Page 70 of Filthy Lies

Natalie pulls out a thumb drive and slides it across the table. “Everything I know is on here. But the short version is that they’re planning to have agents at the christening—posing as waitstaff, security, other guests. They’ll create some kind of commotion. Nothing violent, but enough to show the world that even at his daughter’s christening, Vincent Akopov can’t maintain control.”

I pocket the drive. “If this checks out, it’s valuable,” I admit.

“I know.”

“It doesn’t erase what you did, though.”

“I know that, too.”

I study her face, searching for deception. All I see is remorse and a desperate hope that appears genuine.

“I need to ask you something,” I say finally. “When you heard I was kidnapped—when you thought I might be dead—was your reaction real?”

“God, yes.” Her voice breaks. “Row, I was hysterical. Ask Arkady. Ask any of them. I threatened to go to the FBI, to the press—anything to find you. I didn’t sleep for days.”

I believe her. Which makes everything more complicated.

Because it means Natalie isn’t simply a villain in my story. She’s a person who made terrible choices, but still cared. Who betrayed me, but tried to help when it mattered most.

Can I forgive her? No. Not yet.

Can I cut her out completely? Also no.

“I need to get back,” I say, standing. “Vince will be looking for me.”

“Of course.” Natalie stands, too. “Rowan, I know I don’t deserve it, but I have to ask… can you ever forgive me?”

I pause and consider it. “I don’t know,” I answer honestly. “What you did… it changed everything. You knew about my feelings for Vince, about my job, about my mom’s illness—and you reported it all back to them.”

“I did.”

“But you also tried to help me when I needed it most.” I take a deep breath. “So maybe, someday, we find a way forward. Not as the friends we were—that’s gone. But something new. Something built on honesty this time.”

Hope flickers in her eyes. “I’d like that.”

“It starts with this information being legitimate.” I tap my pocket where the thumb drive sits. “If you’re manipulating me again?—”

“I’m not. I swear on my life.”

I nod once. “Then we’ll see.”

It’s not forgiveness. It’s barely even trust.

But it’s another step forward.

“Take care of yourself, Nat,” I say, turning to leave.

“You, too.” Her voice is soft behind me. “And Rowan? He really does love you, you know. Vince, I mean. I’ve seen it firsthand. Whatever else happens, that part is real.”

27

ROWAN

The morning of Sofiya’s christening feels surreal. One of those dreams where everything is normal but slightly off-kilter at the same time.

I stand before the mirror in our bedroom as I pluck and primp at the ivory dress I finally settled on. It’s modest enough for church but still elegant.

My eyes are another story. They look tired, probably because that’s exactly what I am.

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