17. Vadim
17
VADIM
I pour another glass of whiskey, watching the amber liquid catch the dim light. The burn of alcohol does little to erase the memory of what I almost did to Lacey before her question about my mother stopped me.
"She's back in her room," Lenka announces from the doorway.
I nod, expecting her to leave. But her footsteps don't retreat. When I look up, she stands with her hands clasped, watching me with that same expression she wore when I was a boy who'd done something foolish.
“You had no right to mention Pyotr or my mother to her, Lenka Feliksovna.”
"You owe her the truth, Vadim Petrovich. She is to be your bride.”
The crystal tumbler hits my desk harder than intended. "I don't owe her anything."
“No?” Lenka's weathered features harden. "You ask this girl to risk everything—her freedom, her safety, perhaps her very life—for your plan. Yet you give her nothing in return."
"She knows what she needs to know."
"Is that fair to her?"
My jaw clenches, but I don’t answer.
Lenka steps closer, her voice dropping to a soft whisper. "You can trust her with your truth. You can trust her knowing about Polina."
The mention of my mother sends ice through my veins.
"Some truths are better left buried,” I say.
"Are they? Or are you just afraid to face them yourself?"
"You forget your place." My words come out blunt and defensive.
"My place is to tell you what you need to hear, not what you want to hear."
I set down my glass harder than intended. "I'm doing what needs to be done."
"No. You're doing what's easy. Pushing her away before she can see the full depth of who you are. Before facing your own past.” Her voice softens. "You're not Pyotr, no matter what others have said to you. There is still a part of Polina inside of you. As long as that part remains in you, you will not become the monster that he was."
I rake my hand through my hair, the whiskey burning a path down my throat. "I almost crossed a line with her at dinner."
"What line would that be?"
"The same line that Pyotr crossed with my mother."
The confession burns like acid on my tongue. My fingers tighten around the glass, and I can't force myself to bring the real word of what Pyotr did to the surface.
“No, you didn’t, Vadim Petrovich.” Lenka's expression doesn't change, but her eyes soften with understanding, and her voice carries the weight of decades of witnessed horrors. “Pyotr broke people. He destroyed them."
"In that moment." The words catch in my throat. "I wanted to break her. The way he would’ve.”
"But you didn't." Lenka's voice carries the weight of decades of witnessed horrors. "That's what matters. You stopped yourself."
Her words settle heavy in my chest. But I can still remember the screams that used to echo through these halls. The sobs.
And the hollow look in my mother's eyes whenever she looked at me.
"What if next time I don't?" The question comes out barely above a whisper.
"The very fact that you ask that question proves that you won’t. It proves that you're not him." Lenka steps closer, her presence steady and grounding like always. "Pyotr never questioned himself. Never doubted. Never stopped. You pulled back. You gave Lacey a choice that Pyotr never gave."
I drain my glass, letting the burn match the disgust churning in my gut. "Choice? I dragged her here against her will."
"For a purpose greater than yourself." Lenka steps closer. "To save others."
"What if I'm just fooling myself? What if all of this is just delaying the inevitable day when I do take all choices from her?”
“Is that what you’re afraid of, Vadim Petrovich?" Lenka's question cuts straight through my defenses. “That you’ll forever walk in your father’s shadows?”
The question hangs between us like a loaded gun. I stare into my glass, watching the amber liquid swirl. My throat tightens.
“Shouldn’t I be?” I breathe life into the fear that's haunted me since I first took control of the bratva “This is my real inheritance. Not this house of pain, or this bratva, but his darkness." The crystal bites into my palm. "I don't deserve anything better. Least of all to be loved. To be trusted.”
"You think you don't deserve those things?”
"Do I? Look at what I've done already. I’ve forced Lacey into a marriage. I’m keeping her a prisoner behind these walls. I intend on using her for my plans. Is that the behavior of someone who deserves love and trust?”
"Everyone deserves love and trust, Vadim Petrovich." Lenka’s voice softens. "Especially the little boy who was ripped from his mother's arms to become heir to a monster."
"That boy died a long time ago."
"No." Lenka’s eyes drill into mine. "That boy is still here. He grew into a man who questions himself, who stops before crossing lines his father never hesitated to cross. A man who still remembers what it means to feel pain—his own and that of others. A man who knows right from wrong."
I stare at my empty glass, letting Lenka's words sink in.
"You underestimate her, Vadim Petrovich." Lenka's lips curve into a knowing smile. “But above all, you underestimate yourself.”
“Some things are not meant to be revealed.”
"What do you think will happen if you tell her?" Lenka's asks after a long moment of silence. “What are you afraid of?”
The question hangs in the air between us. Silence stretches as I wrestle with thoughts I've kept buried.
"If I tell her about what Pyotr did..." The words catch in my throat. "She'll understand exactly what kind of danger she's in by being here. By being with me."
"And?"
"And she'll see that there's no happy ending possible here." The truth claws its way out. "That everything beautiful within this house will inevitably be broken.”
"Is that what you're afraid of? That she'll run?"
“No.” The words scrape my throat. “I'm afraid that she'll stay. That she'll try to fix what's broken in me. And in doing so, it’ll inevitably destroy her, piece by piece"
The intensity of my response surprises even me and I stop myself, recognizing the dangerous territory my thoughts are entering.
The glass trembles in my hand. "I can't... I won't let that happen to her."
"You want to protect her." Lenka's voice carries no judgment, only understanding.
I nod, unable to voice the rest.