Page 92 of Filthy Lies

“You were wrong earlier, you know.Thisis what I’m fighting for. Not territory. Not power. This. You. Her. Us.”

I wrap my legs around him, drawing him deeper. “Then don’t lose sight of it. Don’t become the monster they want you to be.”

He drives into me harder, as if trying to imprint the words on my body. “Sometimes, being a monster is the only way to protect what I love.”

I cup his face and make him look at me. “Then bemymonster. BeSofiya’smonster. Not theirs.”

Something breaks in his heart—sandcastle walls falling. He buries his face in my neck as his rhythm falters, his breath hot against my skin.

“Yours,” he agrees, voice raw. “Always yours.”

We come together, my body clenching around him as he empties himself inside me.

For precious seconds, the world narrows to just this—our bodies joined, our breath mingled, our hearts beating against each other.

Reality can wait. Just for tonight.

Vince is still inside me when the knock interrupts—three sharp raps on the bedroom door.

He reacts instantly, pulling out and reaching for the gun on the nightstand. I scramble for the robe hanging nearby. My heart thumps as fight-or-flight chemicals flood my system.

“Stay with Sofiya,” Vince orders.

Arkady’s voice comes through the door. “Sir, we have visitors at the perimeter. They’re asking for you.”

Vince cracks the door, gun still ready. “Who?”

“Daniil Petrov and Anastasia Kuznetsov.”

The tension in Vince’s shoulders shifts from lethal to merely wary. “What the fuck do they want?”

“They didn’t say. But, Vin—” Arkady hesitates. “They don’t look so good. Anastasia especially.”

Vince curses as he pulls on pants. “Bring them to the main house. Full search protocols. And double the perimeter sweep—this could be a distraction.”

I’m already dressing, moving to check on Sofiya, who hasn’t even bothered to wake up to check on the mayhem. “I’m coming with you.”

“No, you’re—” Vince begins, then stops himself. Reconsiders. “Stay behind me at all times.”

We move through the darkened house like ghosts, Vince leading with his weapon drawn. At the entrance to the great room, he pauses and motions for me to wait while he assesses the situation.

I peek around his shoulder to see Daniil and Anastasia standing in the center of the room. Armed men surround them. Anastasia leans heavily against Daniil, her elegant features marred by a swollen, bruised eye. Blood stains the front of her blouse.

Daniil hardly looks better. His left arm hangs at an unnatural angle. A gash across his forehead crusts with dried blood.

When Anastasia sees us, the relief in her eyes is palpable. She straightens up, summoning dignity despite her injuries.

“Forgive the intrusion,” she mumbles. “But I don’t think we had much of a choice.”

Vince doesn’t lower his weapon. “Explain yourselves.”

Daniil’s eyes find Vince’s. “They know about us. Both families. And they’ve decided to solve two problems at once.”

The perfect day dissolves like a sandcastle caught in the tide, reality rushing back with brutal force. I step forward, ignoring Vince’s warning glance.

“What happened?” I ask Anastasia, woman to woman.

She has to lick her lips and swallow before she can talk. “My father caught us together. And then—” She swallows again, hard. “Grigor’s men were waiting. As if they knew.”

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