Page 83 of Filthy Lies

“What makes you think Vince would honor any transition plans?” Carver asks.

I allow myself a small smile. “Because I understand what motivates him now. He cares about legacy—not the bloody one his father wants, but building something his daughter can inherit without shame.”

“So why are you here without his knowledge?” Reynolds presses.

It’s supposed to be agotchaquestion. But I counter with honesty—the most disarming weapon in a world of liars. “Because I love him too much to watch him struggle between who he was raised to be and who he wants to become. I’m cutting the fucking Gordian knot for him.”

Carver studies me, still wary. “You do realize you’re playing a dangerous game? If your husband discovers this meeting?—”

“If my husband discovers this meeting, he’ll be furious that I took this risk. But deep down, he’ll understand why I did it.” I stand, straightening my shirt. “I’m not asking for your answertoday. Take the proposal to your superiors or whoever has to sign off on your bullshit. When you’re ready to talk terms, reach out.”

As I turn to leave, Reynolds calls out, “You’re nothing like what I expected, Mrs. Akopov.”

I pause at the door, thinking of just how right she is.

“That’s because that woman doesn’t exist anymore.” My hand rests on the cold metal handle. “She died during childbirth in a Solovyov compound with a dirty syringe in her hand.”

Then I push through the door, heart hammering against my ribs like it’s trying to escape. The old Rowan would have been paralyzed by fear at what I’ve just done.

This new version of me—Vince’s wife, Sofiya’s mother, Grigor’s daughter—feels only a chilling clarity.

I check my appearance in the reflection of a vending machine. It takes a moment to school my expression back to solemn, quiet grief before heading back to my mother’s room.

The real grief will come later—when Vince discovers what I’ve done. Whether he’ll see it as protection or betrayal is the gamble I’ve just made with our future.

I just hope I’ve played the right hand.

32

VINCE

The first security camera stills hit my desk before Rowan even makes it back from the hospital.

My wife—my pregnant, kidnapped, terrorized wife who I thought was visiting her dying mother—standing in the fucking morgue with Agent Carver and some stone-faced bitch in a pantsuit.

Blood rushes to my head so fast I nearly black out.

“Where did you get these?” I ask Dimitri, my voice lethal in its softness.

“Security team picked her up on hospital cameras. Followed her movements.” He hesitates, clearly wondering if he’ll be the one I kill today. “She went to Mrs. St. Clair’s room, then to the morgue. Fourteen minutes unaccounted for down there.”

Fourteen minutes. Less than a quarter of an hour to betray everything we’ve built.

I thumb through the grainy images. Rowan lifting her shirt, proving she’s not wired. Carver and his colleague doingthe same. My beautiful wife gesturing in what looks like explanation, her face determined, fierce.

“Audio?” I ask, already knowing the answer.

“No, sir. Hospital basement, so no sensors in place, just the stills.”

I nod once, dismissing him. When the door closes, I let the red haze of rage wash over me.

I’ve killed men for less than what my wife has done today. I’ve destroyed entire families for smaller betrayals.

I reach for my gun, an automatic response when my territory is threatened.

But Rowan isn’t territory. She’s… fuck. She’s everything.

I force myself to breathe, to think beyond the impulse to lash out. What was she thinking? After everything we’ve been through—after I’ve killed and bled and burned the world to keep her safe—she goes behind my back to the fucking feds?

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