22. Vadim
22
VADIM
NIGHT
I pause outside the blue suite, the small velvet box weighing in my palm. Suddenly, I feel a nervousness that I'd never felt around her take over.
It's funny. You'd think that after I made her kneel before me, after I came down her throat, and after I made her lick those diamonds clean, I'd feel like I'm in control of the situation.
But if my racing heart is anything to go by, it's proof that control is the last thing I have over someone like Lacey McKinney.
Taking a deep breath, I raise my hand and knock gently on her door.
"Come in," she calls out.
Lacey sits cross-legged on the bed, having changed into something a bit more comfortable. Her hair falls loose around her shoulders, and my mind flashes back to how it felt wrapped around my fist.
"I brought you something."
Her eyes narrow with suspicion. "More piercings?"
"No." I hold out the box. "Though if you're interested..."
"I think I've had enough jewelry for one day." But she takes the box, her fingers brushing mine.
When she opens it, her breath catches. The understated necklace she'd been looking at gleams against the black velvet—the small teardrop diamonds shimmering like stars around the central stone.
"I noticed you looking at it the entire time," I say. "So, I bought it for you as an afterthought."
Lacey's fingers tremble as she lifts the necklace from its velvet nest. Something flickers across her face. Pain, longing, and gratitude all mixed into one. Her amber-flecked eyes shine with unshed tears.
"Why this one?" I ask softly, watching her cradle it like something precious and lost.
She bites her lower lip, turning the delicate chain in her hands. The small diamonds catch the light, throwing tiny rainbows across her skin. Her silence speaks volumes.
"We're about to get married, zvyozdochka ," I remind her, settling beside her on the bed. "Even if the marriage isn't real, there should be some honesty between us."
The words feel strange in my mouth. I demand honesty from her, but refuse to give her the same when she asks it of me. But something about her vulnerability calls to me, makes me want to deserve her trust.
Makes me want to beg for it.
"It..." She takes a shaky breath. "It looks like my Mom's. My real Mom."
The way she emphasizes 'real' speaks of old wounds, still raw. But there's something else in her tone—a catch in the way she says 'mom' that makes my instincts prickle.
She stops abruptly, swallowing hard. Her knuckles go white around the necklace.
"You promised me honesty." Her voice low and soft. "So, here's my chance to be honest with you."
Something in her tone makes me look at her sharply. There's a familiar pain in her eyes, one that mirrors my own. I know that kind of wound well. It’s the kind that never quite heals right no matter how much time passes.
For a dangerous moment, I want to reach across the space between us. To offer comfort. To acknowledge this unexpected bridge of understanding.
But I don't know how.
I don't know if I can.
"I was adopted when I was a baby. My birth parents..." She swallows hard. "Well, they didn't want me. But the Huangs did. They gave me a home, a family, a sister."
"Megan?"
Lacey turns her face away, blinking fiercely, but not before I catch the shine in her eyes. Her hand tightens around the necklace and around my hand. Something protective stirs in my chest.
"All my life, people have asked me if she was my real sister." Her voice is bitter as she speaks, and she reaches up to wipes her eyes with her free hand. "Just like how they asked if Mom was my real mom."
Lacey takes a breath before continuing, her voice still thick and heavy.
I resist the urge to brush away the tear that escapes down her cheek.
"As a kid, I thought about looking up my birth parents." She stares at our joined hands. "But I couldn't go through with it. What if they still didn't want me? And then after my—" Her voice catches, pain flashing across her delicate features before she cuts herself off.
The sudden silence hangs heavy between us. There's more there, something raw and recent that she's not ready to share.
"She passed away, didn't she?"
A single tear breaks free, trailing down her cheek. Without thinking, I reach out and brush it away with my thumb. Her skin is soft, warm beneath my touch.
"Six years ago," she whispers. "Cancer. It's what made me drop out of fashion school. To give up my dreams."
"I'm sorry, zvyozdochka. " My hand lingers on her face as more tears fall.
Each one feels like an accusation. It feels wrong for me to reach out like this, like I'm using her grief as an excuse to touch her again.
But I can't stop myself from wiping them away, one by one.
I watch as Lacey's fingers trace the delicate chain, each movement filled with a mix of love and loss that makes my chest tighten. It's almost as if she's treating it like it did belong to her mother.
"Mom's necklace looked so much like this one. Three diamonds, with the center one slightly larger. But it didn't have the row of diamonds along the chain."
"What happened to it?" The words slip out before I can stop them.
Her jaw tightens, amber-flecked eyes hardening with an anger I haven't seen before. "My brother pawned it."
"Why?" My hand curls into a fist at my side. The rage building inside me is unexpected and fierce.
"He's been stealing things from the house to pay for his gambling debts." She practically spits the words. "First it was small things. Dad's cufflinks, some silver frames. Then Mom's jewelry started disappearing."
"And no one stopped him?"
"How could we? He'd just come back when no one was around." Her fingers curl protectively around the necklace. "Of all things he could've taken... that one hurt the most."
The pain and fury in her voice mirrors what I felt when I discovered what Pyotr did to my mother. That same helpless rage at watching someone destroy what should have been protected.
"Did you try to get it back?"
"By the time I found out, it was too late. He already sold it to some pawn shop in Tacoma. I went to every shop I could find, but..." She shakes her head. "Nobody remembered seeing it. Or if they did, they weren't telling me."
Her hands tremble slightly as she holds the necklace. "That's why I kept looking at this one. It's not exactly the same, but..."
"It reminds you of her," I finish softly.
She nods, blinking back fresh tears. "I know it's stupid to get emotional over jewelry?—"
"It's not stupid." My voice comes out rougher than intended. "Some things carry more meaning than their material worth."
I watch the emotions play across her face as she clutches the necklace.
"Thank you for this," she whispers. "It's beautiful, but..." She takes a shaky breath and closes the box. "It's not Mom's."
Something stirs in my chest at the raw pain in her voice. I've spent years building an empire through violence and cunning, yet here I sit, helpless before her grief.
But am I really helpless?
"The pawn shop," I say. "You're sure it's in Tacoma?"
"Yes.” She looks up, confusion flickering across her tear-stained face. "Why?"
"I have people who can track it down." I reach out and take her hand, the one still holding the necklace. "Give me time, and I'll find it."
Her eyes widen. "You'd do that?"
“What's the point of marrying a pakhan if he can't pull some strings and get back something that matters to you?"
"But it's been months..."
"Then it's about time someone brought it home, don't you think?"
"You're serious about this?"
I squeeze her hand. "Absolutely."
Fresh tears spill down her cheeks as she looks away, nodding. But these are different from before. There's hope in them now, fragile as spring ice. The shift I felt at dinner the other night returns between us. In place of a surge of lust and the possessive need to dominate and control, a new desire surfaces.
A desire to kiss away the tears on her face, to make her feel protected.
Safe.
Mine.
"Look at me," I whisper, tipping my finger under her chin and turning her to face me.
For a moment, I see what this could be. Not just a means to an end, but something real.
She turns back to face me, and before I can stop myself, I'm kissing her. This isn't like our heated exchanges before. This kiss is gentle, almost reverent. Her lips part beneath mine, soft and yielding, and I can still taste the salt from her earlier tears.
When we break apart, I find myself sinking to one knee. The pink diamond ring feels heavy in my palm as I take her hand in mine. Her fingers start when she realizes what I'm about to do.
"Lacey McKinney," I start. "Will you marry me?"
The words stumble in my throat as I look up at her. This is supposed to be pretend—a performance for an audience that isn't even here.
But something about the way she's looking at me, about the way the diamonds at her throat mirror the tears in her eyes, makes it feel devastatingly real.
"Yes," she breathes, and I slide the ring onto her finger.
It settles into place, a perfect fit. Just like her hand in mine.
This isn't real , I remind myself. This can't be real.
But my heart thunders in my chest, betraying the lie.
I sit in my office, staring at the dawn brightening in the eastern sky.
The door opens and Demyon strides in, manila folder in hand. "Got that information you wanted on the Huang family. They adopted Lacey when she was just a baby. The mother passed six years ago, and the brother?—"
"—has been stealing from the family to cover his gambling debts," I say without looking up. "I know."
Demyon drops into the chair across from me with an exaggerated sigh. "You know, it would save me a lot of time if you'd just tell me when you already know everything instead of sending me out on wild goose chases."
"Not everything, surely." I finally meet his gaze. "What else did you learn?"
"Those gambling debts?" He flips open the folder and slides it over to me. "They're owed to Kirsan's casinos. Every fucking penny.."
My hand stills on the desk. "How much?"
"Over half a million." Demyon replies. "He's been borrowing from one place to pay another. Classic desperate gambler move. And to his credit, it hasn't fucking blown up in his face yet. Whatever he's stealing from the family, it's enough to keep Kirsan's goons from breaking his legs."
I lean back in my chair, processing this new information. Kirsan's tendrils reaching elsewhere into Seattle isn't surprising—but having them so close to Lacey sets my teeth on edge.
"So," Demyon continues. "Still think it's a good idea to marry her?"
I shoot him a dark look, but he continues undeterred.
"I already put the ring on her finger, Demyushka." I sigh. "There's no backing out now."
"You know, for someone who insists this is just a means to an end, you're putting an awful lot of thought into this." He leans forward. "Almost as if you actually want to?—"
"Don't."
But Demyon's words have already hit their mark. Because he's right. I am paying attention to every detail. The ring, the necklace, the dress...
I have no good answer why.
No, that's not true. I know why. I just can't bring myself to admit it.
Because then it'll be real.
I drum my fingers against my desk and push that dangerous thought deep into the far recess of my mind.
"I need you to do something else for me."
"Another wild goose chase?" Demyon's eyes sparkle with amusement.
"It's about a necklace that belonged to Lacey's mom." My jaw tightens as I recall the pain in her eyes. "Her brother pawned it in Tacoma months ago. Three diamonds, the center stone is slightly larger than the rest. No diamonds on the chain. It looks similar to the second necklace I bought."
Demyon's expression shifts from teasing to serious. "You want me to track it down?"
"Every pawn shop in Tacoma." I lean forward. "Money is no object. If you find someone who remembers selling it, buy it back. If they've already sold it, find out who bought it."
"And if they're unwilling to part with it?"
"Make them an offer they can't refuse." My voice carries an edge that makes Demyon's eyebrows rise. "Do what's necessary, but no killing. This needs to be clean."
"Because it's for her?"
I ignore his knowing look. "Because it's for her."
"You're getting soft, Vadim Petrovich."
"No." I meet his gaze steadily. "I'm giving Lacey back something that was stolen from her. There's nothing soft about that. It's about fairness."
"I think some people would call it love."
Before I can retort, Demyon stands up.
"I'll start looking today," he says.