Chapter 175 176

Chapter 175 176
We stand facing each other in the sterile hospital alcove. Quiet. Not quite together but not quite apart, either.

“I still want to kill him,” Vince admits after a while. “I can feel it burning inside me, this need to watch him bleed out slowly while I explain exactly why he’s dying.”

“I know,” I say simply. “And someday, you will. But not today. Not yet.”

He looks back toward the ICU where Arkady fights for his life. “I need to be here when he wakes up.”

“I know.”

His eyes finally meet mine without walls, without pretense. “When this is over… when my father is dealt with, when the FBI is off our backs… what then? For us?”

That’s the million-dollar question. I think of Sofiya, sleeping safely under heavy guard at our compound. I think of the future I once imagined for us, before blood and betrayal tainted everything.

“I don’t know,” I say. “But I’m willing to find out if you are.”

“Are you sure?”

I tilt my head and smile sadly at him. “I came back, didn’t I?” I whisper. “Despite knowing exactly what you are. What does that tell you?”

He nods and pulls me close to him by my hips. “Yeah,” he whispers back. “I love you, too.”

56

VINCE

I got blood on the paper.

I didn’t mean to. Honestly, I didn’t even realize the stuff was still crusted under my nails. But there it is, as red and stark as it was on the hospital tiles.

A few hours passing by hasn’t done a fucking thing to dull my edge. I’m focused now. I know the way forward.

But the blood is still there.

I see it every time I look down at the evidence I’m assembling for Carver. Crimson ghosts dancing between black and white pages. The perfect metaphor for my life—everything I touch becomes stained.

The files slide under my fingertips. Each document lays out the full extent of my intelligence on Solovyov operations. Photographs place their men at scenes they shouldn’t have been anywhere near and transcripts capture conversations they believed were protected.

It’s the work of a butcher preparing to slaughter a rival family while saving his own.

My hands tremble as I organize the final pieces. Not from fear—fear is a luxury I surrendered a long time ago. No, my hands shake from the barely contained violence surging beneath my skin, desperate for release.

I want my father’s throat beneath my fingers. Not these sterile papers.

“That’s all of it,” I tell Dimitri, who stands silently by the door. He’s taken Arkady’s place. He’s not my best friend, but at least he has the decency to acknowledge the enormity of the shoes he’s been forced to fill. “Make sure the remaining digital files are on this drive. Nothing traceable back to our current operations.”

My phone vibrates for the third time this hour. Arkady’s doctor updating me: Patient stable but critical. Still unconscious. Next 12 hours crucial.

I wonder if my father realizes what he’s created—that, in trying to kill me, he’s forged something far more dangerous. I am no longer his son, no longer bound by whatever twisted loyalty kept me from ending him before. I am a man with nothing left to lose except the two people sleeping under my protection.

And for them, I’ll become the monster he always wanted me to be.

Just not yet. Not today. Today, I dance for the FBI.

Right on cue, the doorbell rings. I feel my jaw tighten to breaking point.

“Mr. Akopov,” Agent Carver greets as he’s shown into my study. “Pleasure to see you’ve made the right choice.”

He grins, and I imagine, just for a moment, how satisfying it would be to feed those bared veneers to him one by one like fucking Tic-Tacs.

“Don’t mistake necessity for choice,” I growl, gesturing to the chair across from my desk. “And don’t mistake cooperation for surrender.”

Carver sprawls in a chair, crossing one leg over the other like we’re old friends catching up over brandy. “Whatever helps you sleep at night.” His eyes flick to the stack of files on my desk. “Is that everything?”

I nod. “Everything you need to crucify the Solovyov family while keeping your promise to leave mine alone.”

He chuckles, the sound like nails dragging down my spine. “That depends entirely on the quality of what you’re providing. I’d hate for your lovely wife and daughter to suffer because you held back critical information.”

My vision tinges red at the edges. “Threaten my family again, and you won’t live long enough to regret it.”

“That sounds suspiciously like a threat to a federal agent,” Carver tuts, but his smirk falters when my expression doesn’t change.

“Just remember who you’re dealing with.”

He clears his throat and reaches for the files. “Let’s see what you’ve brought me.”

I watch as he meticulously examines each document, deliberately taking his time. Each page turn is another test of my restraint. He’s enjoying this—the humiliation of having Vincent Akopov, feared Bratva leader, reduced to an informant.

“This shipment manifest,” he says, tapping a paper with his manicured finger. “It’s dated last year. I was hoping for something fresher.”

“It’s what you’re getting, Carver. Figure it out.”

“And these bank accounts,” he continues, “they lead to shell companies, not directly to Solovyov principals.”

“Follow the money.” I shrug. “That’s your job, isn’t it? I’ve given you the breadcrumbs. Don’t blame me if you’re too fucking incompetent to follow the trail.”

My phone vibrates again. I check it under the desk. Patient experiencing arrhythmia. Preparing for possible cardiac intervention.

I grit my molars. Arkady is fighting for his life while I sit here playing games with this bureaucratic weasel.

“Something urgent?” Carver inquires when he notices my distraction.

“Nothing that concerns you.” I slide the flash drive across the polished wood. “The rest is there. Bank records, wiretaps, surveillance photos.

Enough to put Anton Solovyov and his kin away until his grandchildren have grandchildren.”

Carver picks up the drive and rolls it between his fingers like a cigar. “Hm. It all seems so painless for you.”

“Not for them.” I smile, cold and sharp. “Now, are we done? Or would you like to continue wasting my time with questions you already know the answers to?”

Carver gathers the files and tucks them into his briefcase. “For now, we’re done. But this arrangement isn’t a one-time deal, Mr. Akopov. The Bureau will be in touch when we need additional assistance.”

“No.” I stand, towering over him. “This is it. One delivery, as agreed. You got what you wanted. Now, I get what I want: my family left alone.”

“That’s not how this works.” He stands. “You work for me now, Vincent. I’m the thin blue line between you and a concrete fucking cell. You don’t like it? Tough fucking shit.”

Then the smug son of a bitch has the audacity to wink.

“Pleasure doing business with you, my friend.”

He whistles as he leaves.

I wait until he’s gone before I allow my fist to unclench and my grimace to fade into a half-smile. It’s not a victory—that won’t come for a while yet. But Carver thinks he’s gotten everything he’s wanted. He’ll learn—not for a long time, of course, but he will eventually learn—that no one gets the best of Vincent Akopov.

He’s dancing to my tune.

Not the other way around.

When I emerge from my office, the rest of the house is quiet, most of the lights off. It’s late. I should go straight to bed, try to grab what little sleep I can before whatever storms tomorrow brings.