Filthy Lies (Akopov Bratva Book 2)

The abandoned construction site off West 57th Street looks like a skeleton of broken promises. It’s a fitting location for what I’m about to do.

I check my watch again. We’re two minutes past our agreed meeting time. My jaw clenches so hard I can feel my teeth grinding. The weight of those one hundred and twenty lost seconds presses down on my chest. Every single one is a slice in my heart that will never fully heal.

Because every second Rowan remains missing is another second she could be dying. Our child could be dying. The thought alone makes my hand inch toward my weapon, fingers itching with the need to do something, anything. The cold metal against my palm would be comforting—if I had someone to point it at.

But right now, I’m only shooting at shadows.

I’ve spent the last three hours hunting through every Solovyov property we know about. Nothing. Three fucking hours of kicking down doors, threatening terrified underlings, tearing apart rooms. All for nothing.

Nothing except blood. So much blood. Rowan’s blood. The image of that crimson puddle on the tile floor of our home haunts me every time I blink. I can still smell it.

My stomach knots at the memory, bile rising in my throat. Was she already in labor when they took her? How much pain is she in right now? Is she calling for me, thinking I’ve abandoned her?

A figure emerges from the darkness. Tall, lean, dark hair. The surgeon’s scrubs are gone, replaced by nondescript clothing that blends into the night. He moves like someone who knows what it means to be hunted.

Daniel Spencer.

No. Not Daniel. Not Spencer, either.

Daniil Petrov.

Grigor’s youngest son. My enemy by birth and blood. The son of the man who has sought to destroy my family for generations.

Looking at him makes my skin crawl with ingrained hatred, a visceral response cultivated since childhood. Yet here I am, seeking his help.

Desperate times don’t just call for desperate measures. They call for you to turn your back on everything you ever thought you knew.

“You’re late,” I growl.

“You’re lucky I came at all.”

We stand fifteen feet apart, both of us well aware of what this meeting means. What lines we’re both crossing.

“I wouldn’t have contacted you if there was any other option,” I say.

It’s unlike me to confess that I’m trapped. But for Rowan, I’ll swallow my pride.

For her, I’d choke on it.

“I know.” He stays where he is, hands visible but tense. “If anyone in my family discovers I’m here, I’m dead.”

“If anyone in my family discovers I asked for your help, I’m worse than dead.”

The ghost of a smile touches his lips. “Yet here we are.”

I don’t return the smile. Can’t. Not with Rowan out there somewhere. Not with the knowledge that she’s in pain, afraid, bleeding out while bringing our child into this world. “The Solovyovs have my wife.”

“I heard.” His eyes study me carefully, searching for something. Weakness, perhaps. Or deception. “She’s in labor?”

“Yes.” The single word nearly chokes me. I should be holding her hand, not standing in this godforsaken place bargaining with a Petrov. “She’s been missing for over six hours now. We’ve tracked down three Solovyov locations. Nothing.”

“And you think I know where they might be keeping her?”

“I think your family has been watching the Solovyovs for decades. I think you have intelligence we don’t.”

Daniel paces a tight circle, weighing his options, but saying nothing.

I glance at my watch. Another four minutes gone.

Tick-tock, motherfucker.

Blood on white marble.

Screams in an empty hallway.

Black SUVs, disappearing over the horizon.

“How much do you want?” I ask, defaulting to the language I understand best. Transaction. Payment. Value.

Daniel’s head snaps up. “Excuse me?”

“How much money do you want for this information?”

His face darkens. “Fuck you, Akopov.”

“Then what do you want?”

“I don’t want anything from you.” He walks closer, stopping just beyond arm’s reach. “Do you think I’m here for some kind of fucking payday? My father would have me killed for speaking to you, let alone helping you.”

“Then why are you here?”noveldrama

In my world, no one does anything without expecting something in return. Especially not a Petrov for an Akopov.

His jaw clenches. “Because I love Anastasia. Because I know you love your woman. And because your wife is innocent in all this.”

The mention of Rowan makes something crack inside me. For a horrifying moment, I feel my eyes burn, and I have to look away.

Vincent Akopov doesn’t cry. Not ever. Not since I was seven years old and my father beat that weakness out of me.

“Please.” I’ve never begged for anything in my life. The humiliation of it sears through me, but I push past it. “She’s all I have.”

Daniel watches me for a long moment. He’s still searching for something he can rely on in my face. Whatever he finds makes him nod slightly.

“The Solovyovs have a property they don’t think we know about. Off the books. An old meat processing plant near Newtown Creek.”

My pulse quickens. A surge of adrenaline floods my system, the first real hope I’ve felt since finding that blood. “Address?”

“I’ll do better than that.” He pulls out his phone and opens a map application. “I’ll take you there.”

My natural suspicion flares—it could be a trap. But why go through this elaborate charade? If he wanted me dead, there are simpler ways.

“Why would you do that?”

“Because Anastasia loves you both, for reasons I can’t comprehend.” He glances down at his phone. “And because if our positions were reversed, I’d do terrible things to find her.”

Something passes between us in that moment. Not friendship—never that. But understanding. Recognition of the one thing that transcends our blood feud: how far we’d go for the women we love. It’s unsettling to find common ground with him, to see my own desperate devotion reflected in the eyes of a Petrov.

I consider his offer. Daniel could be leading me into a trap. Could be working with the Solovyovs. Could be acting on his father’s orders. The paranoia that’s kept me alive for years screams warnings in my head.

But something in his eyes tells me he’s not.

“If you betray me, I’ll kill you,” I tell him. “I’ll make it hurt.”

He doesn’t flinch. “Understood.”

And with that, our fates are sealed.

I pull out my phone and call Arkady. “I have a lead. Newtown Creek. Meet me there with the team.” I don’t mention who provided the information. That conversation can wait.

Daniel watches me with wary respect. “Your men won’t like working with a Petrov.”

“My men will do whatever it takes to find my wife.”

As will I.

So here I stand, about to commit the kind of treachery that would make my ancestors claw their way out of their graves to curse my name. The magnitude of betraying generations of blood-sworn loyalty should crush me beneath its weight. Should twist my gut with shame.

But all I feel is ice-cold clarity.

Because Rowan isn’t just my family now—she’s my gravity. My religion. My reason for breathing. She matters more than the Bratva, more than the criminal empire I’ve carved from bones and bullets, more than the iron-clad principles hammered into me since birth.

She is the way.

Everything else is merely a distraction.

“We need to move now,” Daniel says, breaking into my thoughts. “If she’s truly in labor, we don’t have much time.”

“Lead the way.” I gesture toward the exit.

As we move through the darkness, an odd sense of clarity washes over me. I always thought I understood power. The power of fear, of money, of violence.

But real power, I realize now, is what Rowan has over me.

Power isn’t what I’ve spent my life accumulating.

Power is what I feel for her.

And if that power is enough to make me ally with a Petrov, it’s certainly enough to tear apart every Solovyov standing between us.

I just pray we’re not too late.

Hold on, Rowan.

I’m coming for you.

Just hold on.