Chapter 179 180

Chapter 179 180
I smile, thinking of Rowan. She’s changed me; there’s no denying that anymore. But from what? Into what?

That remains to be seen.

“Let’s just say I’ve had an excellent teacher in seeing beyond immediate gratification to the longer game.”

My phone vibrates against my thigh. I pull it out discreetly, expecting another update from Arkady’s doctors.

Instead, I find a message from Rowan: Need to meet. Urgent. Come to the lake house tonight at 8.

Something in my chest tightens. Rowan doesn’t use the word “urgent” lightly. Not anymore. And the lake house—our most secluded property— suggests whatever she wants to discuss is too sensitive even for the compound’s secure walls.

“I’ll send the transition details to each of you by tonight,” I tell the council, rising abruptly. “Review them. Prepare your questions. We’ll reconvene in forty-eight hours.”

“And if we reject this evolution?” Boris asks, playing his final card.

I button my jacket slowly, deliberately, letting the tension stretch to its breaking point before I answer.

“Then you’re free to join the Solovyovs,” I say, voice like black ice. “I’m sure Anton is looking for a friendly face in his top bunk.”

As I stride toward the elevator, I type out my response to Rowan. I’ll be there. Everything okay?

Three dots appear immediately, then disappear. Then reappear. Seconds stretch into a minute before her reply finally comes through.

Just come. Trust me.

Another message appears before I can respond.

There’s something you need to see. It changes everything.

59

VINCE

In my world, “changes everything” usually means someone’s about to die. The question is who.

The gravel driveway crunches under my tires as I pull up to our secluded lake house property. Security scans reveal no immediate threats, but my instincts scream danger.

I’ve survived this long by listening to them. I don’t intend to stop now.

I step out of the car, hand resting on the gun at my hip…

… and freeze.

Another vehicle sits parked in the shadows. Not Rowan’s. A black Mercedes with bulletproof windows and diplomatic plates.

I know that car.

My blood turns to fucking acid.

“Welcome, Vincent,” a voice calls from the porch.

The voice of Grigor fucking Petrov.

I draw my weapon in one fluid motion, aiming at the shadow-cloaked figure. “Give me one reason not to empty my clip into your skull right now.”

Grigor steps forward into the moonlight, hands raised slightly. He’s not armed—at least not visibly—though I’m certain he’s as dangerous unarmed as most men are with a machine gun.

“Perhaps because this meeting was not my idea,” he says calmly, as if my gun is a minor inconvenience. “I received a message claiming you wanted to discuss matters of mutual interest.”

The realization slams into me like a freight train. This is a setup. But who would dare —?

“Take a breath, Vince.”

Rowan’s voice cuts through my fury as she steps out from inside the house.

Not just Rowan—but Rowan with Sofiya in her arms.

“What the fuck is this?” I direct the question at my wife, though my gun doesn’t waver from Grigor’s chest. “Have you lost your goddamn mind?”

Rowan’s green eyes—the same fucking shade as the man standing across from me—flash in the gloom. “If either of you cared about Sofiya, you’d both put away your egos and come inside. The FBI has eyes everywhere these days.”

“I’m not setting foot under the same roof as him,” I spit.

“Then you’re a fool,” Grigor replies. “And I had hoped you were smarter than your father.”

The mention of my father sends a fresh surge of hatred through me. “You don’t speak about him in my presence.”

“Gentlemen,” Rowan interrupts, “the FBI is building cases against both your organizations. While you’re busy measuring your dicks, Agent Carver is preparing to destroy everything you’ve built. Now, are you coming inside, or should I take Sofiya and leave you both to your pissing contest?”

I’ve never heard Rowan speak this way—with the authority of a woman who knows exactly how much power she wields.

It’s infuriating.

It’s also fucking intoxicating.

Reluctantly, I lower my weapon. Grigor steps aside, allowing Rowan to enter the lake house first. I follow, keeping myself between Grigor and my family, my body tensed and ready to strike at the slightest hint.

The living room is dimly lit, with files spread across the coffee table. Rowan settles into an armchair with Sofiya on her lap, leaving Grigor and me to take seats opposite each other.

Neither of us relaxes. Two lions circling, waiting for the opportunity to strike.

“I assume this little ambush was your idea,” I say to Rowan, not bothering to mask the anger in my voice.

“Would you have come if I told you Grigor would be here?” she counters.

“No.”

“Precisely why I didn’t mention it.” She shifts Sofiya to her other knee. “You’ve both been played by the FBI. They’re using each of you against the other while building cases against both families.”

Grigor’s eyes, so unnervingly similar to my wife’s, narrow slightly. “Explain.”

Rowan points to the files on the table. “That right there is a fuck ton of evidence that the FBI has been gathering on both the Akopov and Petrov organizations.”

I lean forward, scanning the documents with growing disbelief. “Where did you get these?”

“That’s not important,” Rowan says. “What matters is what they tell us. The FBI isn’t just targeting the Solovyovs. They’re using them as a test case for a new approach against organized crime families. You’re both next on the list.”

I slump back in my chair, frowning. I’d made a deal with Carver, traded the Solovyovs for my family’s safety. But these files suggest that Carver had no intention of honoring our arrangement. He was collecting evidence against me even as I handed him the Solovyovs.

Grigor picks up one of the files, his expression darkening as he reads. “This is troubling, certainly. But why bring us together? Our families have been enemies for generations.”

“Because together, we have a chance,” Rowan says simply. “Divided, we all fall.”

She stands, moving to place Sofiya in my arms. My daughter’s warm weight grounds me, even as confusion and anger battle for dominance in my mind. Sofiya reaches up to pat my face. She’s happy, utterly oblivious to the tension crackling through the room.

“Look at her, both of you,” Rowan commands. “This is what matters. Not your vendetta. Not your territories. Not your damned pride. This little girl carries both your bloodlines. She’s the future of both families, whether you like it or not.”

I gaze down at my daughter, at her blue eyes, set in a face that somehow echoes Grigor’s features through Rowan.

“What do you propose?” Grigor asks after a long silence.

Rowan returns to her seat. “That we erase the lines between us and draw new ones.”

“You expect me to trust him?” I can’t keep the incredulity from my voice.

“I expect you both to be pragmatic,” Rowan replies. “The FBI doesn’t need to destroy you directly. They just need to keep you fighting each other while they pick apart your operations one by one.”

Grigor studies Rowan with an expression I can’t quite read. “Your wife is quite the strategist, Vincent,” he remarks.
He’s not wrong. She’s forcing us to see beyond ourselves. Beyond our hatred. Beyond the blood-soaked legacy we both inherited.

“We do this for Sofiya,” I say finally, meeting Grigor’s gaze directly. “For my daughter’s future.”

“On that, at least, we are in agreement,” Grigor replies.

For the next two hours, we hammer out the framework of a truce that isn’t quite peace but is far from war. Territories are divided with precision. Information channels established. Rules of engagement defined for when conflicts inevitably arise.

Through it all, Rowan guides the conversation with a diplomat’s touch. I find myself watching her more than Grigor, marveling at this side of her I’ve never fully appreciated.

A queen making bold moves on a chessboard occupied by kings.

When the meeting concludes, Grigor stands and offers his hand—not to me, but to Rowan.

“Your mother would be proud,” he tells her. “She had the same gift for seeing paths where others saw only walls.”

Rowan accepts his hand briefly, then steps back to my side, where she belongs.

Grigor nods once, then turns to me. “Take care of them, Akopov. They are precious beyond measure.”

“You don’t need to tell me how to protect my family,” I growl.

A hint of a smile flits across his lips. “No, I suppose I don’t.” He moves toward the door, pausing on the threshold. “I’ll have my man contact Dimitri with the FBI surveillance updates, as agreed.”

And then he’s gone, leaving only the faint scent of his cologne lingering in the air.

No one says a word as we listen to Grigor’s car fade into the distance. When I’m certain he’s truly gone, I turn to face my wife, who stands defiantly before me, chin raised and shoulders squared.

“You manipulated me,” I accuse. “You lied to get me here.”

“I did what was necessary,” she counters. “What neither of you was willing to do.”

I close the distance between us, looming over her. “You don’t make these decisions, Rowan. Not about my business. Not about my enemies.”

“They’re not just your enemies anymore.” Her eyes flash as she pushes a finger into my chest. “Grigor is my father. My daughter’s grandfather. And whether you like it or not, my family.”

Sofiya stirs in my arms, disturbed by our rising voices. I rock her gently until she calms. “Why didn’t you tell me?” I ask, quieter now. “Why go behind my back?”

“Because you wouldn’t have listened,” Rowan says simply. “You’d have seen it as a betrayal rather than the opportunity it is.”

“Opportunity?” I scoff. “To what? Hold hands with Grigor Petrov and sing fucking kumbaya?”

“To create a network neither of you could build alone.” Rowan paces the room as she speaks, passion igniting her words. “Think about it, Vince. I bridge both worlds. I have access to information neither of you can get. Connections neither of you can exploit.”

“You should have trusted me.”

“Like you trusted me about your plan to kill him?” she fires back. “Like you trusted me about your offshore accounts?”

I have no choice but to sigh. We’ve both kept secrets. We’ve both manipulated the truth to get what we want.

We can move past that…

… if I let us.