28. Lacey
28
LACEY
DAYS LATER
My heart races as we speed along the empty streets toward Boeing Field. Even at this early hour, Vadim's presence beside me in the Ferrari fills the car with an electric tension. Neither of us has spoken much since leaving Pankration.
The day is just starting to break when we pull up to a sleek Gulfstream G650. Its polished white exterior gleams like fresh snow.
"Your private jet?" I whisper, though I don't know why I'm surprised. Of course the pakhan of the Stravinsky Bratva would have his own plane.
"More comfortable than commercial." Vadim's hand finds the small of my back as he guides me up the stairs. "And more private for what we need to do."
Inside, Irina sits surrounded by the white fabric of my wedding dress. Her fingers move with practiced precision as she goes over every little detail. She barely glances up when we enter.
"I've made some final changes in case the Archbishop's bible is heavier than expected," she says, her voice tight with anxiety. "The seams have been reinforced here and here." She points to areas that look identical to the rest of the intricate beadwork. "And I've reconstructed the entire thing in stretch velvet in case the dimensions aren't completely right."
"You're sure it'll hold?" Vadim's question carries the weight of everything at stake.
"It will." Irina nods, but I see the tremor in her hands as she folds the dress. "One minute. That's all you'll have."
One minute to pull off the heist that will help Vadim take down Kirsan's trafficking operation. One minute that could change everything—or destroy us all.
"Once we land in Paris, I'll stay with the jet," Irina says, her fingers still moving over the beadwork. "Everything will be ready for immediate departure."
"And I'll be with you two at the church," Demyon adds from his seat near the cockpit. "Once you step out of the church and get into your car, it's straight to the Seine where the boat will be waiting."
I glance between them, these people willing to risk everything. "Irina, you don't have to be here. It's too dangerous."
She finally looks up from the dress, her emerald eyes blazing with determination. "I want to be here. After what Kirsan and Pyotr did to me..." Her hands still on the fabric. "What Kirsan is still doing to others.”
My chest tightens at the pain in her voice. I think of the necklace Vadim returned to me, of Mom’s memory, of all the things we fight to protect. Of course Irina wants to help stop the man who nearly destroyed her life.
"Besides," she continues with a small smile. "Someone needs to make sure this dress stays perfect for your big day."
Vadim's hand finds mine, squeezing gently. The weight of his touch grounds me, reminds me why we're really doing this. It's not just about us anymore. It's about all the people Kirsan has hurt, all the lives we might save.
But looking at the determination on Irina's face, feeling Vadim's strength beside me, I know we have to try.
I look at Irina as she carefully smooths the dress. "What happens after all this?"
"We'll go home." Her emerald eyes sparkle. "I'm starting a new line. Something different from what I've done before. Something inspired."
"That sounds wonderful." The tension in my shoulders eases slightly as we drift into more familiar territory. Fashion. Design. Things that made sense before my world turned upside down.
"You should come work with me," Irina says, reaching for her bag. "I brought some preliminary sketches. We could look them over on the flight back to Seattle when this is all over."
My heart skips. "You're serious?"
"Of course." She pulls out a leather portfolio. "You have an eye for design, Lacey." She shakes her head in admiration. "It's what Vadim said about you the first time he introduced us. I haven't forgotten."
"I'd like that," I whisper, surprised by how much I mean it. "Thank you."
The distant ring of Vadim's phone cuts through our discussion. He answers with a curt "Da" before switching to English. "Perfect timing. Have them board."
His hand finds mine before he stands. "The stylists are here. They'll transfer to a commercial flight for their return home after we land. They know nothing about what we're going to do. So, from this point forward, no more discussion of Paris beyond what is necessary for the ceremony itself." His gaze sweeps over each of us, lingering longest on me. "Understood?"
We all nod. Irina quickly folds the dress and tucks it into a garment bag while Demyon moves to help her clear away any evidence of our planning.
The cabin door opens and three women in crisp black uniforms file in, rolling cases of equipment behind them. Their practiced smiles remind me of flight attendants.
"Ladies, welcome aboard." Vadim's voice shifts seamlessly into the role of gracious host. "You'll find your work station prepared in the rear cabin. Let me know if you need assistance with anything."
The women bow slightly and move toward the back of the plane. I watch them go, struck by how easily we've switched from plotting a heist to playing the parts of an ordinary wedding party.
Vadim returns to his seat beside me, but maintains a proper distance now. His public mask is firmly in place—the wealthy businessman preparing to marry. Not the man who just spent hours planning how to steal a bible from one of Paris's most famous cathedrals.
The lead stylist pokes her head back in. "We'll begin setup now, if that's acceptable?"
"Of course." Vadim nods. "We'll take off as soon as you're settled."
A few hours and a quick nap after reaching cruising altitude, the stylists descend upon me like a well-choreographed dance troupe. One starts on my feet while another begins prepping my face with expensive serums that smell like jasmine and spring rain.
"Close your eyes, miss," the lead stylist instructs as she massages something cool and silky into my skin. "This Cle de Peau mask will give you that perfect bridal glow."
I obey, letting myself drift as multiple hands work their magic. Someone starts sectioning my hair while another focuses on my cuticles. The methodical touches are almost hypnotic.
"You're going to look stunning," Irina says from somewhere nearby. I hear the rustle of the garment bag as she likely checks the dress one final time.
I'm being transformed into a different kind of bride altogether. Not the blushing innocent in white lace that I imagined, but an accomplice in an elaborate heist. My throat tightens as I think of how quickly everything changed.
"Are you alright, miss?" One of the stylists pauses her work on my hair. "You're trembling."
I try to respond but tears start spilling down my cheeks instead, ruining the expensive products they've just applied.
"I'm sorry," I manage to whisper, but more tears follow.
Through my blur of emotions, I hear Irina quietly asking the stylists to give us a moment. Soft footsteps retreat toward the back of the cabin.
Suddenly, Vadim is beside me. His fingers brush against my cheek, wiping away tears.
"What's wrong, zvyozdochka ?"
I try to smile, to show him I'm fine, but my lower lip trembles. "Nothing. Just... wedding jitters, I guess."
His eyes search mine for a long moment before he stands, offering his hand. "Come with me."
I let him guide me toward the back of the plane where a private suite awaits. The space is intimate—all cream leather and polished wood. A small bed takes up one wall while a curved sofa lines the other.
Vadim closes the door behind us. "The noise from the engines will keep our conversation private."
My legs give out and I sink onto the sofa.
"I'm terrified," I whisper, the confession spilling from my lips before I can stop it. "What if something goes wrong? What if someone gets hurt because of me?"
He kneels in front of me, taking both my hands in his. "Listen to me carefully, Lacey. I promise you that no one will get hurt. Every detail has been planned. Every contingency accounted for." His thumb strokes my palm. "And most importantly, I will keep you safe."
"How can you be so sure?"
"Because I have spent my entire life planning operations like this. The only difference is that this time, we're working to save lives rather than take them." His grip tightens. "Trust me, zvyozdochka . Can you do that?"
I meet his steady gaze and nod slowly. "I trust you."
His lips capture mine, soft yet insistent. The tight knot of anxiety in my chest begins to loosen as I lose myself in his kiss. When we finally break apart, I'm breathing heavily, my earlier tears forgotten.
"Remember something, zvyozdochka ." Vadim's thumb traces my lower lip. "You're going into war. Your makeup, your dress, all of your jewelry—they're not just for show. They're your armor."
"And you?" I whisper, unable to resist touching his face. "Are you my knight?"
The smile that spreads across his face takes my breath away. It transforms his entire countenance, reaching his storm-gray eyes and making them sparkle. I've never seen him look so unguarded, so genuinely happy.
Before I can process this new side of him, he's kissing me again. This time it's deeper, hungrier. My hands fist in his shirt as heat pools low in my belly. His tongue sweeps into my mouth and I moan, pressing closer.
But just as my fingers start working on his buttons, Vadim pulls back. Both of us are panting.
"There will be time for this after," he says, his voice rough with restraint. "Right now, we need to focus."
Despite the protest of every nerve ending in my body, I nod. "You're right."
When I return to the main cabin, the stylists descend on me again with fresh products. "We'll need to start over," one says, dabbing at my tear-stained face with gentle strokes. "But don't worry, we have plenty of time."
I close my eyes and let them work, focusing on keeping my breathing steady. The methodical touches of brushes and sponges help calm my racing thoughts.
"There," the lead stylist announces after what feels like hours. "Now for the dress."
Irina appears with the garment bag, her movements precise as she helps me step into the flowing white fabric. The material whispers against my skin as she works each button with careful fingers.
"Hold still," she mutters, adjusting the hidden compartment as she shoves the decoy bible inside. "Everything must lay perfectly."
I catch Vadim watching from his seat, his stormy eyes intense.
"Isn't it bad luck to see the bride in her dress before the wedding?" I tease, trying to keep my voice light despite the weight of what we're about to do.
"I make my own luck," he replies with that dangerous half-smile that makes my heart skip. Then his expression softens. "Besides, some traditions are worth breaking."
Irina clicks her tongue as she fusses with the train. "The beading here needs one final adjustment." Her fingers work quickly, securing something I can't see. "Now it's perfect."
I turn to face Vadim fully, letting him see the final result. His sharp intake of breath sends warmth flooding through me despite my nerves.
"You look beautiful." He stands and crosses to me, his voice dropping low. "Like everything I never knew I wanted."
The fading lights of Paris twinkle below us as our plane begins its descent through the pre-dawn sky. My stomach does a nervous flip that has nothing to do with the change in altitude. Vadim's hand tightens around mine, his thumb brushing across my knuckles in slow, soothing strokes.
"Remember to breathe, zvyozdochka ," he murmurs.
I inhale deeply, focusing on the steady warmth of his touch. The weight of Mom’s necklace against my throat grounds me further—a reminder of everything we're fighting for. Of all the other daughters and mothers Kirsan has torn apart.
Through the window, I watch the Eiffel Tower growing larger, its jutting structure piercing the brightening sky. In just a few hours, I'll be walking down the aisle of Alexander Nevsky Cathedral. Not as the blushing bride I once imagined, but as someone stronger. Someone who can help make a difference.
Vadim's promise echoes in my mind: I will keep you safe. Trust me.
And I do trust him, I realize. Despite everything—how we met, why we're here—I trust him with my life. The thought should terrify me, but instead it fills me with a strange sense of calm. His presence beside me is steady as a heartbeat, as certain as gravity.
The plane banks slightly, and I curl my fingers tighter around his. He responds by lifting our joined hands to his lips, pressing a kiss to my skin that sends warmth spreading through my entire body.
"One minute," I whisper, more to myself than to him. "We can do this."
His gray eyes meet mine, full of that quiet intensity that never fails to make my breath catch.
"We will," he says simply. "Together."