Filthy Promises: Chapter 55

Something tugs me from sleep. A prickling sensation at the back of my neck.

I’m not alone.

My eyes snap open as my heart beatboxes against my ribs. Everything is drenched in silver moonlight, an ocean of mercury.

And there, in the armchair by the window, a darker shadow. The unmistakable silhouette of a man.

“Jesus Christ!” I bolt upright and clutch the sheets to my chest. “What are you doing in here?”

Vince doesn’t move from the chair, his face half-hidden in darkness. “I couldn’t sleep.”

“So you decided to watch me, like some kind of creepy stalker?” My pulse is still racing, though the initial surge of fear is already fading into irritation. “We’ve talked about boundaries, Vince.”

“I know.” His voice is soft, almost apologetic. “I shouldn’t be here.”

“And yet here you are. Maybe I should get you a dictionary. Or a shock collar.” I reach for the lamp on my nightstand and switch it on. Gold light chases away the silver.

Vince blinks against the sudden brightness. He looks different. Sweats instead of a suit. Eyes baggy and tired.

Vulnerable.

Human.

“Trouble sleeping?” I ask, my tone softening despite myself.

“Something like that.” His eyes meet mine across the room. “Tomorrow’s a big day.”

“Oh, yeah?” I say sarcastically. “Something special happening, or…?”

He doesn’t laugh.

All the humor goes whistling out of me in a sigh. “The wedding,” I say glumly.

He nods. “The wedding.”

“Having second thoughts?”

“No. Not about marrying you.”

“Then what?”

He leans forward, elbows resting on his knees, his face now fully visible in the lamplight. There are more shadows under his eyes than I realized at first. I wonder just how many sleepless nights he’s had since we came here.

“I’ve been thinking about us,” he says finally. “About how we got here.”

I sit up straighter. “Vince⁠—”

“Please,” he interrupts. “Let me say this. I may not get another chance.”

I nod for him to continue.

“I had a plan for my life,” he says. “Everything mapped out. Take over the company. Lead the Bratva. Make the right alliances. It was all clear. Straightforward.” He shakes his head. “And then you walked into my office that day.”

I can’t help but smile. “While you were otherwise occupied.”

A ghost of a smile touches his lips, too. “Yes. Not my finest moment.”

“I don’t know. Vanessa seemed to be enjoying herself.”

He shakes his head sadly. “I don’t even remember her face anymore. Just yours. Standing there in the doorway, looking horrified and fascinated all at once.”

Heat creeps up my neck at the memory. “I was mortified.”

“You were beautiful,” he counters. “And from that moment, my carefully ordered world started to come apart.”

I clutch the blanket tighter. “Vince, where is this going?”

He stands up from the chair and drifts to the edge of the bed. But he doesn’t sit. Keeping his distance, as promised.

“I’ve been thinking about what you said. About how I don’t know how to love someone without controlling them.” His voice is rough with emotion. “You were right.”

The admission takes me by surprise. Vincent Akopov doesn’t admit when he’s wrong. Not easily, anyway.

“I started watching you years ago because you were Petrov’s daughter,” he continues. “A potential threat. I kept watching because I couldn’t look away. I couldn’t stop thinking about you. And then, when I finally had you, I was terrified of losing you.”

“So you tried to control everything,” I finish for him.

“Yes.” He rakes a hand through his hair. “It’s how I was raised. How I was taught to handle anything of value. Control it. Own it. Protect it at all costs.”

“I’m not a thing to be owned, Vince.”

“I know that now.” His eyes lock with mine, intense and earnest. “I’m learning. Slowly. Probably not fast enough for someone as remarkable as you, but I swear to God, Rowan, I’m trying.”

My heart does a stupid little flip in my chest. “Why are you telling me this now? The night before our wedding?”

He takes a deep breath. “Because I need you to know something. Before you walk down that aisle. Before you say those vows.”

“Know what, Vince?”

“I love you.” He says it simply, directly. Those three words floating like motes of dust in the moonlit air between us. “Just you, Rowan St. Clair. I don’t deserve you, but I love you anyway.”

Tears prick at the corners of my eyes. I blink them away, determined not to crumble.

Not now.

“And if I can’t love you back?” I ask. “If this arrangement is all we ever have?”

“Then I’ll respect that, too.” His voice is steady, though I can see what it costs him to say it. “I’ll honor your boundaries. I’ll be whatever you need me to be—husband in name only, co-parent, protector. Even if you never let me back in.”

I gulp against a newfound tightness in my throat. “Why now?” I ask again. “Why tonight?”

He moves back to the chair, sitting down heavily. “Because tomorrow, in front of everyone, you’ll become my wife. And I need you to be absolutely certain that’s what you want.”

“I already agreed to this. We’ve made all the arrangements.”

“Plans can change.” He echoes his own words from the council meeting. “Nothing is final until you say, ‘I do.’”

I stare at him. “Are you giving me an out?”

“If you wake up tomorrow and decide this isn’t what you want—if you can’t see a future where you might someday forgive me—then don’t come to the altar. I’ll understand.”

“I—”

“Don’t say anything yet.” He starts to retreat back toward the door. “Just think about it. If you come tomorrow, I’ll know it’s because you choose to, not because you feel trapped.”

He pauses at the threshold and turns back to look at me one more time.

“Whatever you decide, I meant what I said. I love you, Rowan. I think I have from the beginning, even when I was too stubborn and too broken to recognize it.”