Filthy Lies (Akopov Bratva Book 2)

My right leg won’t stop jittering.

“You don’t have to do this,” Vince says for the hundredth time. His hand covers my bouncing knee. “We can leave. Right now. Just say the word.”

I take a deep breath and stare out the car window. The private dining room of the Four Seasons stands as neutral territory—neither Petrov nor Akopov ground. Both sides have swept it for bugs, checked for snipers, and verified escape routes. War preparations for a joyful family reunion.

“I need to do this.”

Vince’s jaw tightens, but he nods. “I’ll be right beside you.”

I peek at the back seat where Arkady sits with Sofiya’s car seat situated between him and another guard. Sofi couldn’t care less about any of the dramatics. She’s fixated on Arkady’s goofy grin and puffed-out cheeks, giggling every time he looks at her.

If only life were still so simple.

“Ready?” Vince asks.

No.

“Yes.”

I scoop up my daughter, then we all get out of the car. We enter through a service corridor, avoiding the main restaurant. Six of Vince’s men create a barrier around us. Sofiya promptly falls asleep against my chest. I thank God for the millionth time that she’s such an easy baby.

The dining room door looms ahead. Beyond it waits the stranger who gave me half my DNA and left me to figure out the rest on my own.

“Remember,” Vince murmurs, “one word from you and we’re gone.”

I nod, suddenly unable to speak.

Arkady opens the door, and Vince guides me inside, his hand protective at the small of my back.

The room is elegant—crystal chandeliers, white tablecloths, delicate china waiting on a table set for four. But I notice none of that. My eyes lock immediately on the man standing by the window.

My father.

Grigor Petrov is tall—taller than I expected. Graying hair, impeccably styled. A sharp jaw covered with salt-and-pepper stubble.

But it’s his eyes that freeze me in place.

My eyes.

The same shade of green I see in the mirror every morning.

“Rowan.” His voice is deeper than Vince’s, but something in its cadence feels hauntingly familiar.

“Mr. Petrov.” My voice sounds distant, like it belongs to someone else.

“Please.” He gestures to the table. “Sit.”

Vince’s hand tightens on my waist. I feel him radiating tension, ready to intervene at the slightest provocation.

We sit across from Grigor. Vince positions himself just a hair in front of me.

“Thank you for coming,” Grigor begins, his eyes never leaving my face. “I have waited many years for this day.”

“Have you?”

His smile is small, melancholy. “You have her skepticism.”

“My mother taught me not to trust snakes. They tend to bite.”

“Yes, Margaret was always wise like that.” He folds his hands on the table. “How is she?”

“Dying.”

Grigor nods solemnly, like that’s exactly what he expected. “I am sorry to hear this. She is a remarkable woman.”

“You don’t know her.”

“I knew her once. Better than most.”

Vince shifts beside me. “We’re not here to discuss the past.”

Grigor’s eyes flicker to Vince, cold and assessing, before returning to me.

“You look like her,” he says, ignoring Vince completely. “Around the mouth, the chin. But the eyes…” His voice goes dreamy. “Those are mine.”

Sofiya stirs against my chest. Grigor’s gaze drops to the bundle in my arms, and something transforms in his face. The hard lines soften. The bitterness in his eyes gives way to something that looks suspiciously like wonder.

“My granddaughter, yes?”

I find myself instinctively angling Sofiya away from his view. Vince’s hand finds my knee under the table, a warm, steady reassurance.

“Why now?” I ask. “You’ve had twenty-seven years to find me. Why wait until now?”

Grigor leans back in his chair, studying me. “I did not know you existed until you were nearly five years old.”

My breath catches. “What?”

“Margaret never told me she was pregnant when she left.” His eyes grow distant with memory. “She simply disappeared one day. I searched, of course. But your mother was clever. She knew how to vanish.”

I shake my head. “She said you wanted to marry her, to bring her into your world.”

“I did.” His hands spread in a gesture that reminds me viscerally of myself. “I loved her. But Margaret wanted a different life.”

“So how did you find out about me?”

A server enters with water, and conversation pauses. The silence looms taut and awkward until the door closes again.

“Chance,” Grigor continues. “One of my men saw Margaret in Albany with a little girl. A girl with my eyes.” He drinks from his water glass. “I had her investigated, discreetly. When I confirmed you were mine, I had to decide what to do.”

“And what did you decide?”

“To respect Margaret’s choice.” His voice grows quiet. “She left my world to protect you from it. I would not undo that sacrifice by forcing my way back in.”

I feel my skepticism rising. “You expect me to believe that a man like you just walked away?”

“No.” He reaches for a leather portfolio beside him. “I did not walk away. I simply kept my distance.”

He opens the portfolio and slides a photograph across the table.

It’s me. Maybe six years old, missing my two front teeth, holding an ice cream cone in Albany’s Washington Park.

I do a stunned double-take. “How did you get this?”

Instead of answering, he slides another photograph forward.

Me at my high school graduation, accepting my diploma.

Another—moving into my college dorm room.

“You’ve been watching me my entire life.”

“Protecting you,” he corrects. “From a distance.”

I feel lightheaded, the room spinning as decades of my existence rearrange themselves around this new information.

“The telescope,” I whisper.

Grigor’s eyebrows raise. “Pardon?”

“For my twelfth birthday. I got this amazing telescope. Mom said it was from a distant relative.” I stare at him. “That was you?”

A small, satisfied smile crosses his face. “You wanted to be an astronaut. I heard you needed proper equipment.”

“And the prom dress? Senior year? When Mom’s treatment wiped out our savings?”

Grigor nods. “It suited your complexion.”

I feel Vince tense beside me, his breathing pattern changing. This is new information to him, too.

“Why?” I demand. “Why do all that and never introduce yourself?”

“Because Margaret was right.” Grigor’s eyes flick to Vince, then back to me. “My world is dangerous. The farther you stayed from it, the safer you were.”

Vince makes a sound—something between a scoff and a laugh.

“You find this amusing, Akopov?” Grigor’s voice turns to ice.

“I find it pretty fucking ironic, actually.” Vince leans forward. “You stayed away to protect her, yet here she is anyway—married to me, mother to my child, directly in the line of fire.”

“Yes.” Grigor’s eyes narrow. “Here she is. Perhaps if you had stayed away as well, she would be safe now.”

My hand shoots out, grabbing Vince’s wrist before he can respond. “Stop. Both of you.”

To my surprise, they do.

I take a deep breath. “You still haven’t answered my question. Why now? After all these years of watching from the shadows, why step into the light?”

Grigor’s eyes drop to Sofiya. “Because now, there is more at stake than just you. Now, there is a child. My blood. The next generation. And family must be protected—especially in our world.”

“Our world?” I repeat. “You claimed you wanted me far from your world.”

“That time has passed.” Grigor gestures to Vince, to the guards at the door. “You have chosen your path, whether I wished it for you or not. And now, you need every protection available.”

I feel Sofiya stir again, making those little snuffling sounds that precede waking. On instinct, I rock gently, soothing her.

“May I?” Grigor asks, his eyes on Sofiya.

Vince’s entire body coils with tension. “Not a fucking chance.”

But something in me—some reckless curiosity—overrides caution. “It’s okay,” I tell Vince.

Carefully, I adjust the blanket so Grigor can see Sofiya’s face. I don’t hand her over—I’m not that trusting—but I allow him this glimpse of his granddaughter.

Grigor’s expression transforms again. The last of the hardness melts away. In place of the mob boss is simply an old grandfather admiring his kin for the first time.

“She’s perfect,” he murmurs.

“Yes. She is.”

Grigor reaches slowly into his jacket pocket. Vince’s hand immediately goes to his hip, where I know his gun rests.

But Grigor only pulls out a small velvet box. “For her,” he explains, placing it on the table. “A reminder of where she comes from.”

I make no move to take it. “And where is that, exactly?”

“From people who protect what is theirs.”

I stare at the box for a long moment before finally reaching for it. Inside rests a delicate gold bracelet sized for an infant’s wrist. A small charm hangs from it—a green emerald set in gold.

I close the box and set it aside, neither accepting nor rejecting the gift. “I didn’t come here for presents.”

“No.” Grigor sits back. “You came for answers.”

“I came because my mother asked me to.” I meet his gaze directly. “Before she dies, she wanted me to understand where I come from.”

“And do you?”

I look at this man—this stranger with my eyes, this criminal who sent anonymous gifts, this shadow who watched over me from a distance he deemed safe.

“I’m starting to.” I look at Vince, who’s still wary, then back to Grigor, whose posture is exactly the same as my husband’s.

Both men are doing what they think is right to protect the people they loved. Two chips from the same block of ice.

“I have to ask,” I say. “You knew I was working at Akopov Industries. You knew I was near Vince. Why not warn me? Why let me walk into that world blind?”

Grigor considers the question. “Would you have believed me? A stranger claiming to be your father, warning you away from a job opportunity?”

“No,” I admit. “Probably not.”

“I considered it,” he continues. “When I learned where you were working, I had people watching more closely. But by then…” He glances at Vince. “It was already too late.”

Vince’s jaw tightens. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means, Akopov, that you had already marked her.” Grigor’s voice holds no accusation, just statement of fact. “I recognized the look.”

“What look?”

“The one I once had for Margaret.” His eyes return to me. “By the time I could have intervened, you were already falling into his orbit. And I know enough about women with St. Clair blood to know they cannot be directed against their will.”

I find myself chuckling despite everything. “On that, we can agree.”

Sofiya chooses that moment to wake fully, her tiny fists waving as she lets out a cranky wail. I stand immediately.

“She’s hungry,” I explain. “We should go.”

Grigor rises as well. “Of course.”

An awkward silence falls. What’s the protocol for saying goodbye to the biological father you just met? A handshake seems too formal, a hug too intimate. I settle for meeting his eyes directly.

“Thank you,” I say. “For explaining. For the photographs.”

He nods once. “I would like to see you again. Both of you.”

Vince’s hand finds the small of my back. “We’ll consider it.”

“I don’t recall asking you, Akopov.”

“But you need my permission all the same.” Vince steps closer to Grigor, his voice dropping. “Don’t mistake this meeting for an alliance. You may be her blood, but I am her husband. I am Sofiya’s father. Remember that.”

Grigor doesn’t back down. “As you are remembering that I could have eliminated you years ago, had I chosen.”

“You certainly could have tried.”

Their faces are inches apart now, decades of Bratva rivalry crackling between them. Sofiya’s cries grow louder, and my patience thins.

“Enough. Both of you.” I step between them, Sofiya clutched to my chest. “We’re leaving.”

Grigor steps back first. “Think about what I said, Rowan.”

“I will.”

Without another word, we leave, Vince’s arm tight around my waist, guards falling into formation around us. In the car, Sofiya finally quiets after I nurse her, her little eyes drifting closed as milk-drunk contentment overtakes her.

“You’re quiet,” Vince observes, watching me from across the car.

“Processing.”

“He’s manipulating you.”

I sigh, stroking Sofiya’s cheek. “Is he? Or is he just a father who thought he was doing the right thing by staying away?”

Vince’s face darkens. “Don’t tell me you believe that story.”

“I don’t know what to believe anymore.” I stare out the window at the passing city. “But I saw it, Vince. I saw myself in him.”

“You’re nothing like him.”

“Aren’t I?” I turn to face him. “The determination. The protectiveness. The willingness to do whatever it takes to keep my family safe.” I reach for his hand. “Those parts of me that you love so much—they come from somewhere.”

Vince’s fingers intertwine with mine, his grip almost painfully tight. “You got the best parts without the cruelty.”

“Maybe.” I lean my head against his shoulder. “Or maybe I just express it differently.”

“What do you mean?”

“Grigor thought distance was protection. You think constant vigilance is protection.” I look up at him. “Two sides of the same coin, really.”

His brow furrows. “You’re comparing me to Grigor Petrov?”

“I’m observing similarities in how you both love.” I bring his hand to my lips. “And appreciating that you chose a more direct approach.”

“Meaning?”noveldrama

“Meaning that while Grigor watched from afar, you stepped into the center of my life.” I smile against his knuckles. “For better or worse, you chose me up close. Messy. Real. Present.”

The tension in his shoulders eases. “Always.”

As the car speeds toward home, I realize I’m clutching the velvet box with Sofiya’s bracelet. I hadn’t meant to take it, yet here it is, warm in my palm.

Perhaps some connections can’t be denied, no matter how complicated they might be.

“What are you thinking?” Vince asks, studying my face.

“That I never expected to find my father.” I rest my cheek against Sofiya’s head. “And I certainly never expected him to have been there all along.”

“Do you wish you’d known sooner?”

I consider this for a long moment, watching the city blur outside our windows. “No,” I decide finally. “I think everything happened when it needed to happen.”

Vince’s arm is warm and comforting around me. “Including us?”

I smile, finding his eyes—blue meeting my green, Akopov meeting Petrov, present meeting past.

“Yes,” I whisper. “Especially us.”