Chapter 31: Filthy Lies: Chapter 31

I want to believe that last night fixed everything. We fucked like we were trying to heal each other’s wounds with our bodies.

But it didn’t work. It never does.

The gap between us has nothing to do with flesh and everything to do with trust.

I extract myself from Vince’s sleeping form. My body is still creaky and tender, and the shower’s scalding water can’t burn away the decision taking shape in my mind.

I dress silently, watching Vince’s chest rise and fall. Last night, I told him I’d be his partner in planning our independent future. This morning, I’m going rogue.

Love and betrayal—they’re conjoined twins in our world.

“Mm,” he grunts wearily when I’m almost to the door.

I curse silently and turn around. “You’re sleeping in.”

He rubs his eyes as he shoves himself upright. “And you’re scurrying around.”

“Guess we’re trading places today.”

In more ways than one, I think but don’t say.

I touch his cheek. “I’m gonna go check in on Mom.”

He nods, but before I can turn to go, he grabs my wrist so he can kiss the soft skin on the underside. My pulse flutters like it always does when he’s this tender.

Then, with another sigh, he releases me.

I almost wish he wouldn’t. There’s a crazed part of me that’s silently begging him to drag me back to bed and tease me until all thoughts of this crazy game of high-stakes politics go up in smoke.

Kiss me until you and I are all that matters.

Love me until the rest of the world is irrelevant.

But he doesn’t.

He releases me.

And so I walk away.

I smell death on my mother before I even step into her room.

Not the stench of actual decomposition—not yet—but that faint hint of an extinguishing flame. The subtle difference between a person dying and a person allowing themselves to die.

The hospital corridor feels like a purgatory I’ve walked a thousand times before. Each step costs me, not in money, but in pieces of my soul I’ll never get back.

Mom’s gotten smaller since I saw her last. Cancer is greedy that way—it takes and takes, never satisfied until it’s consumed everything. Her skin stretches like tissue paper over the failing architecture of her bones.

She spent the night at the hospital for an exploratory procedure. Results are still pending, but the doctors didn’t seem hopeful.

She’s sleeping now, which is good, because the truth is that I didn’t come to see her. The hospital was just perfect cover for what I really needed to do today.

But I still have a few minutes to kill, so I linger by Mom’s bedside. Her skeletal hand reminds me of a bird’s claw. Only when I’m sure she’s not waking anytime soon do I carefully ease myself from the chair.

As the door clicks behind me, I shed the role of dutiful daughter like a skin I’ve outgrown. It won’t serve me for what comes next.

A trio of nurses passes me in the corridor. I offer them a watery smile—the universal expression of someone with a dying loved one. It’s a perfect mask because it’s not entirely false.

I check my phone: 10:22 A.M. I slink past the ward security camera, keeping my face angled low just like Vince taught me. There’s a blind spot at the emergency stairwell. I count to thirty, watching for any of the usual surveillance signs Vince’s men employ.

Nothing.

I take the stairs down two flights to the basement level.

The smell hits me first—formaldehyde, so intentionally, scaldingly clean, but it still can’t quite mask the underlying scent of death.

The morgue. A fitting place to meet, considering that what I’m about to do would result in my funeral if Vince ever found out.

Agent Carver stands beside a steel examination table, his reflection distorted in its polished surface. He’s not alone. “Mrs. Akopov,” he says, voice neutral. “This is AUSA Reynolds.”

I assess the unfamiliar woman next to him—mid-forties, immaculate pantsuit, and eyes sharp enough to fillet me where I stand.

“Let’s be clear,” I blurt. “If either of you is wearing a wire, I’m walking out.”

Reynolds’s mouth twitches. “Bold demand from someone who’s married to the FBI’s most wanted Bratva heir.”

I shrug off my jacket and lift my shirt just high enough to prove I’m not wearing one myself. “Your turn.”

They comply after a moment of tension.

No wires.

“I don’t have much time,” I say, perching on a metal stool. “So I’ll make this quick. I can give you the Solovyov organization. Names, operations, evidence of their trafficking operations—enough to cripple them for good.”

Carver’s eyebrows inch toward his hairline. “And in exchange?”

“Immunity. Full and irrevocable for me, my daughter, my mother. And a path for Vince to transition Akopov operations to legitimate business with minimal prosecution.”

Reynolds laughs. It sounds like a door creaking in a horror movie. “You think we’d let Vincent Akopov walk? After everything he’s done?”

I shrug, as nonchalant as I know how to be. “I think you want the Solovyovs more. I think you want Barkov and his corruption network. I think you’re smart enough to recognize that sometimes you need to let one shark swim free if you want to catch the whole school.”

The morgue’s fluorescent lights buzz overhead, casting everyone in a sickly glow. One of the body drawers isn’t fully closed. I spot pale toes with a tag dangling between them.

“What makes you think Vince would honor any transition plans?” Carver asks.

I allow myself a small smile. “Because I understand what motivates him now. He cares about legacy—not the bloody one his father wants, but building something his daughter can inherit without shame.”

“So why are you here without his knowledge?” Reynolds presses.

It’s supposed to be a gotcha question. But I counter with honesty—the most disarming weapon in a world of liars. “Because I love him too much to watch him struggle between who he was raised to be and who he wants to become. I’m cutting the fucking Gordian knot for him.”

Carver studies me, still wary. “You do realize you’re playing a dangerous game? If your husband discovers this meeting⁠—”

“If my husband discovers this meeting, he’ll be furious that I took this risk. But deep down, he’ll understand why I did it.” I stand, straightening my shirt. “I’m not asking for your answer today. Take the proposal to your superiors or whoever has to sign off on your bullshit. When you’re ready to talk terms, reach out.”

As I turn to leave, Reynolds calls out, “You’re nothing like what I expected, Mrs. Akopov.”

I pause at the door, thinking of just how right she is.

“That’s because that woman doesn’t exist anymore.” My hand rests on the cold metal handle. “She died during childbirth in a Solovyov compound with a dirty syringe in her hand.”

Then I push through the door, heart hammering against my ribs like it’s trying to escape. The old Rowan would have been paralyzed by fear at what I’ve just done.

This new version of me—Vince’s wife, Sofiya’s mother, Grigor’s daughter—feels only a chilling clarity.

I check my appearance in the reflection of a vending machine. It takes a moment to school my expression back to solemn, quiet grief before heading back to my mother’s room.

The real grief will come later—when Vince discovers what I’ve done. Whether he’ll see it as protection or betrayal is the gamble I’ve just made with our future.

I just hope I’ve played the right hand.