Page 12 of Filthy Lies

“How much money do you want for this information?”

His face darkens. “Fuck you, Akopov.”

“Then what do you want?”

“I don’t want anything from you.” He walks closer, stopping just beyond arm’s reach. “Do you think I’m here for some kind of fucking payday? My father would have me killed for speaking to you, let alone helping you.”

“Then why are you here?”

In my world, no one does anything without expecting something in return. Especially not a Petrov for an Akopov.

His jaw clenches. “Because I love Anastasia. Because I know you love your woman. And because your wife is innocent in all this.”

The mention of Rowan makes something crack inside me. For a horrifying moment, I feel my eyes burn, and I have to look away.

Vincent Akopov doesn’t cry. Not ever. Not since I was seven years old and my father beat that weakness out of me.

“Please.” I’ve never begged for anything in my life. The humiliation of it sears through me, but I push past it. “She’s all I have.”

Daniel watches me for a long moment. He’s still searching for something he can rely on in my face. Whatever he finds makes him nod slightly.

“The Solovyovs have a property they don’t think we know about. Off the books. An old meat processing plant near Newtown Creek.”

My pulse quickens. A surge of adrenaline floods my system, the first real hope I’ve felt since finding that blood. “Address?”

“I’ll do better than that.” He pulls out his phone and opens a map application. “I’ll take you there.”

My natural suspicion flares—it could be a trap. But why go through this elaborate charade? If he wanted me dead, there are simpler ways.

“Why would you do that?”

“Because Anastasia loves you both, for reasons I can’t comprehend.” He glances down at his phone. “And because if our positions were reversed, I’d do terrible things to find her.”

Something passes between us in that moment. Not friendship—never that. But understanding. Recognition of the one thing that transcends our blood feud: how far we’d go for the women we love. It’s unsettling to find common ground with him, to see my own desperate devotion reflected in the eyes of a Petrov.

I consider his offer. Daniel could be leading me into a trap. Could be working with the Solovyovs. Could be acting on hisfather’s orders. The paranoia that’s kept me alive for years screams warnings in my head.

But something in his eyes tells me he’s not.

“If you betray me, I’ll kill you,” I tell him. “I’ll make it hurt.”

He doesn’t flinch. “Understood.”

And with that, our fates are sealed.

I pull out my phone and call Arkady. “I have a lead. Newtown Creek. Meet me there with the team.” I don’t mention who provided the information. That conversation can wait.

Daniel watches me with wary respect. “Your men won’t like working with a Petrov.”

“My men will do whatever it takes to find my wife.”

As will I.

So here I stand, about to commit the kind of treachery that would make my ancestors claw their way out of their graves to curse my name. The magnitude of betraying generations of blood-sworn loyalty should crush me beneath its weight. Should twist my gut with shame.

But all I feel is ice-cold clarity.

Because Rowan isn’t just my family now—she’s my gravity. My religion. My reason for breathing. She matters more than the Bratva, more than the criminal empire I’ve carved from bones and bullets, more than the iron-clad principles hammered into me since birth.

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