurant. Six of Vince’s men create a barrier around us. Sofiya promptly falls asleep against my chest. I thank God for the millionth time that she’s such an easy baby.

The dining room door looms ahead. Beyond it waits the stranger who gave me half my DNA and left me to figure out the rest on my own.

“Remember,” Vince murmurs, “one word from you and we’re gone.”

I nod, suddenly unable to speak.

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