Page 89 of Filthy Lies

33

ROWAN

I wake up marked, inside and out.

Vince’s ownership of my body throbs between my legs, across my butt, and in the unfamiliar ache of places I’d never given anyone before last night. Bruises bloom like violent flowers wherever his fingers gripped too hard. My lips feel swollen, sensitive from his punishing kisses.

Old me might’ve been upset.

New me? Not so much.

For all his brutality, Vince gave me exactly what I needed—a reminder that, while I might take risks for our family, I’m never truly alone in this war. That someone sees me.Knowsme. Wants me, despite everything I’ve done and become.

I slip from the bed where he sleeps like the dead, his powerful body finally surrendered to exhaustion after claiming me three more times throughout the night.

In the bathroom, I examine my reflection. My neck and breasts are a constellation of love bites. My wrists bear the imprints ofhis fingers. Between my legs, I’m tender, used in ways that make me blush even now.

But it’s my eyes that have changed the most. There’s a brightness there I haven’t seen since before Sofiya’s birth.

It’s a fragile thing, though. A candle in the warpath of a tornado. If I want to keep it burning, I have to do something.

We can’t keep living like this—cowering in compounds, jumping at shadows, watching Vince grow more ruthless by the day as he tries to shield us from every threat. We need to remember what we’re fighting for.

And I know exactly how to remind him.

I dress carefully in a loose sundress that covers most of the evidence of last night, then pad silently to Sofiya’s nursery. My daughter sleeps peacefully, oblivious to the blood and betrayal that surrounded her entry into this world.

I gather supplies while she nurses: sunscreen, tiny sunhats, beach toys I’d ordered weeks ago but never found occasion to use. By the time Vince stumbles into the kitchen, sleep-rumpled and wary, I’m packing the last of a picnic lunch.

“What’s all this?” he asks, voice still hazy from sleep—and from snarling my name as he came inside me last night.

I lift my chin defiantly. “We’re going to the beach today. All three of us.”

His eyebrows shoot up. “Have you lost your fucking mind?”

“Probably.” I continue packing the cooler. “But I’ve already spoken to Arkady. The security detail is arranged. The Hamptons property has been swept and secured since dawn.”

Vince crosses his arms, bringing my attention to muscles that held me down countless times last night. “And you arranged all this without consulting me because…?”

“Because you would have said no.” I meet his gaze directly. “And after yesterday, I think we both need a reminder of what all this violence and paranoia is supposed to be protecting.”

It’s his turn for a brightness to flare up in those eyes. It’s still distant, but I see it. He can’t hide it from me.

“A family vacation? Now? When my father and the Solovyovs are actively trying to kill us?”

“A single day,” I correct him. “One day of pretending we’re just parents who love their daughter. One day for you to experience something normal with Sofiya.” I pause, leaning against the counter thoughtfully. “One day for you to make the memories you never got to have as a child.”

His jaw clenches, and I know I’ve hit a nerve. Maybe an unfair nerve, but a nerve nonetheless.

As big and tough and tattooed as he may be, Vincent Akopov is still the motherless boy who never built sandcastles or splashed in waves. The child of violence who grew into a man of violence—but he could still be something else for his daughter.

Ifhe chooses the light instead of the darkness.

“It’s a security risk,” he says, but it lacks conviction.

“Compared to my meeting with Carver? This is nothing.” I reach up to touch his stubbled cheek. “Please, Vince. Let me give you this. Let me giveusthis.”

His hand covers mine, pressing it harder against his face. “One day,” he finally agrees. “With triple security and emergency protocols in place.”

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