37. Lacey
37
LACEY
I can't move. Can't breathe. Can't think.
Vadim crumples to the ground, his hand pressed against his stomach as crimson blooms across his white shirt. He tries to push himself up but stumbles. The world tilts and spins around me as screams erupt from the audience.
Kirsan stalks toward me, the bloody knife glinting under the harsh runway lights. His eyes are cold and empty – a predator's gaze fixed on its prey. But I can't look away from Vadim. My husband. The father of our child. Our little Larina kicks inside me, as if sensing my terror.
One foot in front of the other, Kirsan advances up the catwalk steps. The knife drips red onto the pristine white runway. His lips curl into a grotesque smile that doesn't reach his dead eyes.
"Like father, like son," he says, his cultured accent making the words sound almost musical. "Bastard or not."
Vadim struggles to his feet again, crimson spreading across the floor beneath him. The sight finally breaks through my paralysis. Reality crashes back like a wave of ice water.
I turn and run, my heels clicking against the catwalk as I flee backstage. My heart pounds so hard I can barely hear the chaos erupting behind me. Blood rushes in my ears. My hands instinctively cradle my belly as I run, protecting our daughter.
I'm sorry, Vadim. I'm so sorry.
But I have to protect Larina. I have to get away from the monster with the knife who wants to take everything from us.
I race through the backstage area, my lungs burning as I try to navigate the maze of dressing rooms and storage spaces. The sound of screaming and gunfire echoes off the walls, making it impossible to tell where anything is coming from. Models huddle under makeup tables, clutching each other and sobbing.
My hand stays pressed against my belly as I run. Stay safe, little one. Please stay safe.
The sound of Kirsan's footsteps follows behind me, unhurried and constant. Each time I dare to look back, I see Kirsan's tall figure stalking after me with that same dead-eyed smile. Behind him is a trail of crimson droplets.
Vadim's blood.
Oh god, Vadim...
I force the image of him crumpling to the ground from my mind. I can't think about that now. I have to keep moving. Have to protect our daughter.
I dodge around racks of clothes and boxes of shoes, trying to lose Kirsan in the chaos. But he keeps coming, methodically following my path like a predator that knows its prey is cornered.
My shoe catches on an electrical cord and I stumble, catching myself against the wall. The momentary delay is enough for Kirsan to gain ground. I push myself forward again, heart thundering in my chest.
I round another corner and freeze.
Dead end.
Nothing but a solid wall in front of me, lined with mirrors that reflect my terrified face back at me. Behind me, those measured footsteps grow closer.
No no no...
I spin around, pressing my back against the wall. My hands cradle my belly protectively as Kirsan's shadow appears at the end of the hallway.
He approaches me with slow, measured steps.
Despite the knife in his hand, I see tears glistening in his pale, predatory eyes. Each step echoes off the mirrored walls, mixing with the distant sounds of chaos and screaming.
"You took her from me," he says, his voice cracking. "My Sayavochka. My precious daughter."
I press harder against the wall, my hands protectively cradling my belly. Larina kicks again, as if sensing my terror.
"She loved him. Truly loved him." Kirsan's cultured accent makes the words sound almost musical, even as venom drips from each syllable. "And what did your husband do? He put a bullet in her head like she was nothing."
My throat feels too tight to speak. All I can do is watch as he moves closer, the knife glinting under the harsh fluorescent lights.
"I want Vadim to feel what I felt." A tear rolls down Kirsan's cheek. "That's why I didn't kill him. Just... slowed him down. He'll come for you, his precious wife carrying his precious child." His lips curl into a grotesque smile. "But he won't make it in time."
Kirsan raises the bloody knife, still wet with Vadim's blood. "When he gets here, I'll make him watch as I cut your child from your belly. Let him feel what I felt. Let him watch his family die. It's only fair, don't you think?"
The clinical detachment in his voice makes my blood run cold. This isn't rage or madness – this is calculated cruelty. He means every word.
My hand fumbles behind me, desperate to find anything I can use as a weapon. Sweat trickles down my spine as Kirsan advances. My fingers brush against something warm and metallic—a curling iron still plugged in.
I wrap my fingers around the handle, never taking my eyes off the knife.
Kirsan takes another step closer, raising the blade still wet with my husband's blood.
That's when I swing.
The curling iron catches him across the face with a sickening crack. Before he can recover, I press the scorching barrel against his cheek. The sound and smell hit me at once—sizzling flesh and burning hair.
Bile rises in my throat but I force myself to hold on, to keep pressing even as he howls in agony.
The knife flashes wildly as he slashes at me. White-hot pain explodes across my arm. I cry out, the curling iron falling from my grip as blood wells from the gash.
I try to run, to get past him while he's still reeling from the burn. But his hand shoots out and yanks at the carpet beneath my feet. The world tilts and spins. I barely manage to twist my body, protecting my belly, as I land hard on my back. The impact knocks the wind from my lungs.
Through tear-blurred vision, I see Kirsan looming over me. Half his face is an angry red welt, already beginning to blister. But his eyes... his eyes are completely empty as he stares down at me.
Like a devil risen from hell itself, come to claim my soul.
"That was very stupid, little thief," Kirsan says, touching the angry red welt on his face. His empty eyes flash with something worse than rage. "I've changed my mind. I won't cut the child out anymore."
My heart leaps for a moment before his next words freeze the blood in my veins.
"I'll kill it in your womb instead. It's all the same."
His foot connects with my face before I can process the words. Pain explodes through my jaw as copper fills my mouth. Through tear-blurred vision, I see his other foot rising, aiming for my swollen belly.
Pure instinct takes over. I kick up hard, deflecting the blow meant for our daughter. Larina kicks inside me, as if sensing the danger.
"You fucking whore!" Kirsan screams, raining down more kicks. "Just like your husband's mother!"
I curl around my belly, using my arms to shield our baby as his boots swing back for another vicious kick. I manage to block it again. But one kick after another come towards me, hitting my arm, my shoulder, my face.
Each impact sends fresh waves of agony through my body, but I refuse to move.
I won't let him hurt our daughter.
Larina keeps kicking inside me, her movements becoming more frantic with each blow sending tremors down my body. My world starts blacking out around me. It's only a matter of time before Kirsan breaks a bone, and then, there'll be nothing to stop him.
Tears stream down my face as I silently beg her forgiveness.
I'm so sorry, my sweet girl. Mama couldn't save you. I'm so sorry...
"Kirsan."
The weak voice cuts through my haze of pain. The final vicious kick that I'd been bracing for never comes.
Through tear-blurred vision, I see Kirsan turn away from me. My heart leaps at the sight of Vadim standing at the end of the hall, his white shirt soaked in blood.
His gun is raised, but his hand trembles slightly.
"Step away from my wife." Vadim's voice is hoarse but carries the unmistakable authority of a pakhan.
Blood drips steadily from Vadim's shirt onto the floor, forming a growing crimson pool at his feet. His face is deathly pale, but his eyes burn with an intensity I've never seen before.
The gun doesn't waver.
Kirsan doesn't move. His shadow still looms over me.
"And just what, Vadim Petr?—"
The crack of the gunshot claps like thunder in the confined space. Kirsan's body jerks violently. For a heartbeat that feels like eternity, he remains standing. Then he crumples to the ground beside me, his dead eyes still open and staring.
I stare at Vadim in wonder. My husband. My protector. Even with a knife wound in his gut, he still came for me. He saved me.
Every part of my body screams in agony as I push myself up onto my hands and knees. Each movement sends fresh waves of pain through my bruised flesh, but I force myself to stand. To walk towards him.
His eyes meet mine, filled with such love and relief that my heart aches. Then suddenly, horribly, they roll back in his head. The gun clatters to the floor and his knees buckle.
"No!" The scream tears from my throat as Vadim collapses. His body goes completely still.
I rush to him, ignoring the stabbing pain in my ribs. My hands shake as I cradle his head in my lap. His skin feels clammy and cold beneath my fingers.
"Vadim, please," I beg, my tears falling onto his deathly pale face. "Wake up. You promised me forever, remember? You promised we'd raise Larina together."
But he doesn't respond. His skin grows colder with each passing second. The crimson stain on his shirt spreads wider, soaking into my dress where I hold him.
"Please don't leave me," I whisper, pressing desperate kisses to his face. "Don't leave us alone. We need you. I need you."
My fingers clutch at his blood-soaked shirt as sobs wrack my body. "You promised me, Vadyusha. You promised we'd have a life together. Please... please wake up."
But he remains still and silent in my arms, growing colder by the moment.
"Please," I beg again, my voice breaking. "Don't leave me alone in this world."