Chapter 16: Filthy Lies: Chapter 16

He’s slipping away. I see it in the granite set of his jaw, the frost crystallizing in those blue eyes—colder than they’ve been in months.

I’m not fucking stupid.

His hands were raw when he came home—scrubbed clean, but I know the difference between shower-clean and evidence-clean.

Tonight, Vince came home with blood on his soul if not his hands.

No more secrets, he promised. We promised. But his lies hover between us like ghosts, these shapeless things I can almost touch.

The Bratva is dragging him back into the darkness, piece by piece. That other life always waits for him like an addiction he can’t quite kick.

Vince has disappeared into his study, probably thinking I’d fall asleep without him. He doesn’t realize I haven’t slept properly since the kidnapping. Every time I close my eyes, I’m back in that room, bleeding on that filthy mattress, terrified my baby wouldn’t survive.

Some nights, the phantom pain in my womb still feels real enough to make me double over.

But tonight isn’t about my trauma. It’s about whatever Vince isn’t telling me.

I rise silently and pad out of the room. I stop in the nursery as I go. It’s a marvel that something so pure as our daughter could come from our fucked-up circumstances. She’s sleeping, one tiny fist curled beside her face like it’s raised in victory.

Running my fingers through my tangled hair, I decide enough is enough. Whatever demon is eating Vince alive, I’m not letting it devour him in silence.

I find him in his study, staring at the wall of security monitors. His back is to me, shoulders rigid beneath his white dress shirt. The glass of whiskey in his hand is untouched.

“What happened tonight?” I ask, skipping the pretense.

He doesn’t turn around. “I told you. Business matters.”

“Bullshit.” I plant my fists on my hips. “Answer the question.”

He turns, and for a split second, I see unfiltered anguish before the mask slides back into place. “Rowan, drop it. Please.”

“No.” I step into the room and cross the distance between us. “You came home with death in your eyes, Vince. I’ve seen that look before.”

His jaw clenches. “Some things are better left alone.”

“Not between us.” I place my hand on his chest, feeling his heart throbbing beneath my palm. “No more secrets, remember? That was our deal after everything with your father.”

The mention of Andrei makes something dangerous dance across Vince’s face.

“What did he do?” I whisper, understanding suddenly crystallizing. “What did he do this time?”

Vince sets down his untouched whiskey with deliberate care. “He tried to access your medical records at the hospital. Sent one of his men to get them.”

“Why would he⁠—”

“Information is power,” Vince says flatly. “The more he knows about your recovery, about Sofiya, the more leverage he has.”

I wrap my arms around myself, suddenly cold despite the room’s warmth. “And you… handled it?”

Vince’s eyes meet mine, unflinching. “Yes.”

One syllable, nothing more, dripping with implications I’m not sure I want unpacked.

“Did you kill someone?”

For a while, he says nothing. Then, barely audible: “Yes.”

The world doesn’t tilt. The ground doesn’t open up beneath my feet. Life just keeps on ticking, and I just stand there, absorbing this truth like it’s any other mundane confession. Like he’s told me he forgot to pick up milk or pay a bill.

“Who?” I ask.

“Yuri Belyaev. My father’s captain. The one who tried to access your records.” Vince watches me carefully, waiting for horror, for revulsion. “I made an example of him in front of the council. To show them what happens when someone threatens my family.”

“And your father?”

“Has been placed under what amounts to house arrest.” The set of Vince’s jaw solidifies. “It had to be done, Rowan. He left me no choice.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” I ask, softer now.

Vince looks away. “I didn’t want you to see that side of me again. That man is a monster.”

“That man is my husband.” I take his face between my hands. “And I didn’t marry half of you, Vince. I married all of you. The parts that read me romance novels in bed and the parts that would cut a thousand throats down to keep us safe.”

His breath catches, like my acceptance is the last thing he expected. Maybe it’s the last thing I expected, too.

“I’ve tried so hard to be better,” he whispers. “To be the man you deserve.”

“You already are.” I rest my forehead against his. “And when that means protecting us, I don’t get to judge the methods.”

His arms wrap around me, pulling me against him with desperate strength. I feel his body trembling—the release of tension he’s been holding since he walked through the door.

“I was sure you’d hate me,” he mumbles into my hair.

“I could never hate you.” I pull back enough to look into his eyes. “But I need the truth, Vince. Always. Even when it’s ugly. Even when it’s covered in blood. Maybe even especially then.”

He kisses me then, hard and hungry, like a drowning man finding air. I kiss him back just as hard. God, how I want to erase the distance between us, to prove with my body what my words might not fully convey.

That I understand him.

That I accept him.

That the line between monster and protector blurred into meaninglessness for me long ago.

His hands are rough as they slide beneath my shirt. He grips my waist with bruising intensity. My still-healing body protests. And we can’t—not yet. It’s too soon.

So for now, as we part reluctantly, I don’t go far. I melt against him, my face pressed in the hollow of his throat, and I quietly inhale all the scents that mark him as mine.

I shake my head without lifting it from his skin. “Do you remember what you said to me that night in my apartment? After the car crash?”

He breathes. Waits.

“You told me I could be furious with you, but at least I was alive to feel it.” I lean away and brush his silver-streaked hair back from his forehead. “That’s what tonight was about, as far as I’m concerned. Keeping us alive, no matter what it took.”

Vince’s eyes darken. “I would kill every person in the Bratva if it meant keeping you and Sofiya safe. I wouldn’t hesitate.”

“I know.” I touch my lips to his. “That’s why I love you.”