Chapter 32: Filthy Lies: Chapter 32

The first security camera stills hit my desk before Rowan even makes it back from the hospital.

My wife—my pregnant, kidnapped, terrorized wife who I thought was visiting her dying mother—standing in the fucking morgue with Agent Carver and some stone-faced bitch in a pantsuit.

Blood rushes to my head so fast I nearly black out.

“Where did you get these?” I ask Dimitri, my voice lethal in its softness.

“Security team picked her up on hospital cameras. Followed her movements.” He hesitates, clearly wondering if he’ll be the one I kill today. “She went to Mrs. St. Clair’s room, then to the morgue. Fourteen minutes unaccounted for down there.”

Fourteen minutes. Less than a quarter of an hour to betray everything we’ve built.

I thumb through the grainy images. Rowan lifting her shirt, proving she’s not wired. Carver and his colleague doing the same. My beautiful wife gesturing in what looks like explanation, her face determined, fierce.

“Audio?” I ask, already knowing the answer.

“No, sir. Hospital basement, so no sensors in place, just the stills.”

I nod once, dismissing him. When the door closes, I let the red haze of rage wash over me.

I’ve killed men for less than what my wife has done today. I’ve destroyed entire families for smaller betrayals.

I reach for my gun, an automatic response when my territory is threatened.

But Rowan isn’t territory. She’s… fuck. She’s everything.

I force myself to breathe, to think beyond the impulse to lash out. What was she thinking? After everything we’ve been through—after I’ve killed and bled and burned the world to keep her safe—she goes behind my back to the fucking feds?

I’m still seething when the surveillance team forwards a follow-up report. Carver’s call logs, intercepted. A call to his superior immediately after meeting Rowan.

Key phrases captured: “Solovyov organization,” “immunity deal,” “Akopov transition to legitimate operations.”

Just like that, the rage dies with a whimper.

She didn’t sell us out.

She tried to save us.

I want to rejoice in it. She’s so much smarter than I give her credit for, and every time I think I’ve correctly revised my opinion, it turns out I’ve just underestimated yet again.

But I can’t rejoice. There’s too much guilt for that.

Because I’ve turned her into this—this clever, dangerous creature who plays both sides against the middle. Who walks into the lion’s den armed with nothing but her wits and walks back out intact.

Pride wars with possessiveness. She shouldn’t have gone alone. Shouldn’t have kept this from me.

But she did it for us.

Just like I’ve done a thousand unspeakable things for the same reason.

“Arkady,” I call into the intercom. “I need a few arrangements made. Tonight.”

By the time I hear her car pull into the compound, I’ve channeled my fury into something more productive.

The bedroom has been transformed. Crystal glasses gleam in the candlelight. The security monitors have been hidden behind a Japanese silk screen. Her favorite wine—a ridiculously expensive Bordeaux—breathes on the table.

I’ve even managed to source wildflowers that match the ones from our wedding. They won’t erase her betrayal, but they’ll soften the blow of what comes next.

Because make no mistake—we will be having a conversation about boundaries. About trust. About who the fuck calls the shots in this relationship.

But first, I want to remind her why she chose me, and why she must trust me enough to risk everything.

I hear her voice in the foyer, speaking softly to Dimitri about Sofiya. The baby monitor on the table confirms our daughter is already asleep. Perfect timing.

When Rowan appears in the doorway, the guilt on her face is so raw it takes my breath away. She expected to find me working, not… this.

“Vince…?” Her voice wavers. She’s still wearing the clothes from the surveillance photos, but her hair is down now, falling in caramel waves around her shoulders. “What’s all this?”

“Surprise.” I hand her a glass of wine, watching her closely. “I thought we deserved a night to ourselves.”

Her eyes dart around the room, suspicious. Looking for the trap.

Smart girl.

“Is there an occasion I forgot?” she asks carefully.

“Just celebrating my brilliant, beautiful wife.” I touch her cheek, thumb tracing her jawline. Her pulse hammers beneath my fingers. “How was your mother?”

The flinch is almost imperceptible.

Almost.

“About the same.” She takes a long sip of wine. “Maybe a little worse.”

I nod, playing along. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

We stand there in charged silence, the air between us crackling with secrets. She knows I know something. She just hasn’t figured out how much.

I guide her to the table where dinner waits. She sits, fingers fidgeting with her napkin.

“This is… unexpected.” She tries for a smile. “But nice.”

“When was the last time we had a proper meal together? Just the two of us?” I pour more wine into her glass. “Before Sofiya, certainly.”

“Before a lot of things.” Her green eyes search mine. “Vince, is everything okay?”

“That depends.” I reach across the table and capture her hand. “On whether my wife trusts me enough to be honest with me.”

The blood drains from her face. “What do you mean?”

“Tell me about your meeting today, Rowan.”

For a second there, I think she might deny it. Might spin another lie to cover the first.

But that’s not my Rowan. Not anymore.

“How did you know?” she asks, voice barely audible.

“I know everything.” I bring her hand to my lips, pressing a kiss to her knuckles. “The question is why you thought you needed to keep it from me.”

She withdraws her hand slowly. “Would you have let me go if I’d told you?”

“No.”

“Well, that’s why.”

Her honesty disarms me. No excuses. No frantic justifications. Just the simple truth that she did what she thought was necessary, consequences be damned.

Just like me.

“What exactly did you offer Carver?” I keep my voice neutral despite the molten rage still simmering beneath the surface.

“Information on the Solovyovs in exchange for immunity for us and a path to legitimacy for your operations.” She meets my eyes directly. “I didn’t give them anything they could use against you. I just… opened a door.”

I take a slow sip of wine, considering. “And why would you do that without consulting me first?”

“Because sometimes, you’re so busy protecting us that you forget to protect yourself.” Her voice strengthens. “I’m tired of watching you try to be both the man your father created and the man I fell in love with. And I thought, if I could eliminate one threat, maybe you’d have room to breathe.”

Something in my chest cracks open, spilling warmth through veins that have run cold for decades.

“You could have been arrested,” I remind her. “Taken from Sofiya. From me.”

“It was a calculated risk.”

“It was fucking stupid,” I snap, the facade cracking. “You have no idea the games these people play, the traps they set.”

“I didn’t promise them anything concrete. I didn’t sign anything. I opened a channel of communication that we can exploit if needed.”

I study her face—the stubborn set of her jaw, the defiance in her eyes.

She’s not sorry. Not really. She’s only sorry she got caught.

I don’t have it in me to be mad at her.

“Come here,” I order, pushing back from the table.

She hesitates, then rises, moving around to stand before me. I pull her onto my lap, one hand gripping her hip, the other tangling in her hair to tug her head back.

“If you ever—ever—put yourself at risk like that again,” I growl against her throat, “I will lose my fucking mind, Rowan. Do you understand me?”

She shivers, not with fear but with something darker. “Yes.”

“You think you’re protecting me?” I bite the sensitive juncture where her neck meets her shoulder, hard enough to mark her. “You think I need your protection?”

Her breath hitches. “Sometimes, yes.”

I stand abruptly, lifting her with me. Dinner forgotten, I carry her to the wall and pin her there, my body pressed against hers.

“I protect what’s mine,” I tell her, voice rough. “Not the other way around.”

I expect defiance. Argument.

Instead, her pupils dilate, swallowing the green of her irises. “Then protect me,” she whispers. “Right now.”

A tangled knot inside me rips loose—all the rage and fear and twisted pride I’ve been fighting since seeing those surveillance photos.

I capture her mouth in a bruising kiss. I don’t hold back or go easy on her. She doesn’t deserve that.

She responds in kind, her hands clawing at my shirt, ripping buttons in her haste. I tear her blouse open, buttons scattering across the floor like tiny diamonds. Her breasts have changed since motherhood—fuller, more sensitive. When I cup one roughly, she gasps into my mouth.

“Tell me if I hurt you,” I order against her lips.

“You won’t.”

But I might. The darkness coiling inside me wants to punish her for today, to remind her that while she might act independently, she still belongs to me.

Body and soul.

I hike her skirt up around her waist, finding her already wet through her panties. The discovery only fuels my possessiveness. Even in betrayal, her body responds to me.

“This is mine,” I growl, tearing the delicate fabric aside. “No matter what games you play with the FBI, no matter what risks you take, this belongs to me.”

Her head falls back against the wall. “Yes.”

I free myself from my pants, lifting her easily. Her legs wrap around my waist and her heels dig into my back.

“Look at me, Rowan.”

Her eyes meet mine, glazed with need.

“I need to hear you say it. That you’re mine. That no matter what schemes you concoct, no matter what risks you take, you belong to me first.”

“I’m yours,” she breathes. “Always yours, Vince.”

I enter her in one smooth thrust, watching her face contort with pleasure. She’s tight, almost virginal again, but she takes me with a tortured gasp.

“Who makes the decisions that affect our family?” I ask, remaining motionless inside her.

Her eyes flash with defiance. “We both do.”

I withdraw almost entirely, the head of my cock teasing her entrance. “Try again.”

She bites her lip, fighting the urge to push against me. “You do,” she finally concedes.

“That’s right.” I thrust back in, rewarding her submission. “I do. Because every choice has consequences, Rowan. Every risk puts Sofiya in danger. Puts you in danger.”

I begin to move in earnest, each thrust punctuating my words. She clings to me desperately. Her nails dig crescents into my shoulders as I fuck her against the wall, hard and deep.

“And if something happened to you—” I can barely form the words. “If they took you from me⁠—”

“They won’t,” she gasps. “I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere.”

I claim her mouth again, silencing her promises. She can’t know that. Can’t guarantee it.

But right now, in this moment, I can feel her. Taste her. Mark her as mine in the most barbaric way possible.

Her first orgasm takes us both by surprise, her body clenching around mine as she cries out against my mouth. I don’t slow. Just drive her through it and toward another peak immediately.

“Mine,” I repeat. “Fucking mine.”

“Yours,” she agrees.

It’s what I wanted. But it’s not enough—I need more. I need her to feel my ownership in her bones.

I drag her from the wall and throw her face-down onto the table. Wine glasses shatter. The Bordeaux spills across white linen like blood, staining everything it touches.

I don’t care. The only red I want to see is the marks my palms will leave on her skin.

“Hands behind your back,” I command, pressing her cheek against the table.

She complies immediately, crossing her wrists at the small of her back. I pin them there with one hand while my other hand tangles in her hair, smashing her head down on the table. The position arches her back, presenting her ass to me like an offering.

“You think you can go behind my back?” I thrust back into her, harder than before. “You think you know better than me how to handle the FBI?”

She moans, unable to form words as I pound into her. The table shudders beneath us, creaking with each savage thrust.

I tighten my grip on her hair, yanking her head back just enough to see her profile—eyes closed, mouth open in ecstasy.

“Answer me,” I bark, slapping her ass hard enough to leave a handprint.

“No—ah—Vince—” Her voice fractures as I hit a spot deep inside her.

“No, what?” Another slap, harder this time. The pale skin of her ass reddens instantly under my palm.

“No, I shouldn’t—” She gasps as I drive even deeper. “I shouldn’t have gone alone.”

“You shouldn’t have gone at all.” I release her hair, reaching around to find her clit. My fingers circle the swollen nub, feeling how slick she is from her first orgasm. “This is what happens when you play with fire, Rowan. You get burned.”

I rub her clit in time with my thrusts, feeling her body tremble on the edge of another climax. Then, right when she’s almost there, I stop, denying her at the last second.

“Please,” she whimpers, trying to push back against me. “Please, Vince, I’m so close⁠—”

“You don’t get to come until I say so.” I withdraw completely to leave her empty and wanting. “You don’t get to decide when you talk to the feds, and you don’t get to decide when you come.”

She just moans helplessly.

“You want to come?” I trace the curve of her spine with my fingertips, savoring the way goosebumps rise in their wake. “Then tell me you were wrong.”

She squirms beneath me, still bent over the table, still denied. The brutal heat of her desperation makes my cock throb.

“I was wrong,” she whimpers.

“Not enough.” I slap her ass again, harder, watching the perfect handprint bloom like a crimson flower on her skin. “Tell me why you were wrong.”

Her breathing is ragged, her body trembling. “Because I should have trusted you. Because I should have told you.”

I press my thumb against her wetness, collecting the slick evidence of her arousal. Then I move higher, to the tight ring no one has ever touched.

“I’m going to mark every part of you tonight,” I tell her, circling her hole with my thumb. “Remind you who you belong to.”

She stiffens slightly beneath me. I lean over her, lips against her ear.

“Relax,” I command, voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. “Open for me like you should have opened up about your little meeting. No more secrets between us, Rowan. No locked doors. No hidden parts.”

Her breathing quickens, but she forces herself to relax.

“That’s it,” I encourage, pressing my thumb against the resistance. “Let me in. Let me own every inch of you.”

The tip of my thumb breaches her, and she gasps—pain and pleasure and surprise and need all mingled together.

“Does it hurt?” I ask, not because I’ll stop, but because I need to know exactly what she’s feeling.

“Yes,” she admits. “But don’t stop.”

That’s my girl. That’s my fucking warrior queen.

I press deeper, feeling her body stretch to accommodate the intrusion. With my free hand, I reach around to touch her clit again, giving her pleasure to balance the discomfort.

“This is what happens when you play games with me, Rowan.” I work my thumb deeper in her ass, feeling her body clench around me. “I push into places that make you uncomfortable. I expose everything you try to hide.”

She moans, a broken sound torn from somewhere deep inside her.

“But what you need to remember—” I twist my thumb slightly, making her cry out, “—is that I will always give you pleasure with the pain. I will always take care of what’s mine.”

My fingers work her clit as my thumb presses into her ass. The dual sensation has her trembling, gasping my name frantically.

“Please, Vince, please let me come⁠—”

“Not yet.” I withdraw my thumb only to press back in, establishing a rhythm that has her writhing beneath me. “You need to understand what it means to be mine. Every part of you. Every decision. Every fucking breath.”

I line my cock up with her entrance again, sliding all the way in with one brutal thrust. The sensation of being inside her while my thumb invades her ass is mind-blowing, for both of us.

“Take all of me,” I snarl. “Every part. Just like I take all of you.”

She’s sobbing now with overwhelm. I can feel her getting closer to the edge again, her body tightening around me.

“This is what it means to be mine, Rowan.” I thrust harder, deeper. “It means I own every part of you. Your pussy. Your ass. Your mind. Your heart.” Each word is punctuated with a brutal thrust. “Every. Fucking. Inch.”

Her walls flutter around me, her body desperate for release.

“You went to the feds thinking you could protect me,” I growl in her ear. “But who protects you, Rowan? Who keeps you safe when you’re being fucking stupid?”

“You do,” she gasps.

“That’s right.” I press my thumb in again, feeling her stretch around me. “I do. Now, come for me. Show me who you belong to.”

I rub her clit hard and fast as I pound into her, my thumb still buried in her ass. The invasion is complete—I’ve claimed every part of her. Marked her inside and out. And as she shatters beneath me, her body convulsing with the force of her climax, I know one thing with absolute certainty:

She is mine. Every secret, every scheme, every dark corner of her soul.

Mine to protect.

Mine to punish.

Mine to love.

And I’ll take down anyone who tries to steal her from me—even if that person is Rowan herself.