Page 95 of Filthy Lies

I sigh as her head comes to rest on my shoulder. Her fingers are small and cool as she cups the crook of my elbow, but it’s exactly the balm I need against my heated nerves.

“Daniil saved my life once,” she reminds me gently. “He helped you find me when I was taken. That deserves something.”

She’s right. Again. Always fucking right in ways that demolish my certainties.

“I’ll speak with them tomorrow,” I decide. “Offer them protection, but with conditions. Clear boundaries. For now, we let them rest.”

Rowan nods against my chest. “It’s a start.”

In the crib, Sofiya stirs. Rowan bends to scoop her up.

“Hey there, little one,” she coos. “Did Daddy’s brooding wake you up?”

Despite everything, I smile. Rowan brings Sofiya to me, and I take her carefully, still amazed at how something so small can hold such power over me.

My daughter blinks up at me with unfocused eyes—my eyes—and I feel the last of my resistance crumble.

For her, I would rewrite the rules of my world. For her, I would become something new.

A man who keeps his promises, even to his enemies’ children.

“Alright,” I whisper to Sofiya. “Let’s try it your mama’s way.”

35

ROWAN

Death wears a lot of disguises. I’ve seen more than my fair share of it lately.

It looks like the cold barrel of a gun, like blood splattered across marble floors, like the ruthless glint left simmering in Vince’s eyes after he wrapped his hand around Boris Barsukovic’s throat at yesterday’s council meeting. Death lurks in every shadow of our fortified little hideout, follows us like a loyal pet begging for scraps of our souls.

But nothing prepares you for the face of death when it wears your mother’s skin.

I sit in the sterile hospital room, watching Mom’s chest move in shallow, labored breaths. The machines track her vital signs in green and red lines.

Whoever coined the phrase “cancer is a bitch” really hit the nail on the head.

Dr. Patel’s voice still echoes in my skull from this morning’s discussion. “The cancer has metastasized to her brain,”he said,clipboard clutched against his chest like a shield. “Days, Mrs. Akopov. If that. I’m sorry.”

I’d only nodded, numb. Expecting it doesn’t soften the blow one bit.

Mom’s eyes flutter open, finding me in the dim light. “You’re such a beauty, my love,” she whispers, her voice a dried leaf skittering across pavement.

I force a smile. “Thanks, Mom. You’re always good for my ego.”

“Where’s my granddaughter?”

“At home with Vince.” I take her skinny hand, shocked anew at how little substance remains. “She’s cranky.”

“I’d like to see her.” Her eyes close again. “Before I go.”

I wince. “Don’t talk like that.”

“Like what? Like a dying woman with unfinished business?” She manages a weak laugh that dissolves into coughing. “Bring her, Rowan. Please.”

I swallow the knot in my throat. “I’ll see what I can do.”

When her breathing evens out into sleep, I step into the hallway and call Vince.

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