Page 78 of Filthy Lies

“He’s working with them.” I have to practically spit the words just to rid myself of them. “My own father orchestrated an attack on his granddaughter’s christening.”

Arkady says nothing. Nothing he could say would help.

“Get Marat to the warehouse. I want to know everything.” I holster my weapon. “And make sure my father doesn’t leave. Not yet.”

“What about the ceremony?”

“It’s over.” I turn back toward the church. “Get everyone out safely. The reception is cancelled.”

“And Rowan?”

“I’m going to her now.”

The secure room beneath the vestry is small but well-equipped. When I enter, Rowan sits on a bench against the wall, Sofiya against her chest. Our daughter has stopped crying, her tiny face pressed into her mother’s neck.

Rowan looks up to see me. “You’re okay.”

“We all are.” I sit beside them and cup Sofiya’s head. Her warmth grounds me, pulls me back from the murderousthoughts swirling in my head. “The threat is contained. We can leave soon.”

“What happened out there?”

I consider telling her the truth immediately but decide against it. Not here. Not with Sofiya finally calm and the danger barely passed.

“Solovyov’s men. A sloppy attack that failed.”

Rowan studies my face. “There’s more.”

“Yes.” I meet her gaze directly. “But it can wait until we’re home.”

She nods, understanding the unspoken.

I help her up and, arms linked, we reemerge back into the daylight. As I’m loading Sofi and Rowan into the car, though, I see my father once more.

He doesn’t look back at me. He’s flanked by his guards, his back straight and proud. Not the posture of a guilty man.

But I know what I saw.

I know what it means.

I know what must come next.

30

ROWAN

I’m sitting cross-legged on our bed, watching Vince wear a path in the carpet. Sofiya is finally asleep in her nursery after the chaos of the day. I wish I could join her. My body is tired, but my mind is wide awake. The fear that has become our normal shows no signs of letting go of me anytime soon.

“We need to end this shit,” mutters Vince.

“And how exactly do you propose we do that?” I ask.

Vince stops pacing long enough to glare at me. “We eliminate the threat.”

“Which threat? Your father? Mine? The Solovyovs? The FBI? The list keeps growing, Vince. Honestly, I’m losing track.”

He runs his hands through his silver-streaked hair, leaving it standing in disarray. “My father first. He’s working with the Solovyovs. He orchestrated an attack at our daughter’s christening.”

“You don’t know that for sure.”

---