Page 84 of Filthy Lies

I’m still seething when the surveillance team forwards a follow-up report. Carver’s call logs, intercepted. A call to his superior immediately after meeting Rowan.

Key phrases captured: “Solovyov organization,” “immunity deal,” “Akopov transition to legitimate operations.”

Just like that, the rage dies with a whimper.

She didn’t sell us out.

She tried to save us.

I want to rejoice in it. She’s so much smarter than I give her credit for, and every time I think I’ve correctly revised my opinion, it turns out I’ve just underestimated yet again.

But I can’t rejoice. There’s too much guilt for that.

Because I’ve turned her into this—this clever, dangerous creature who plays both sides against the middle. Who walks into the lion’s den armed with nothing but her wits and walks back out intact.

Pride wars with possessiveness. She shouldn’t have gone alone. Shouldn’t have kept this from me.

But she did it for us.

Just like I’ve done a thousand unspeakable things for the same reason.

“Arkady,” I call into the intercom. “I need a few arrangements made. Tonight.”

By the time I hear her car pull into the compound, I’ve channeled my fury into something more productive.

The bedroom has been transformed. Crystal glasses gleam in the candlelight. The security monitors have been hidden behind a Japanese silk screen. Her favorite wine—a ridiculously expensive Bordeaux—breathes on the table.

I’ve even managed to source wildflowers that match the ones from our wedding. They won’t erase her betrayal, but they’ll soften the blow of what comes next.

Because make no mistake—wewillbe having a conversation about boundaries. About trust. About who the fuck calls the shots in this relationship.

But first, I want to remind her why she chose me, and why she must trust me enough to risk everything.

I hear her voice in the foyer, speaking softly to Dimitri about Sofiya. The baby monitor on the table confirms our daughter is already asleep. Perfect timing.

When Rowan appears in the doorway, the guilt on her face is so raw it takes my breath away. She expected to find me working, not… this.

“Vince…?” Her voice wavers. She’s still wearing the clothes from the surveillance photos, but her hair is down now, falling in caramel waves around her shoulders. “What’s all this?”

“Surprise.” I hand her a glass of wine, watching her closely. “I thought we deserved a night to ourselves.”

Her eyes dart around the room, suspicious. Looking for the trap.

Smart girl.

“Is there an occasion I forgot?” she asks carefully.

“Just celebrating my brilliant, beautiful wife.” I touch her cheek, thumb tracing her jawline. Her pulse hammers beneath my fingers. “How was your mother?”

The flinch is almost imperceptible.

Almost.

“About the same.” She takes a long sip of wine. “Maybe a little worse.”

I nod, playing along. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

We stand there in charged silence, the air between us crackling with secrets. She knows I know something. She just hasn’t figured out how much.

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