31. Lacey
31
LACEY
5 WEEKS LATER
Rain patters against the nursery window in a soothing rhythm as I cradle my tea, lost in thought. My free hand drifts to my growing belly, still amazed at the changes happening within me.
The nursery has come together beautifully. The walls have been painted a soft cream, with delicate pink and gold accents. My rocking chair faces the window, letting me watch Seattle's endless rain that portends the start of autumn.
These past weeks have been a whirlwind. Captain Rutledge has been relentless in his mission to clean house alongside with Vadim's ruthless purge of Seattle's underworld. Corrupt cops are falling like dominoes, and right there with them are the trafficking establishments. Every day brings forth another report about women and girls being freed from slavery and suffering.
Megan's been thriving too. Her articles about Svoboda have gained national attention, and she's going to fly out to New York for a job interview in a few weeks.
Working with Taliya has been wonderful as well. Her enthusiasm for design is infectious, and watching her confidence grow makes my heart swell. She taught me to say "thank you" in Tuvan yesterday.
I probably butchered the pronunciation, but her delighted smile when I said it to her in the proper context was worth it.
Even Freddy and I have found our way into being real siblings. His recovery has been slow but steady. Sometimes when he's not in pain, he'll tell me stories about Mom that I've never heard before.
But right now, as I stare at the rain outside, all those things are pushed to the other corners of my mind.
I can think about is Dr. Chen's words from this morning.
"It's a girl."
A daughter. Our daughter. I touch my belly again, wondering if she can feel how much she's already loved.
I can't wait to tell Vadim when he gets home.
The door opens with a soft creak and Vadim steps in, still in his suit from the day's meetings. His eyes soften when he sees me. "I thought I'd find you here, zvyozdochka ."
My heart skips at his presence. Even after all this time, just the sight of him still gets my heart racing.
He crosses the room, kneels beside my chair, and takes my hand in his. "How was your appointment with Dr. Chen this morning?"
I can't contain my smile any longer. "We're having a girl."
His breath catches. For a moment, he's completely still. Then his hand reaches out to touch my belly, reverent and gentle. "A girl," he whispers, voice thick with emotion. "A daughter."
Warmth spreads through me at his touch, at the way his eyes shine with unshed tears. I cover his hand with mine. "She's going to have you wrapped around her little finger."
"Just like her mother." He presses a kiss to my belly before looking up at me. "I can already picture her wearing little dresses that you design."
The rain continues its gentle rhythm against the window as Vadim stays kneeling beside me, his hand warm against my belly. Our daughter.
The thought should fill me with joy.
But slowly, a tendril of terror snakes through me. Tears well up in my eyes, and I can't stop them from falling even if I want to. They're not tears of joy, but something darker. Something that burns hot and painful down my cheeks.
" Zvyozdochka ?" Vadim's voice is gentle with concern. "What's wrong?"
"It's just... pregnancy hormones," I try to laugh it off, but my voice cracks.
His thumb brushes away a tear. "No, it's not. Tell me what's frightening you."
I bite my lip, trying to hold back the flood of emotions threatening to overwhelm me. But looking into his eyes, seeing nothing but love and concern, breaks down my walls.
"I'm scared," I whisper, the words coming out before I can stop them. "About everything."
Vadim shifts closer, his thumb still brushing away my tears. "Tell me."
"You took such a huge risk going to Rutledge. And it was because of me, because I suggested it." My hands clench in my lap. "But once Kirsan is gone, Rutledge won't stop. He'll come after you next. He said as much."
" Zvyozdochka ."
"And L.A. Fashion Week..." My voice cracks. "We both know how dangerous that will be. What if something goes wrong? What if?—"
I can't finish the thought. I can’t bear to speak into the possibility that I might lose Vadim. The possibility is too painful to voice.
He takes both my hands in his. "Look at me."
I do, through tear-blurred vision.
"I've spent my whole life fighting monsters," he says. "But I never had anything worth protecting before. Now I do. You. Our daughter. This family we're building."
"That's exactly what terrifies me," I admit. "That's what I'm afraid of losing this. Not when I finally know what it feels like to truly belong somewhere." My voice drops to barely a whisper. "To belong with someone."
The weight of everything crashes over me—the past weeks of watching Rutledge systematically dismantling corruption, knowing each victory brings us closer to the moment he'll turn his attention to Vadim. The looming danger of L.A. Fashion Week and our final confrontation with Kirsan. It all feels like a sword hanging over our heads, threatening this precious peace we've found.
"I just had this awful feeling," I confess, my hand drifting back to my belly. "Like everything we've built could be taken away in an instant."
Vadim's hands tighten on mine. "No one will take this from us, zvyozdochka . Not Kirsan. Not Rutledge. No one."
The fierce conviction in his voice makes my breath catch. His gray eyes hold mine, stormy with determination.
"But Rutledge said?—"
"Let him say whatever he wants to say," Vadim says, his voice strong and unyielding. "He can investigate every piece of paper, follow every lead, but he will find nothing that he can use to separate us. Everything I've built, I've built carefully. Legally."
"And Kirsan?"
A dark smile plays across his lips. "Kirsan made a fatal mistake thinking he could hurt what's mine." His hand slides to my belly, protective and possessive. "I will end him in Los Angeles. And when I do, I'll spend the rest of my life pampering you."
The certainty in his voice soothes something raw inside me. This is the man who orchestrated an elaborate heist in Paris. Who's systematically dismantling a criminal empire piece by piece. Who looked at my broken necklace and tracked down every pawn shop in Seattle until he found it.
"You better, Vadim Stravinsky," I whisper, and I mean it. "Don't leave me alone in this world without you."
He rises from his knees and pulls me into his arms, cradling me against his chest. His heartbeat is steady and strong under my ear. "You and our daughter are my everything now. My reason for fighting. My reason for living. Nothing in this world could make me give that up."
I feel the tension slowly seep from my shoulders as Vadim holds me, but I can't completely banish the fear gnawing at the edges of my mind. Needing a distraction, I look up at him. "Have you thought about names?"
His hand continues stroking my back. "A few. Nothing that feels right yet."
"Like what?"
"Natalia was my first thought." He shakes his head. "But it doesn't feel... special enough."
"What about Alexis?" I suggest, trying to match his more traditional choices.
"Too common." His lips quirk. "We could call her Sasha."
"Definitely not. " I wrinkle my nose. "It sounds way too similar to Sayanaa."
His hand stills on my back for a moment before a smile ghosts his face. "Fair point."
"Elena?" I offer.
"I knew an Elena once. She tried to poison me."
I pull back to stare at him. "You're joking."
"I wish I was."
"Victoria?" I offer.
"Too English."
"Katerina?"
"Too Ukrainian."
I can't help but laugh. "You're impossible."
"I think the word you're looking for is 'particular,'" he says, but there's a hint of playfulness returning to his voice. His hand drifts to my belly again. "We still have plenty of time to decide."
I cover his hand with mine. "She needs the perfect name."
"She'll have it," he promises. "When we know, we'll know."
My thoughts drift to another name, though I hesitate to say it out loud. Irina .
The weight of it sits heavy in my chest. Her sacrifice made this all possible—my freedom, my life with Vadim, this child growing inside me. But speaking her name still feels like touching a fresh wound.
Maybe it's too soon. Maybe it will always be too soon.
Besides, would naming our daughter after her honor Irina's memory, or would it be a constant reminder of the guilt we both carry?
"We should choose a name that has meaning for you too, zvyozdochka ," Vadim says, breaking into my thoughts. "Not just Russian names."
I try to lighten the mood. "Well, we definitely can't name her Megan. She'd never let us hear the end of it."
But something shifts in Vadim's expression, his gray eyes turning serious. "I was thinking Lauren. To honor your Mom."
My breath catches. For a moment, I'm transported back to lazy Sunday afternoons in our kitchen, Mom humming "Moon River" as she taught me how to whisk eggs into chicken broth for the perfect egg drop soup. The way her eyes crinkled with smile as we tried my first attempt—with way too many handfuls of salt.
The suggestion brings tears to my eyes again, but these are different from before. These aren't tears of fear or uncertainty. They're tears of remembrance, of love, of the ache that never quite goes away when you lose someone who shaped your whole world.
"I'd prefer something meaningful to both of us," I whisper, watching his expression carefully. "A name that honors everything we've been through together."
Understanding breaks across Vadim's face like a sunrise. His eyes meet mine, and in that moment, I know we're thinking the same thing. Together, we breathe out: "Irina."
The name hangs in the air between us, heavy with memory and meaning. I can still see her radiant smile, hear her infectious laugh. The way she believed in me, in us, in everything we could become.
But before the familiar weight of grief can settle over us, Vadim's eyes light up. "I have a better idea," he says, his voice soft but excited. "What if we combined both names? Lauren and Irina..."
Something clicks into place.
"Larina," I say.
My hand drifts to my belly, testing the name. "Larina," I whisper again, feeling how it fits in my mouth, how it carries the echoes of both women who shaped our lives so profoundly. Mom's warmth and strength, Irina's fierce spirit and determination.
Vadim's hand covers mine on my belly. "Larina Stravinsky."
"It's perfect," I whisper, my heart full. "Larina."
The name feels right on my tongue, carrying the weight of both love and loss, hope and memory.
Vadim's hand is warm against my belly, and I can't help but lean into his touch.
" Zvyozdochka ," he murmurs, pressing a kiss to my temple. "Our little star is going to shine so bright."
"I can already picture her," I say, letting myself imagine our daughter. "With your eyes."
"And your smile," he adds softly. "Your kindness."
I cover his hand with mine, feeling the slight flutter of movement beneath. "She's going to be fierce and beautiful. Just like both of her namesakes."
"She'll be perfect," Vadim says, his voice thick with emotion. "Because she's ours."
The rain continues its gentle patter against the window, but in here, wrapped in Vadim's arms with his hand protectively spread across my belly, I feel nothing but warmth. Slowly, the fear begins to recede, replaced by anticipation.
"I can't wait to meet her," I whisper, picturing tiny fingers and toes, imagining the weight of her in my arms. "To see who she becomes."
"To watch her grow," Vadim agrees. His thumb traces gentle circles on my belly. "To protect her. To love her."
Suddenly, I gasp, my hand flying to my belly.
" Zvyozdochka ? What's wrong?" Vadim's voice is tight with concern.
"I..." My voice trembles with wonder. "I just felt her kick. For the first time."
Taking his hand in mine, I guide it to the spot where I felt the flutter. "Wait," I whisper. "Just wait."
We hold our breath, his palm warm against my skin through the thin fabric of my dress. For a moment, there's nothing but the sound of rain against the window and our quiet breathing.
Then—there it is again. That tiny flutter, like butterfly wings beneath my skin.
Vadim's breath catches. His eyes go wide, and I watch as a storm of emotions crosses his face. Wonder. Joy. Love. Fear. All of them tangled together in a way that makes my heart ache.
" Privyet , Larina," he whispers, his voice thick with emotion. "Hello, dorogaya ."
He bends down, and places a reverent kiss to my belly, right where we felt her move. His hand stays splayed protectively over the spot, as if trying to memorize the feeling of her first kicks.
I watch as Vadim continue whispering softly to my belly, his hand spread protectively over where we just felt Larina kick.
I watch in marvel at the way his eyes are filled with raw emotion.
This fearsome pakhan who commands an army of killers—who makes hardened criminals tremble in fear—completely undone by the tiniest flutter of movement from our daughter.
Another kick, and his breath catches. The sound draws tears to my eyes. In this moment, seeing him so vulnerable and full of wonder, I know with absolute certainty that I would burn the world down to protect what we have.
Yes, Kirsan is still out there. Yes, Rutledge made his intentions clear. The doubt and fear still gnaw at the edges of my mind. But with each reverent kiss Vadim presses to my belly, steel resolve builds within me.
Let them come.
Let them try to tear apart what we've built. They don't understand what they're up against.
Vadim looks up at me, his eyes shining with unshed tears, and I see the same fierce determination reflected there.
We created this precious life together.
And we'll protect her together.