Filthy Lies (Akopov Bratva Book 2)

The morning after our tentative truce, while Vince goes back to the hospital to sit vigil at Arkady’s bedside, I slip out of the compound with nothing but my phone and a backpack. The guards let me pass with minimal questions. They’ve learned that questioning the boss’s wife too thoroughly is a career-limiting move.

Besides, where would I go? My daughter is inside. My heart, despite my best efforts to protect it, remains with a man who breaks everything he touches.

The café I’ve chosen sits in a forgotten corner of Brooklyn—far enough from our usual haunts to avoid Vince’s surveillance, close enough to escape quickly if needed.

I arrive twenty minutes early, selecting a table with clear sightlines to all exits. Another habit I’ve picked up from my husband. You can take the girl out of the Bratva, but you can’t take the Bratva out of the girl.

Anastasia arrives first, elegant as always despite the early hour. She slides into the seat across from me without ordering.

“This is dangerous,” she says in lieu of greeting. “Vince would lose his mind if he knew we were meeting. I’m supposed to be in hiding and you’re supposed to be locked away in the highest room of the tallest tower.”

“Vince is about to lose his mind anyway,” I reply, stirring my untouched coffee. “His father just tried to have him killed. Used his best friend as the weapon, then shot that same friend when the plan failed. The FBI is squeezing him for information. And I’m done watching from the sidelines while everything falls apart.”

Anastasia’s eyes bug out. “Well, shit.”

Daniil joins us a minute later, his eyes scanning the room anxiously before settling on me. “You look like shit, Rowan.”

“Thanks. You’re a poet.”

“I mean you look like you haven’t slept in days.”

“Sleep is a luxury I can’t afford right now.” I lean forward, dropping my voice. “I need your help. Both of you.”

Anastasia’s perfectly manicured fingers tap against the table. “What kind of help?”

“The kind that involves your father.” I lock eyes with Daniil. “And your loyalty to my husband.”

Daniil’s jaw tightens. “My loyalty is to Anastasia. Not to Vincent.”

“But it’s his protection keeping you both alive.” I take a sip of my bitter coffee. “How long do you think you’d last without his guards, his connections, his resources?”

“Is that a threat?” Anastasia asks.

“No. It’s reality.” I set down my cup. “Vince is on the brink. If we don’t act now, he’ll go after his father without a plan, without backup, and he’ll either end up dead or in federal prison.”

Daniil exchanges a glance with Anastasia. Some silent communication passes between them—the kind that only exists between people who have survived hell together.

“What exactly are you asking us to do?” he finally asks.

“I need you to arrange a meeting between my father and my husband. Without either of them knowing I initiated it.”

Daniil’s eyebrows shoot up. “This is a suicide mission. They’ll kill each other on sight.”

“Not if we set it up properly. Neutral ground. Limited security. High stakes for both sides.” I clutch the edge of the table. “My father respects strength. And strategy. If Daniil approaches him as a son seeking reconciliation, using the FBI threat as leverage…”

“He’d consider it,” Anastasia finishes for me. “Especially if it meant protecting his granddaughter’s future.”

“And Vince?” Daniil challenges. “How do you propose to convince a man who’s built his entire identity on destroying the Petrovs to sit down with Grigor?”

“You leave Vince to me.” My smile feels brittle on my face. “Just make it happen.”

They agree, ultimately. Not because they trust me—they don’t, not fully—but because they recognize the lifeline I’m offering. A path to reconciliation with Grigor would mean freedom for them. An end to the hiding, the skulking, the borrowed security.

We part ways with no hugs, no warm goodbyes. Maybe one day, we’ll get there, but it’s too soon for that right now.

We have nothing to celebrate. Not yet.

My next stop is even riskier.

Natalie waits for me in her cramped apartment, the place unchanged since college except for the framed photos of us that have mysteriously disappeared. I don’t blame her for taking them down. How do you display friendship pictures when one friend is married to a monster and the other was paid to spy on her?

“You look—” she begins.

“Like shit. I know.” I brush past her into the living room. “I already heard that once this morning.”

Natalie closes the door behind me, locks it, then slides the chain into place. “I⁠—”

“I need access to the financial records you collected on Barkov.” I get straight to the point. “The ones that link him to Andrei’s sabotage of the Costa Rica development.”

Her face goes pale. “If Vince finds out I gave you those files⁠—”

“He won’t.” I catch her wrist, squeezing just tight enough to convey seriousness without causing pain. “This isn’t about Vince. It’s about making sure my daughter still has a father when this is over.”

Natalie studies my face, searching for something—sincerity, perhaps, or the last remnants of the woman she once knew. Something in my expression must convince her, because she pulls away and crosses to a locked cabinet.

“You’ve changed,” she says, voice muffled as she kneels to open the safe hidden behind a false panel. “And not in a good way, Row.”

“We all change. It’s called survival.”

She emerges with a flash drive clutched in her hand. “Everything I have on Barkov and Andrei is here.” She hesitates before handing it over. “What are you going to do with it?”

“Create leverage.” I pocket the drive.

“And then what? You think Carver will just back off because you hand him a different target?”

“No. I think he’ll recognize an opportunity when he sees one.” I move toward the door, eager to get in and get out before my courage fails me. “Andrei Akopov has federal judges and senators in his pocket. He’s been bribing officials for decades.”

Natalie steps between me and the exit. “Row, listen to yourself. You’re talking about going after the head of the Akopov family. Vince’s father. A man who’s survived more assassination attempts than most people have had hot meals.”

“I know exactly who he is,” I snap. “He’s the man who tried to have my husband killed.”

“And you think you can take him down alone?”

“Who said I’m alone?”

The flash drive feels heavy in my pocket as I walk away.

For three days, I work in secret. While Vince divides his time between Arkady’s hospital room and meetings with his lieutenants, I build my case. The evidence is damning—emails between Andrei and Barkov outlining exactly how to sabotage the Costa Rica development. Bank transfers coinciding precisely with “accidents” at construction sites. Recorded conversations discussing how to redirect FBI attention back to Vince when the time was right.

I compile it methodically, creating copies, securing them in locations no one would think to look. When the file is complete, I add one final piece: my own testimony. A recorded statement detailing everything I’ve witnessed since marrying into the Akopov family.noveldrama

Insurance, in case things go sideways.

On the fourth day, my phone rings. Vince’s name flashes on the screen. “Arkady’s awake,” he says without preamble when I answer.

“I’ll be there in twenty minutes.” I zip my laptop into my bag, mind racing. “How is he?”

“Weak. But alive.” A pause. “Where are you?”

“Running errands,” I lie smoothly. “Things for Sofiya. I’ll be there soon.”

I hang up before he can question me further, guilt coiling like a snake in my gut. More lies. More secrets. The very things I’ve condemned him for.

But some lies are necessary. Some secrets protect more than they harm.

I head to the hospital, my bag clutched tightly to my chest like the contraband it contains. The evidence against Andrei is in there, along with the beginning threads of my plan to save Vince from himself.

Arkady looks like death warmed over when I enter his room. Skin the color of old parchment stretched over bones that seem too prominent. Tubes and wires connect him to machines that beep and hum, the symphony of grim survival.

Vince sits beside him, bent forward with his elbows on his knees. When he looks up at me, the naked relief in his eyes makes my resolve waver.

“Hey,” I say, setting my bag down carefully by the door. “Welcome back to the land of the living.”

Arkady’s laugh is more of a wheeze. “Not sure I’m all the way back yet.”

I move to the opposite side of the bed from Vince, taking Arkady’s free hand in mine. It feels cold, frail, nothing like the strong grip I remember.

Vince stands, pressing a hand to Arkady’s shoulder. “I’ll be back tonight. Try not to die while I’m gone.”

“No promises,” Arkady mumbles, already drifting off.

I follow Vince out. In the hallway, he pulls me against him without warning. His face buries in my neck, breath hot and ragged against my skin.

“Thank you for coming,” he says, words muffled.

I allow myself one moment of weakness, one moment to lean into his strength, before I pull back. “Of course I came.”

“Where were you really?” His eyes search mine. “And don’t say ‘errands.’ I have men watching the shopping centers.”

Of course he does. I should have known better.

“I was with Natalie,” I admit, offering a partial truth. “Getting some perspective.”

“Perspective.” He repeats the word like he’s testing it for poison. “On what?”

“On us. On everything that’s happened.” I step back, creating distance between us. “I’m trying, Vince. I’m trying to find a way forward where we both survive this.”

Something flickers across his face—hope, maybe, or suspicion. With Vince, it’s often hard to distinguish between the two.

“There is no ‘forward’ until my father pays for what he’s done.” He cracks his knuckles. “When Arkady is stronger, when I’ve confirmed who the snipers were and who paid them, I’m ending this. Once and for all.”

“And the FBI? The deal you just made?”

“Fuck the FBI.” He combs a hand through his hair. “Some things matter more than deals.”

I bite my tongue to keep from arguing. This isn’t the time or place to reveal my hand. “We should get back to Sofiya,” I say instead. “She was crying for you this morning.”

Vince nods, some of the tension leaving his shoulders at the mention of our daughter. At least we still have that—this shared, fierce love for the life we created together.

As we walk toward the exit, my phone vibrates in my pocket. I check it discreetly.

A message from Daniil: Meeting arranged. Tomorrow night. Neutral location. Grigor agreed, thinks it was my idea.

And suddenly, the stakes crystalize before me. I have less than twenty-four hours to convince Vince to meet with the man he’s hated his entire adult life. Less than twenty-four hours to prepare evidence that could destroy his father. Less than twenty-four hours to salvage what remains of our family before Vince’s vengeance tears it all apart.

“You’re quiet,” Vince observes as we reach the car.

I look up at him, this beautiful, broken man I’ve chosen despite every warning, every red flag, every voice of reason.

“Just thinking,” I say, sliding into the passenger seat.

“About?”

My fingers brush against my phone, against the message burning a hole in my pocket. “About what it means to be a family,” I answer. “And how far I’d go to protect ours.”

Vince starts the engine, his profile sharp against the fading afternoon light. “You’d be surprised what people are capable of when they’re protecting what’s theirs.”

I turn to look out the window, hiding the darkness I know is visible in my eyes. “No, Vince,” I whisper. “I think I’ve just about seen it all by now.”