10. Lacey
10
LACEY
I follow Lenka through the winding corridors of Pankration, my flats shuffling against the intricate marble floors polished to a sheen. The enormity of the mansion makes my head spin and I fight the urge to look around and take everything in.
"Is he serious?" The words tumble out before I can stop myself. "About the marriage?"
Lenka's weathered features remain neutral as she leads me past a row of gilt-framed portraits. “Vadim Petrovich does not make idle statements."
My stomach knots. A man in an impeccable suit passes us, his scarred knuckles and hard eyes at odds with his polished appearance. He nods at Lenka but looks me over with calculation that sends chills running down my spine.
He's not the only one I notice. They're scattered throughout the house like sentinel statues. Rough and scary men who look like they'd snap me in half without blinking an eye.
Whatever they are, they're definitely not your average household staff.
"This is your room." Lenka opens a door to reveal a large suite decorated in shades of blue.
I step inside, but uncertainty roots me in place. The luxury surrounding me like a slap in the face. Everything screams wealth and power—from the hand-carved mahogany furniture to the silk sheets. Even the carpet looks impossibly plush.
"Why does Vadim need so many..." I wave my hand, gesturing in the general direction of the rough men standing outside. "People like them?"
Lenka's kind eyes sharpen with something that might be warning. "It's best not to ask too many questions, dear."
"That's not an answer." My voice comes out stronger than I feel. "What is he hiding from me?"
"Some things, once learned, cannot be unlearned." Lenka's voice carries the weight of experience. “Vadim Petrovich has not yet informed me what I may share with you. For that reason, I cannot answer your questions."
I let out a laugh that sounds hollow even to my own ears. "The way you talk about him makes him sound like some kind of mafia boss instead of a fashion executive."
The silence that follows my comment stretches too long. Lenka's face remains carefully neutral, but her lack of response has given me the answer I needed.
Oh fuck…
My mind starts racing, connecting dots I hadn't connected before.
Suddenly, I'm having a hard time drawing another breath.
"Oh God." My legs go weak and I sink onto the edge of the bed. The blue silk comforter rustles beneath me as pieces click into place. "That's exactly what he is, isn't it?"
Lenka's weathered features soften with something like sympathy, but she doesn't deny it. She doesn't need to. Her silence has told me everything.
"I need to leave." My voice cracks as I scramble up from the bed. "You can't keep me here."
Lenka's face remains gentle but unmovable. "I'm afraid that's not possible. Once Vadim Petrovich brings someone to Pankration, they may only leave with his permission."
"Brought me? He kidnapped me!" I stride toward the door, but Lenka shifts to block my path. Despite her age, she moves with surprising quickness and strength. "Please, can't you understand?"
"I understand that this is overwhelming." Her tone carries maternal concern that makes my chest ache. "But fighting will only make things more difficult. I'll return shortly."
"You'll return shortly? To do what?"
But Lenka is already stepping back, pulling the heavy door closed. I lunge forward but hear the unmistakable click of a lock engaging. I fumble at the doorknob, and find a keyhole instead of a lock.
What the actual fuck?
Who the fuck has a door that needs a key to unlock it from the inside?
A mafia boss, Lacey, that's who. I remind myself.
"Please!" I pound my fist against the wood. "You can't leave me in here!"
Only silence answers. I press my ear to the door, straining to hear her footsteps retreating down the hall. My heart hammers against my ribs as the reality of my situation crashes over me.
I'm trapped in a room that can only be unlocked from the outside, in a mansion full of killers in suits, and the only person who seems remotely sympathetic just walked away.
The room suddenly feels too small despite its immense size, and the air too thin. I slide down the door until I'm sitting on the floor, drawing my knees to my chest as I try to slow my frantic breathing.
And just then, I remember something else.
The photo.
Oh God, the photo I sent him. A strangled laugh bubbles up my throat. I sent a mafia boss a naked picture of myself wearing his stolen suit.
My fingers dig into my hair, tugging at the roots. "Stupid, stupid, stupid. "
It's incredible just how thoroughly I've fucked up. I flirted with him. Danced with him. Let myself feel attracted to him. And now I'm locked in his mansion, being forced to marry him.
A hysterical giggle escapes me. Mom always said I had terrible taste in men, but this really takes the cake.
The memory of our dance at the Vorobyov event now takes on a sinister edge. The way he commanded me to join him at his table, the way Irina was fawning all over him, how easily he offered to buy out Allison's catering company, and the flash of possessiveness in his eyes when she dared to say no.
It wasn't because of wealth or charm. It was power .
Real, dangerous power.
And now he's going to make me marry him so he can steal a bible from a church? The room spins as I struggle to draw breath.
My fingers twist in my hair as his words echo in my head: "You'll fight and defend those who needs defending the most...You fought even when you knew you couldn't win."
Heat blooms in my chest at the memory. No one has ever talked about me like that before: someone strong and fearless. Someone worthy.
Stop it, Lacey. I press my palms against my eyes. He's manipulating you. This is what men like him do.
But the warmth of his words lingers. And the way he looked at me when he said those words refuses to fade. Like I was precious and fierce all at once. Like I mattered .
"Eleven hours and twenty-eight minutes after your engagement ended, you were fighting for a dry cleaner that you didn't need to fight for."
Another peal of bitter laugh escapes me. He admires me for standing up for what's right. Yet here he is, forcing me into marriage and I know there's no damn way he'll let me go against it.
He's using my supposed strength for his own agenda.
The confidence that his words gave me now curdles into something sour. Yes, he sees my strength. But only because he wants to use it.
To use me.
Just like Nathan…
The thought of Nathan hits me like a punch to the gut.
Nathan wasn't just cheating. He was grooming me. Setting me up to become—what, exactly? An enabler or another statistic in Kirsan's operation?
Does it matter? Nathan was using me, just like Vadim plans on using me.
Ah yes, an annoying little voice pipes up in my head. But at least Vadim is honest enough about it from the get-go.
I lean back against the locked door. Vadim's plan is insane. So many things can go wrong, and everything depends on chance.
And how do I know that Vadim is the one telling me the truth?
I need answers. I need to call Nathan. If nothing else, to make me accept that this is somehow the reality that I've landed myself into.
My hand automatically reaches for my purse and find nothing but air. And that's when I remember that I dropped it on the floor when I saw Vadim.
Another burst of hysterical laugh punches from my throat.
I'm completely cut off from everyone. No way to call Megan or check on Dad.
Dad. My chest tightens. He'll be waking up soon, and I hadn't prepared breakfast for him before leaving. I have no idea if Megan will have time to check on him today before work is over, or any guarantee that Freddy won't come by later to steal anything that isn't nailed down.
Tears sting my eyes as the reality of my isolation hits home. There's no way for me to contact anyone who. Just these opulent walls and men with scarred knuckles standing guard.
And Vadim, who claims he wants to protect me by forcing me into a marriage I didn't ask for.
For all his talk about protecting me and needing my strength, this isn't about what we want.
This is about what he wants.
What about what I want? What about what I need to do?
I know that whatever the answer is, it's not by staying here to play a part in someone else's game. I have people who depend on me. Dad needs me. Megan needs me. Even Freddy needs me more than Vadim Stravinsky ever will.
A wave of determination washes over me, clearing away the fog of confusion and fear.
I'm not some chess piece to be moved around at his convenience. I'm not some damsel in distress who needs his protection. I won't be an accomplice to whatever other insanity he's cooking up.
And I definitely will not be another trophy in his collection.
I need to get out of here.
I scan the room, searching for anything I can use.
The king-sized bed dominates the space. Intricate patterns are carved into the ornate headboard. Everything is done in shades of blue—from the silk sheets to the heavy drapes framing the beautiful large windows.
Freedom lies just beyond that glass.
I need something heavy enough to break that glass. The bedside lamps are delicate crystal affairs, more likely to shatter themselves. The mahogany furniture is too heavy for me to lift. And the decorative vases look like they weigh more than I do.
Everything in here is either too fragile or too massive to be useful.
My gaze lands on the walk-in closet. Maybe there's an iron in there.
I yank open the closet doors and flip on the light and gasp.
Rows of designer dresses greet me, each piece bearing the distinctive Svoboda label. The craftsmanship is exquisite—French seams, hand-rolled hems, the finest materials money can buy.
I can't help myself as I pull out a midnight blue cocktail dress, the fabric flowing like water through my fingers. Holding it against myself, I study my reflection in the full-length mirror. It's not quite right for my frame, but God, the color is perfect. If I took in the waist slightly, adjusted the shoulder line, maybe added some subtle beading to draw attention to?—
Not now! I throw the dress onto the bed and resume looking. You're planning alterations when you should be planning your escape.
Apart from these different beautiful dresses, there’s nothing else in here.
I move to the attached bathroom, and find nothing but luxury soaps and toiletries. Again. Nothing that can help me break the glass.
Walking back to the window, I study my reflection in the glass. The crystal chandelier above me casts a soft glow that makes everything look ethereal, like something out of a fairy tale. Even my own image seems transformed—ghostly and delicate against the backdrop of luxury.
The craftsmanship of everything in this room is undeniable. From the hand-carved moldings to the silk drapes, each detail speaks of wealth and refinement that I've only dreamed about. The kind of beauty I sketched in my notebooks late at night, imagining designs that would never see the light of day.
Stop it, Lacey. This isn't the time to feel sorry for yourself.
Then, as if to hype myself, I give the window a light tap.
And notice it jiggle.
My heart leaps at the unexpected movement and I grip the window frame in trembling fingers. But just then, doubt creeps in.
What if there are guards outside? What if they catch me? The consequences of attempting escape from a mafia boss's mansion probably aren't pleasant.
But will they be any less pleasant than what I might face if I were to stay? Am I really so na?ve as to believe that he'll just let me go when it's all said and done?
I'd still be married to a mafia boss. Still trapped in this gilded cage, surrounded by men with scarred knuckles and hard eyes.
And just like that, the choice becomes crystal clear.
My fingers tremble as I give the window a push upward, and it opens soundlessly. The humid morning breeze billows in, beckoning me with the tantalizing taste of freedom amidst the soft falling rain.
I take one deep breath, swing my legs over the ledge, and drop, hearing the sound of my pants ripping when a thread snags against the rough stone surface of the masonry.
But I don’t care.
My feet hit the wet ground with a soft thud and I sever the thread with my teeth. Then, without waiting to see if anyone noticed, I bolt across the manicured lawn towards the line of trees.
And I don't dare looking back to see if anyone is chasing.