Page 138 of Filthy Lies

“You first,” she says.

And there we stand, my wife holding my child on the threshold of our home—so close I could touch them with one step forward, yet separated by a chasm of secrets and betrayals that seems impossible to cross.

“The FBI has a RICO case against me,” I say, voice ragged. “I’ve got twenty-four hours to decide what to do next.”

50

VINCE

Sofiya squirms in Rowan’s arms, those chubby little hands reaching for me with desperate, grabbing fingers. “Papa! Papa!”

My chest splits open at the sound. My daughter remembers me. Still wants me. I step forward, arms already extending…

… but then Rowan jerks backward. She pulls Sofiya tight against her chest like I’m contagious.

“Don’t,” she hisses, eyes flashing like a cornered animal.

My arms fall uselessly to my sides. Blood still drips from my mangled hand onto the pristine marble floor.

The pain is immediate and catastrophic. A bullet straight through my chest would’ve been more merciful. Thirty years in prison would bring less agony than seeing my daughter held just out of reach.

But the longer I stand there, the more betrayal in her eyes detonates something explosive in my chest. My blood shifts from ice to fire, fingers flexing at my sides.Sheleftme. Took my child. Meanwhile, the goddamn FBI is dismantling everything I’vebuilt, threatening to strip away our future—and she’s worried about fucking Grigor Petrov?

I take a step toward her, watching her eyes widen. “While you’ve been playing hide-and-go-seek at the beach, I’ve been fighting for our fucking survival. The FBI has everything, Rowan. Everything.” The muscles in my jaw clench so hard I taste copper. “But please, tell me more about how I betrayed you while I was trying to keep our family from being destroyed.”

Sofiya whimpers against her chest, sensing the violence of my emotion. I’m scaring my own child. But I can’t stop the darkness now surging through my veins.

“Always the fucking hero, aren’t you?” she snaps back.

“I was trying to protect you,” I snarl. “While you were busy fuckingkidnappingmy daughter.”

“Ourdaughter,” she shoots back, “whom I took to protect from a father who was planning to murder her grandfather without even having the balls to tell his wife first.”

We’re circling each other on the doorstep, neither willing to give ground. Sofiya’s gone quiet now. Somehow, that hurts worse than her tears.

“You didn’t protect her,” I growl. “You exposed her. Your little beach house vacation? Might as well have put up a goddamn billboard. The feds have been watching Grigor. They photographed you together. Photographed my daughter with a man who’d slit my throat without blinking.”

“Don’t you dare?—”

“I cancelled the hit!” I bellow in anguish. “The second I realized you were gone, I cancelled everything. Every operation against Grigor. Every fucking plan. Gone. Foryou.”

Rowan’s eyes widen. She shifts Sofiya higher on her hip and swallows. “And now?” she asks. “What’s this about the FBI?”

I drag my uninjured hand down my face, feeling the stubble rasp against my palm. How do I condense Carver’s ultimatum into words that won’t send her running again?

“Inside,” I manage. “Please. This isn’t a doorway conversation.”

“Like I’m going to let you corner me?—”

“For fuck’s sake, Rowan! Do you see me?” I spread my arms wide, blood still dripping from my fingers. “I’m bleeding. I’m fucking destroyed. I haven’t slept since you left. You have all the power here.”

Something in my voice—the raw desperation, perhaps—makes her hesitate. Then, with visible reluctance, she steps over the threshold.

“Start talking,” she demands once we’re in the formal living room. She remains standing.

I sigh and drop onto the couch, toying with the bloodied edge of my makeshift bandage.

“Carver came this morning waving around a fully developed RICO case. Money laundering, weapons trafficking, the works. Thirty years minimum. That includes asset forfeiture—including the trusts I set up for you and Sofiya.” I force myself to meet her eyes. “They have Barkov. He’s cooperating.”

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