25. Lacey
25
LACEY
FIVE DAYS LATER
I follow Lenka through the winding hallways of Pankration, my heart racing with each step. When we reach Vadim's office, she opens the door and announces my presence before leaving us alone.
Vadim stands behind his massive mahogany desk, backlit by floor-to-ceiling windows. "Come here, zvyozdochka ."
My pulse quickens at the endearment as I approach. He reaches into his desk drawer and pulls out something that catches the light.
My breath catches. "That's impossible..."
In his hands dangles Mom’s necklace—the delicate three-stone diamond pendant on its fine white gold chain. The same one Freddy pawned months ago.
"How did you..." My voice cracks as I reach out to touch it with trembling fingers. The familiar weight and sparkle bring tears to my eyes.
"I told you I'd get it back for you." Vadim moves behind me, his breath warm against my neck as he fastens the clasp. "When I make you a promise, I keep it."
"But how? The pawn shop said they'd already sold it." The center diamond catches the light exactly how I remember, creating tiny rainbows that dance across Vadim's desk.
"Let's just say I can be very persuasive when properly motivated." His fingers brush against my skin as he adjusts the chain.
He lifts the delicate necklace from my hand. "May I?"
I nod, turning away from him. My hair falls to the side, exposing the curve of my neck. I should feel vulnerable. But I don't.
I feel safe.
His fingers brush against my skin as he works the clasp, and I can't help shiver at the warmth of his touch. When it finally clicks into place, his hands linger on my shoulders.
"Look," he whispers, turning me toward the mirror.
The diamonds catch the light, transforming into a constellation of stars against my skin.
I reach up to touch the delicate chain, remembering how it used to rest on Mom's neck.
The diamonds may not be as impressive as what a pakhan's wife is expected to wear, but they are far more precious.
"Vadim, I have a request to make."
"Yes, zvyozdochka ?"
"I want to wear this to the wedding. I want to have a piece of my mom with me. For luck.”
His eyes soften as he studies my face. Slowly, his expression shifts from stern to understanding.
“Of course,” he says, his voice gentle in a way that makes my chest ache.
"Thank you," I whisper.
"You look beautiful in it, zvyozdochka ," he whispers. "My little star."
"Your accomplice," I repeat his words in Irina's store. "Your wife. Fake as this marriage is."
"Do you still feel that this marriage could be fake?"
"Isn't it?" I turn. "Don't husbands and wives share everything between them? Aren't we supposed to carry each other's burdens? You promised me honesty, Vadim, and I've shown you mine. What will it take for you to show me yours? What will it take for you to tell me what haunts you?"
The words slip out before I can stop them, hanging heavy in the air between us. His hands go rigid against my waist.
His entire body stiffens, and the temperature in the room seems to drop. The warmth from moments ago vanishes as his face transforms into an expressionless mask.
But his eyes... God, his eyes hold such raw pain it makes my chest ache.
I've crossed a line. The realization hits me. This man who expertly wields power and control, who can make people disappear with a word, suddenly looks... vulnerable. Lost.
My hand moves of its own accord to cup his cheek. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have?—"
"No." His voice comes out rough, almost strangled. He steps back, breaking contact, and my hand falls empty to my side. "You're right. I did promise you honesty. And I haven't held up my promise. So, what do you want to know?"
"Your mother." I confess. "Lenka told me her story is the saddest and cruelest one that this place has ever known. You yourself pulled away at dinner the other night when I mentioned her. And even Irina seems to know at least a hint of the awful things that must've happened to her. But not me."
My heart aches as I watch Vadim struggle with his pain. His shoulders are rigid, jaw clenched tight as he stares out the window.
My mother's necklace catches the light, reminding me of the lengths he went to retrieve it. He did that for me, twisted arms and probably broke a few to bring back this piece of my past.
Yet here I am, carelessly prodding at his wounds without considering the cost.
"Vadim..." I whisper, not sure what I'm asking for, but needing him to know I'm here.
The need to comfort him, to somehow ease that haunted look in his eyes, overwhelms me. I want to pull him close, to tell him it's okay to hurt, to let him know he's not alone.
But I can't move, can't breathe, can't do anything but watch as he wrestles with demons I don't yet understand.
When he finally speaks, his voice comes out rough, like each word costs him something precious.
"My mother Polina was sixteen when Pyotr first saw her." His hands grip the edge of his desk until his knuckles turn white. "She was one of Kirsan's girls."
The implications floor me. My stomach churns as pieces start falling into place.
"Pyotr paid for exclusive access to her." Vadim's voice grows hollow. "He brought her here, to Pankration. Behind these walls, he did everything in his power to remind her that she wasn't even a person to him."
He trails off, but I understand. The cruelest story these walls have witnessed.
"She tried to kill herself." His voice cracks. "Stole a letter cutter one day from his office, and opened her veins in the bath, but Pyotr caught her." He shakes his head, unable to continue. "He brought her back to life as a reminder that she didn’t even have the right to die without his permission."
I understand now. Why he keeps people at arm's length, why he reacts the way he does at the mention of his mother.
“Later, he laid her out before the entire household of Pankration, bloody and clinging to life, and raped her for all of them to see." His words come out barely above a whisper. "That was the night he made me."
Tears burn behind my eyes as I watch this powerful man laid bare by his past. I want to reach for him, to somehow ease the weight of this burden he carries. But I stay still, giving him the space to continue.
"She eventually did escape this place with the help of my stepmother Olga." Vadim's voice grows quieter, more pained. "Not because Olga cared for her, but because Olga wanted to spite Pyotr for his infidelity. But the damage was already done. Pyotr never stopped hunting her. Never stopped hunting for me. And for my entire life, she hated me. Every time she looked at me, all she saw was him. His face. His voice. His hands."
"You were a baby," I whisper. "None of it was your fault."
"One day." His hand shakes beneath mine as he continues. "He found us. And she could finally be rid of me."
He swallows hard. "I screamed for her to save me, to not let this stranger take me away. But she turned away. She couldn't even look at me."
The pain in his voice makes my chest ache.
"I tried reaching out to Polina throughout the years. Again and again." His voice cracks. "But she rejected me every time. The final time I reached out to her, she told me she wished I'd never been born. That I was nothing but a reminder of the worst moment of her life. That she wishes she could've died, or better yet, killed me in her womb when she still had the chance."
I can't bear to see him hurting like this. Without thinking, I cup his face in my hands, thumbs brushing away the tears from his cheeks. The same way he comforted me when I cried about Mom's necklace. His skin is warm beneath my touch, and I feel him tremble slightly.
Those storm-gray eyes that usually hold such power and control now shine with raw vulnerability. This man who commands an empire, who makes people disappear with a word, who can reduce me to begging with just a look—he's carrying such deep wounds.
I want to gather him in my arms, to somehow shield him from all that pain. To tell him that he's not the monster his mother sees. That he's nothing like Pyotr.
My heart aches as I think of a young boy screaming for his mother to save him, only to watch her turn away. No child deserves that. No one deserves to carry that kind of rejection.
I stare at this powerful man before me, seeing him truly for the first time. Not as the dangerous pakhan who kidnapped me, or the seductive force who made me beg in a jewelry store. But as someone who carries wounds as deep as my own.
My chest aches with an unfamiliar tenderness. This isn't the heat that floods me when he calls me zvyozdochka , or the thrill that races through me when he touches me.
This is something different. Something that makes me want to protect him, to somehow ease the pain he carries.
The realization hits me hard: I've fallen for him. Not for the pakhan, or the billionaire, or the man who made it his life's work to save thousands from a fate that his mother suffered.
I've fallen for Vadim.
For the man who retrieved something for me because it's precious to me.
For the man who survived all this pain and still fights to save others from similar fates.
My fingers intertwine with his, and I feel him squeeze back ever so slightly. The gesture feels more intimate than any of our heated encounters. This isn't about desire or power or our elaborate ruse. This is real.
For the first time since arriving at Pankration, I don't want to run. I want to stay. To understand. To help him heal, even as he helps me reclaim pieces of my own past.
I look up into those storm-gray eyes, seeing past their usual mask of control to the vulnerability beneath. My heart swells with an emotion I'm not ready to name, but can no longer deny.
My fingers trace the diamond pendant at my throat, feeling its weight.
The contrast hangs heavy between us. Where I found love after abandonment, Vadim found only more pain. The weight of it shows in the tight line of his jaw, the shadows behind his eyes.
"You were lucky," he says finally, voice rough. "To have found people who wanted you. Who chose you."
"I was," I agree, my heart aching for the boy who never got that chance. "But Vadim, what happened to you…" I struggle to find the right words. "That's not because you were unwanted. It was because you were being trapped. There's a difference."
He stares at me for a long moment, like he's never considered this perspective before. Like maybe, just maybe, his mother's rejection wasn't about him at all, but about her own trauma. The realization seems to hit him physically, making his shoulders sink slightly.
I want to tell him more. About how Mom's love helped heal the wound of my original abandonment. About how being chosen can mend what being left behind breaks. But I see in his eyes that he's not ready to hear it.
His wounds run too deep.
My hands cup his face, and before he can react, I press my lips to his. The kiss is gentle. It isn't about desire or power.
It's about comfort, understanding, and connection.
Vadim's body goes rigid for a moment before he responds, his hands gripping my waist. But then he tears himself away, breathing heavily.
"Lacey, stop." His voice is strained. "If you keep doing this, I won't be able to control myself."
I step closer, my heart pounding. "Maybe I don't want you to."
"You don't understand." He backs away, running a hand through his hair. "I'm afraid I'll hurt you. The things I want to do to you..." His eyes darken with barely contained desire. "I can't risk becoming like him."
The pain in his voice breaks my heart. Even now, Pyotr's shadow looms over him. But I refuse to let that monster destroy this moment between us.
"You won't hurt me," I whisper, moving closer. "You promised you'd only hurt me if I asked you to. Remember?"
His eyes meet mine, storm-gray clouded with conflict. "Lacey..."
"I trust you, Vadim." My fingers trace the line of his jaw. "Do you trust yourself?"