Chapter 13: Filthy Lies: Chapter 13

The nightmare always starts the same way.

I’m outside Vince’s panic room, crawling on hands and knees, blood hot and wet between my legs. The code panel is just out of reach, my fingers stretching, straining.

One number left. Just one.

Then the contraction hits—a vicious hammer fist of pain that makes my vision go white. I fall.

And when it clears, they’re there. Shadows with guns, speaking Russian. Hands grabbing me. Sofiya kicking inside me, desperate to escape.

I wake gasping, sweat-soaked, my hands cupping my stomach even though Sofiya is no longer there.

“Just a dream,” I whisper to the dark. “Just a dream.”

But it wasn’t just a dream.

It happened.

Two weeks ago, it all happened.

I look over at the bassinet beside our bed. Sofiya sleeps, her tiny chest rising and falling in perfect rhythm. She has no idea how she came into this world. No memory of the concrete floor or the bloodstained mattress.

Lucky her.

I slide out of bed, careful not to wake Vince. He’s a light sleeper these days. Keeps one eye open, even in rest. The dark circles under his eyes match mine. Neither of us has slept properly since it happened.

In the bathroom, I splash cold water on my face and avoid my reflection. I know what I’ll see—hollow eyes, sharp cheekbones, a woman still haunted by what she endured.

Physical recovery is one thing. The doctors that Vince brings to check on me say I’m healing well, all things considered.

But the other part? The part where I close my eyes and feel phantom hands grabbing me? Where every unexpected noise sends my heart racing?

That’s a different story.

When I return to the bedroom, Vince is sitting up, already reaching for his gun on the nightstand.

“It’s just me,” I say quickly.

He relaxes, but only slightly. “Nightmare again?”

I nod as I slide back into bed. “The same one.”

His arm wraps around me. “You’re safe now. Both of you.”

“I know.”

But do I? Does anyone in this life ever feel truly safe?

“Sofiya was making little noises in her sleep earlier,” I say as a means of changing the subject. “She scrunches her nose just like you do when you’re thinking.”

His chest rumbles with a quiet laugh. “Poor kid. Let’s hope that’s all she gets from me.”

I turn to face him, studying his features in the dim light. “She could do worse. You’re not half-bad to look at.”

He kisses my forehead, his beard scratching pleasantly against my skin. I like that he’s growing it longer these days. “You should sleep. Morning comes too soon.”

I want to. But sleep means more nightmares. More blood. More fear.

“Tell me something,” I whisper. “Something good to think about.”

Vince is quiet for a moment. His fingers trace idle patterns on my back. “I’ve been thinking about teaching Sofiya to swim when she’s older,” he says finally. “There’s a lake near one of our hunting lodges in Vermont. Clear blue water. Safe.”

I close my eyes and imagine it. Vince teaching our daughter to float, to trust the water. His strong hands supporting her tiny body. The sun warming our skin.

“I’d like that,” I murmur.

With that picture in my mind, I drift back to sleep.

Morning brings a different kind of tension.

“Agent Carver called,” Vince announces as I’m nursing Sofiya in the living room. “He wants to meet.”

My stomach tightens. Special Agent David Carver of the FBI—the man who’s been investigating Vince’s business dealings for the past year. The man who questioned me after the FBI raid on Akopov Industries months ago. Not exactly the best friend of the Bratva, all things considered.

“Why now?” I ask.

“Your kidnapping caught their attention.” Vince’s jaw tightens. “Not the details, but enough for them to take a renewed interest in us.”

“What did you tell him?”

“Nothing yet.” He paces the room. Restless energy slakes off of him in pulsating waves. “I told him I’d get back to him.”

I adjust Sofiya at my breast. Her tiny hands scrabble at my skin. “We knew this was coming. The FBI isn’t exactly known for their lack of follow-through.”

“You don’t have to talk to him. We can refuse.”

I look up sharply. “And make them even more suspicious? Make them think we have something to hide?”

“We do have something to hide, Rowan.”

“No,” I counter. “The Solovyovs have something to hide. They’re the ones who took me.”

Vince stops pacing, his blue eyes locked on mine. “And what about my father’s involvement? The Bratva connection? Are you prepared to explain all that under federal deposition?”

I take a deep breath. “I think we need to be strategic about this. Selective cooperation.”

“There’s no such thing.” His voice hardens. “You give them an inch, they take a mile. That’s how they operate.”

“So does refusing to talk. It only makes them dig deeper.” I switch Sofiya to the other breast. After a brief whine, she latches on and begins suckling again. “What if we used this as an opportunity?”

“An opportunity for what?”

“To redirect their attention. Away from your legitimate business and toward the Solovyovs.”

He sits beside me, expression guarded. “Explain.”

“I tell them a version of the truth. That I was kidnapped by Russian criminals. That they wanted to use me and the baby as leverage in some kind of turf war. I don’t mention your father or the Bratva directly.”

But he’s already shaking his head before I even finish. “It’s too risky,” he says. “You slip up once, say the wrong thing, and they’ll have enough to build a case against me.”

“You don’t trust me?”

“It’s not about trust. It’s about protection.”

A small burp from Sofiya breaks the tension. We both look at her, this tiny miracle we created together.

“I know you want to keep us locked away from the world,” I say more gently. “To build walls so high no one can ever reach us again. But Vincent, we can’t live like that. No one can.”

His hand comes up to cup Sofiya’s head. His touch is infinitely tender despite the turmoil in his eyes.

“I almost lost you both,” he rasps. “I can’t… I won’t take that risk again.”

I place my hand over his. “If I don’t talk to Carver, he’ll make his own conclusions. And those conclusions will place you at the center of everything that happened.”

Vince is silent for a long moment. Finally, he nods once. “Alright. You meet with him—at a location of my choosing, with my security nearby.”

“Agreed. And I tell him an edited version of the truth. Enough to redirect his attention to the Solovyovs without implicating you or your business.”

“No details about the Bratva. Nothing about my father.”

“Of course not. I’ll keep it focused on the kidnapping itself.”

He scrutinizes me. “You’re not the same woman you were before all this, are you?”

I’m not sure whether to laugh or cry. “No,” I admit after a moment. “I’m not.”

“Good,” he says simply. “The old Rowan wouldn’t survive in this world.”

He’s not wrong. I am different. Harder edges where I used to bend, plated armor where I once had raw nerves. The transformation isn’t just physical—it’s bone-deep, cellular.

This new Rowan wears her changes like invisible tattoos.

“The meeting is set for tomorrow afternoon,” Vince continues. “We’ll go over your statement tonight. Practice what you’ll say, prepare for his questions.”

I nod, but a shadow of doubt creeps in. “Vince… how deep am I in your world now? Really?”

His hand finds mine, fingers interlacing. “As deep as I am.”

It’s not the answer I wanted. But it’s the truth.

And these days, I’ll take truth over comfort every time.