Chapter 23: Filthy Lies: Chapter 23

“They’re regrouping.”

Arkady’s voice crackles through the secure line. For a man who never worries, he sounds pretty fucking worried.

“Where?” I ask, moving to the window of my study. Outside, the morning sun casts long shadows across the compound.

“Warehouses in Red Hook. Our surveillance caught at least thirty of those Solovyov fucks gathering last night. Heavy weapons. Encrypted comms. This isn’t a defensive posture, Vin.”

I watch as one of my security men passes below, rifle slung across his chest. “How long?”

“Days, probably. A week at most.”

I end the call and set the phone down slowly as I think. The Solovyovs are nothing if not predictable—wounded pride demands retribution. They failed to keep Rowan and Sofiya as leverage. Now, they want blood.

Mine, specifically.

The door opens behind me. I don’t need to turn to know it’s Rowan. Her scent fills the room long before she does.

“Bad news?” she asks.

I turn to face her. Sofiya sleeps against her shoulder, tiny fingers curled into that ever-present fist near her mouth. The sight still punches me in the gut—this perfect creature we created, slumbering with no idea of the chaos raging around her.

“The Solovyovs are mobilizing again.”

Her arms tighten instinctively around our daughter. “Here?”

“Not yet. But soon.” I cross to them, brushing a finger across Sofiya’s cheek. “We need to make a move before they do.”

“What kind of move?”

“Sofiya’s christening. Next week.”

Rowan blinks, confusion replacing the fear in her eyes. “We’re doing her christening? Now? With everything that’s happening?”

“Especially now.” I guide her to the leather sofa and sit beside her. “It’s time we remind everyone who we are.”

“And who are we, Vincent?” Her voice has that edge I’ve come to recognize—the warning before the storm.

“We’re the Akopovs. Strong. Unafraid.” I take her free hand in mine. “A family that lives normally despite threats. That christens their daughter according to tradition, on schedule. That doesn’t hide.”

Her eyes narrow. “You want to use our daughter as a statement.”

“I want to use the ceremony as a statement. There’s a difference.”

“Is there?” Rowan adjusts Sofi’s swaddle. “Because it sounds like you’re putting her in the crosshairs to prove a point.”

“I’m showing our enemies that we won’t be cowed.”

She scowls. “This isn’t about us not being ‘cowed,’ Vince. This is about you wanting to wave a red flag in front of a bull.” She paces in front of me, voice tight but controlled so as not to wake our daughter. “You’re turning our baby’s christening into a power play.”

I lean forward, elbows on my knees. “Everything in our world is a power play, Rowan. Every action, every appearance, every event is interpreted as strength or weakness.”

“She’s an infant!”

“She’s an Akopov.”

The look Rowan gives me could freeze hell. “No. I refuse to accept that.”

“Accept it or don’t, but it’s reality, whether you like it or not.”

“Your reality, maybe.” She clutches Sofiya tighter. “I want something different for her.”

I rise slowly, maintaining careful distance to avoid escalating the tension. “So do I. But right now, we’re surrounded by enemies who respect only one thing: strength.”

“But you think they’ll respect a christening? They kidnapped me while I was mid-labor, Vince. What makes you think they’ll draw the line at a damn church?” Her voice rises, and Sofiya stirs with a whimper. Rowan immediately softens her tone, kissing our daughter’s head. “I’m sorry, angel. Mommy’s sorry.”

I watch them, this fierce protector and the tiny life she shields. My chest aches with a mixture of love and frustration.

“Rowan.” I step closer, keeping my voice low. “I’ve never asked you to understand all of my decisions. But I need you to trust that I would never, ever put Sofiya in danger.”

“Not intentionally.” Her green eyes lock with mine. “But your perspective is warped, Vince. You were raised to believe strength is about making a show, about never backing down. I was raised to believe strength is about protecting what matters, whatever it takes.”

“They’re not mutually exclusive.”

“Aren’t they? Because right now, it feels like you’re choosing the show over the protection.”

Her words cut deep, not because they’re cruel, but because there’s truth in them. I was taught from childhood that perception is everything. Show weakness, and you become prey. Show strength, and predators hesitate.

But Rowan wasn’t raised in that world.

I go to the window again, giving myself space to think. Below, the security team changes shifts, men with guns protecting the perimeter of our home. Is this the life I want for my daughter? Always surrounded by weapons and threat assessments?

No. But it’s the life she has. For now.

“What if we compromise?” I offer finally.

Rowan’s posture softens, but only slightly. “I’m listening.”

“A private ceremony. Small. Only essential family and a few strategic guests.”

She considers this, gently swaying as Sofiya sleeps on. “Define ‘strategic guests.’”

“Arkady. Dimitri. Heads of the allied families who need to see we’re standing firm.” I pause. “And Grigor.”

Her eyes widen. “My father?”

“His presence would send a powerful message. The Petrovs standing with the Akopovs, even symbolically, would make the Solovyovs think twice.”

“You hate Grigor.”

“I do. But I love you and Sofiya more than I hate him.”

A small smile touches her lips. “That’s… surprisingly mature of you.”

“I have my moments.”

She joins me at the window, close enough that I can feel Sofiya’s gentle breath against my neck. “No publicity. No photos. Nothing that could appear in the press or on social media.”

“Agreed.” I kiss her forehead. “And afterward, we accelerate our plans to neutralize the Solovyov threat permanently.”

She nods and leans over to rest against my chest. “How did we get here, Vince? Sometimes, it just feels like we’re stuck in a bad dream.”

I wish I had a comforting answer. Something that would erase the weariness in her voice. But I only have the truth.

“This is our life, Rowan. For now. But not forever.”

“You promise?”

“I swear.” I tilt her chin up to look at me. “One day, we’ll plan Sofiya’s birthday parties without security protocols.”

Her smile is sad. “I wonder if we’ll even know how by then.”