23. Lacey
23
LACEY
FIVE DAYS LATER
"Good girl." Vadim's voice rumbles as he slowly pulls his shuddering cock from my mouth.
I wake up with a start, drenched in sweat.
For the past five days, I've been dreaming about what happened between Vadim and me in the jewelry store.
Every time I fall asleep, I can feel his hands on my body, hear his voice in my ear, and taste his cock on my lips. I can feel the weight of that necklace around my throat, his fist in my hair, and the way he made me lick the diamonds clean after.
I press my thighs together in the dim morning light, trying to quell the ache building there. The pink diamond ring on my finger catches the light, a constant reminder of our arrangement.
Stop it, Lacey. There's nothing else here. Just a means to an end.
But I'm having a harder time believing that there's nothing there.
Every time I see him across the dining room table or passing in Pankration's halls, electricity crackles between us. His gray eyes darken when they meet mine, and I know he's thinking about it too. The way I looked on my knees. How I begged. What I let him do to me.
The worst part is how much I want it to happen again. How I catch myself watching him, wondering what other wicked things he might make me do. The power he has over me terrifies and thrills me in equal measure.
Every time I stare at the ring on my finger, I can remind myself of our arrangement. But whenever I see the delicate necklace he gave me—the one that reminds me so much of Mom's, my heart stutters.
That gesture that night felt real. The way he wiped away my tears felt real.
Maybe that's what scares me most of all.
I'm still lying in bed, mind racing, when a knock comes at my door.
"Come in," I call out, quickly sitting up and pulling the covers around me.
Lenka enters, her weathered features softening as she takes in my disheveled state. "Good morning, devushka . Vadim Petrovich requests your presence today. You will be going with him to select your wedding dress."
My heart skips at the mention of wedding dresses. For years, I'd sketched designs in my notebooks, dreaming of the perfect gown. But those were fantasies of real love, and not this arrangement of danger and lies.
"When?" I ask, fidgeting with the ring on my finger.
"In one hour." Lenka moves to the closet and pulls out a sophisticated cream-colored dress. "This should be appropriate for the occasion."
I catch my reflection in the mirror. Flushed cheeks, tangled hair, and memories of my dreams still lingering in my eyes.
"Thank you, Lenka."
She pauses at the door. "The dress you altered the other day. It was beautifully done. You have real talent."
"I used to dream of designing dresses and shoes,” I admit quietly. "Before everything changed."
"Perhaps some dreams don't die," Lenka says. "They just take unexpected paths to come true."
I look down at my engagement ring, thinking about the path that led me here. About Vadim's promise to find Mom's necklace. About the way he touches me like I'm precious while corrupting me like I'm his to ruin.
"One hour," Lenka reminds me gently. "Don't keep him waiting."
"I wouldn't dare to."
Lenka's only response is a soft knowing noise as she walks away .
The elegant storefront looms before us, all gleaming glass and understated luxury. Vadim insists on helping me out of the car even though I no longer need my crutches.
My stomach drops when I spot a familiar flash of red hair through the window. And then I read the name of the store:
Vorobyov Ensemble .
"You didn't tell me we were coming to Irina's shop."
"Is that a problem?" Vadim's hand settles on my lower back, steady and warm.
"No, it's just..." I trail off, watching Irina move gracefully among the wedding dresses inside. The way she touched Vadim's arm at the event flashes through my mind. "I thought we'd go somewhere else."
"Irina is the only one I can trust to design a dress for our purpose." His fingers trace small circles against my spine.
"Right. The heist." The words come out sharper than I intend.
Vadim turns me to face him, his gray eyes intense. "Look at me, zvyozdochka . Irina is a friend, nothing more. She knows about our arrangement and has her part to play in it as well."
"Our arrangement." I touch the delicate necklace at my throat. "Of course."
"I need you to trust me." He tips my chin up. "Can you do that?"
The tenderness in his voice makes my chest tight. I nod, not trusting myself to speak.
"That's my girl," he murmurs, and heat floods my body at his words.
He guides me toward the entrance, and I try to ignore how perfectly his hand fits against my back. How natural it feels to lean into his strength.
This isn't real, I remind myself. Just a means to an end.
But as Irina opens the door with a bright smile, I can't help wondering why my heart is racing. Or if the intense feeling slashing at my heart is from jealousy or from Vadim's touch.
I paste on my best smile as Irina floats toward us, all elegance and grace in her designer outfit. Her scarlet hair catches the morning light, making it look like living fire.
"Vadim Petrovich! And Lacey." She kisses both my cheeks in greeting. The scent of her expensive perfume makes me dizzy. "I'd hoped I see you again after meeting you at Daddy's retrospective."
"Likewise," I manage, gripping her hand just a little tighter than I'd like.
"When Vadim called with the specifics, I knew exactly what to create." Her emerald eyes sparkle with genuine warmth. "He was very specific. And he also insisted that I incorporate some of your own design aesthetics as well.”
I blink in surprise, turning to look at Vadim. "My design aesthetic?"
Irina gestures for us to follow her deeper into the boutique. "He showed me some of your work."
My work?
"The dress you altered," Vadim explains quietly. "I had Lenka send it to Irina before this visit. Go. I’ll wait here.”
Heat floods my cheeks. I remember that the dress had been stained with both my spit and his cum after I put it back on. Did he have it cleaned before sending it out? Or did Irina see how we've ruined it?
"Please," Irina continues, leading me toward a private viewing room. "Follow me."
My throat tightens as I enter the room after her. There, displayed on an elegant mannequin, is a wedding dress that takes my breath away.
I can see echoes of my own designs in the silhouette. It's not quite what I would've done, but she's managed to capture some of the same thought processes I would've had.
But no matter how beautiful these dresses are, envy still claws at my neck whenever I look at Irina. I can't stop thinking about the way she fawned over Vadim at her father's retrospective.
And most importantly, I can't stop asking myself: Why me? Why not her?
"You seem to be very fond of Vadim," I say, unable to keep the jealous edge from creeping into my voice now that we’re alone. "Have you always been this invested in his life?"
"Why wouldn't I be?" Irina's emerald eyes meet mine in the mirror. "If it weren't for him?—"
"Your father never would've gotten the money to have a fresh start," I say. "I remember. You told me he saved your father's business."
"No, Lacey," she says quietly. "He didn't save Daddy's business. He saved Daddy. He saved me."
"What?"
Irina's perfect composure cracks, and pain flashes across her face. She looks away, and all I see is haunting sadness in her emerald eyes.
Those emerald eyes shut, and she take a slow shuddering breath before she starts speaking in a small quiet voice.
"When I was fourteen years old. Kirsan came to Daddy on Pyotr's orders."
What remains of my jealousy evaporates instantly.
"Kirsan worked for Pyotr?"
Somehow, Vadim left that part of the story out.
"Pyotr was the one who came up with the ingenious idea for their trafficking operations," Irina explains. "But he and Kirsan wanted to take it to the next level. To lend an air of legitimacy to their new brand and expand to a clientele with far deeper pockets. For that, they needed a designer. Someone who could make their twisted dreams come true."
My stomach churns. How many new models had I seen during my brief time in school? Have I ever paid attention to who they were?
How many disappeared without anyone noticing?
"Daddy didn't want to, of course. How could anyone with a heart agree to something as vile as this?" Her fingers tremble slightly as she reaches up, sniffling, to adjust the folds on the dress. "He said no to them. Refused to take their money, no matter how many zeroes they added. But the thing about a bratva pakhan is…"
"You're not allowed to deny them what they want."
"Exactly." Irina nods. "They threatened him in the one way that would break him. The one way they knew would force his hand."
Oh God...
"At first, it was small things. He'd get a phone call from my school about an emergency, and rush over there only to learn that the emergency never happened." Irina opens her eyes again and stares hard at the dress. "Then, cars started slowing down in front of our home. Always a black Cadillac." She pauses for a moment to gather herself. "And then the pictures came."
Her hands fall to the side and she crumples into a nearby chair. I rush over and kneel down before her as she resumes talking.
"Pictures of me at school. Pictures of me out with my friends. Pictures of me sleeping in my room. And on the back of each one was always a single word: choose."
I take hold of her hands. They're as cold as ice. She offers me a wan smile of acknowledgement, but her eyes are staring far away.
She's not looking at anything here, but at the memories of a horrific past that she could never escape.
"Daddy went to the police." Her voice was nothing but a strained whisper now. "Well, that was when we learned the police were already on Pyotr's payroll. Those monsters planned for us to look for help."
I gasp.
"They took us to Pankration, and Pyotr threatened to sell me unless Daddy agreed to work for them. With no other choice, Daddy agreed. But Pyotr was a devious monster. He never once got his own hands dirty."
"What do you mean?"
"He forced Daddy to make Vorobyov Ensemble the face of the trafficking operation." She shakes her head slowly, tears streaming down her face. "He put blood on Daddy's hands and kept his clean."
All I can do is I squeeze back at her icy fingers, wishing desperately that I can pour a shred—any shred—of warmth into them.
"For a while," she says. "He held true to his promise, and I was treated like a guest in Pankration. That was when I met Vadim.
"Vadim was the only good thing in my life at that point. He became the big brother I never had, and I taught him everything he needed to know about fashion."
"For two years, we dared to think that we could live like we were normal kids." She swallows. "Until Pyotr sold me anyways."
Horror slams through me like a physical blow at Irina's words.
"What? Why?"
"Why?" Irina's mouth purses in a line, and her eyes narrow in rage. "Because he could. Because it was a reminder to Daddy that he owned both of us."
The jealousy I felt towards her transforms into crushing shame. Here I was, acting petty over some perceived competition when she survived something unspeakably traumatic.
"When Vadim found out, he came looking for me." Irina continues. "But he wasn't fast enough. It took him two years to find me."
Irina's emerald eyes finally turn towards me again, shimmering with tears.
"By then, nothing could undo what my buyers did. All Vadim could do then was make sure that every one of them paid a price."
The weight of Irina's story crushes my chest until I can barely breathe.
"I'm so sorry," I whisper, my voice cracking. "I had no idea..."
Irina finally squeezes my hands, and I notice that her fingers aren't so icy anymore. “But now you do."
"That's why you worship him." I run my thumb gently over her hands, and blink away the tears that have started to well in my own eyes. "That's why you agreed to his plan, to design this dress for me."
"How can I not worship the man who gave me a chance at life?" She stands up, faces the dress, and smooths down the fabric with reverent hands. "How can I not help when he asked me to help him in this?"
"Thank you." I look at her. "For sharing that with me. I'm such an idiot for being jealous of you. I judged you without knowing."
"Your jealousy is natural, Lacey." Irina smiles warmly. “But trust me when I say that you have nothing to worry about from me."
The weight of what Vadim is truly fighting against settles over me. This isn't just about revenge or power. It's about stopping monsters who prey on innocent dreams.
Now I understand the protective fury I've seen in Vadim's eyes.
And finally, I understand why he chose me. It's exactly like he said when he took me from Nathan's apartment that rainy morning.
"Because I know you'll fight and defend those who needs defending the most. Because 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. When you were cornered, you didn't back down or beg for mercy. You fought even when you knew you couldn't win. That's why it can only be you."
This is personal for him. Deeply, viscerally personal.
"How long has he been doing this?"
"Five years before Pyotr's death," she says. "Fifteen years total."
Fifteen years. The weight of those words crushes me under the implication. Almost two decades of fighting these monsters. Of trying to save as many girls as he could.
"Svoboda." I start slowly. "He started it when Pyotr was still alive?"
"Yes. Though Pyotr never knew the true purpose behind it." Irina's lips curve in a small, sad smile. "Vadim used his father's own greed against him. Convinced him it was just another way to expand the operation."
I remember the night on the couch with Megan in what feels like forever ago, when she was furiously helping me google everything about Vadim Stravinsky.
Neither of us had any idea about this. He kept it a secret from the world.
My chest tightens as I think about Vadim carrying this burden alone for so long. Fighting these battles in the dark while pretending to turn a blind eye to the horrific business Pyotr conducted.
No wonder he refuses to call that monster his father.
"How many?" I ask.
"Thousands." Irina squeezes my hands. "There's nothing and nowhere in this world that's untainted by these monsters. That's why Vadim refuses to rest until he's taken them all down."
"Will he?"
"He will. Vadim has always wanted to do the right thing." Irina's fingers still on the fabric. She hesitates, choosing her words carefully. "He's trying to prove something to someone. About what he is... and what he isn't."
The way she says it makes my chest tighten.
"Of all the sad and cruel stories these walls bear witness to, hers was the saddest and cruelest of them all. Please, for the sake of both yourself and Vadim Petrovich, don't ask him to repeat it . "
"Is it his mom?" The words slip out before I can stop them. “I keep hearing hints at this terrible story about her. And after what you just told me. I can't imagine what kind of horrors she experienced."
Irina's hands freeze on my dress. The silence stretches between us, heavy with unspoken truths. Her emerald eyes meet mine in the mirror, and I see worry flash across her face.
"Some wounds run too deep to expose to light, Lacey. Let him tell you in his own time. On his own terms. If he ever chooses to." She returns to adjusting the hem, but her movements are sharper now, less graceful. "You should try on the dress. We have work to do."
The silk whispers against my skin as Irina helps me step into the wedding dress. My mind keeps circling back to what she revealed, about the horrors that happened in Pankration's halls.
But above all, I can't stop thinking about the story of Vadim's mother.
The pieces are there, forming a dark picture I can't see.
A picture that I don't know if I'm ready to see.
"You think very loudly," Irina observes, adjusting the train. "Has anyone ever told you that?"
"Sorry. I just..." I bite my lip, swallowing the questions I want to ask. "I'm just thinking about what we'll need to do next."
"We'll get to that." She meets my eyes in the mirror as her fingers work at the buttons. "Does the bodice feel too tight?"
"No, it's perfect." I study my reflection, trying to focus on the dress rather than the questions burning in my throat. The beading catches the light, transforming me into something ethereal and otherworldly. Someone worthy of standing beside a pakhan.
No, not someone worthy of standing next to a pakhan.
Someone worthy of standing next to Vadim.
My hand drifts to touch the delicate necklace he gave me, the one that reminds me of Mom's. He'd promised to help me get the original back. Just like he helped Irina and her father.
From the corner of my eye, I spot Irina reach over and grab a bible off a bookshelf.
"There is a hidden pocket in the silhouette of your dress." Irina explains as she slips the bible through the pocket.
I feel it dropping into the folded material. But in the mirror, the dress doesn't change in shape at all. A flutter of hope rushes through my heart.
"Holy shit." I breathe. "I think this could work."
"It will." Irina reaches forward and makes another minor adjustment, tugging at the fabric. "I'm sure of it. Now come, we need to practice the swap."
I nod, but uncertainty gnaws at my insides.
As much as my own worries about what awaits us in Paris, as much as my heart bleeds for Irina and her suffering, I can't stop wondering about Vadim.
What kind of monsters did he grow up with? What other horrors shaped him into the man he is now?
What horrors continue to shape him?
And why does the thought of knowing his pain make me want to protect him, even as I try desperately to remind myself this marriage is anything but real?