39. Vadim
39
VADIM
Tap. Tap. Tap.
My finger drums against the latest intel report from Demyon. Six more locations to hit, each one promising to free more women and children from Kirsan's clutches. The familiar weight of exhaustion settles over me as I study blueprints and security details.
A sharp knock at my office door breaks my concentration.
"Come in," I call out, not looking up from the papers spread across my desk.
The door opens to the cadence of footsteps that I haven't heard since the first days I arrived at Pankration.
I raise my head to see Olga standing before me, her face a perfect mask of composure.
"Why are you here?" The words come out harsh, exactly as intended.
"Believe me, bastard, I take no pleasure in being here." Olga's lips thin into a line. "But the bratva must be protected."
"Protected from what?" I lean back in my chair, studying her. Something in her expression sets off warning bells.
"Sayanaa is here in Seattle." Olga's words hit like ice water down my spine. "She arrived three days ago with a dozen of her own men."
My hand stills on the desk. "What does she want?"
"I have to commend that pretty little wife of yours, bastard." Olga's eyes narrow. "She kept your secret well enough from me when I questioned her. But if you thought that Kirsan wouldn't know about your thievery… If you thought that Sayanaa wouldn't jump at the chance to get it back for her father, and in the process, remove the obstacle between her and you."
The thought of Sayanaa anywhere near Lacey makes my blood run cold. I remember the way Sayanaa looked at Lacey in the cathedral, how her eyes lingered on Lacey before she left. And the dangerous smile that ghosted her lips just before she did.
"How do you know this?" I demand.
"Paris is still a city of rumors." Olga's voice carries no warmth. "And you can always count on Sayanaa to be very vocal about any slights against her family, real or imaginary."
"If she's only here with a dozen of her own men," I say, dismissing Olga's warning with a wave. "Then she's not a real threat. Not one that matters."
Olga's lips curl into a cold smile. "When that crown landed at Sayanaa's feet, the insult did not go unnoticed."
"That was theater, just like her little show of power with her men inside the cathedral." But even as I say the words, unease crawls up my spine.
"She chose her theatrics well that gave you a chance to back down, bastard." Olga's voice hardens. "You, on the other hand, humiliated the Kuulars before everyone and anyone who mattered. Kirsan has given Sayanaa full authority to restore their honor. More of them will be coming, if they're not here already."
I grip the edge of my desk, knuckles whitening. "Kirsan would never empower Sayanaa like this."
"He will and he has." Olga cuts me off. "So I ask again. Where is your pretty bride?"
"She's in her office," I say. "I was just there."
Immediately, memories of our earlier encounter flashes through my mind. Lacey perched on her desk, her fingers tangling in my hair, her soft gasps echoing in the space between us.
I force the memories away. Now's not the time.
"Take me to her." Olga's command cuts through the air. "Now."
"Why the sudden concern?" I rise from my chair, studying Olga's taut expression. "Last I checked, you made your feelings about her quite clear in Paris."
"Don't mistake this for concern about her ." Olga's eyes narrow. "I care about the stability of the Stravinsky Bratva. And like it or not, bastard, your wife's fate is a part of that stability now."
I move around my desk, jaw clenching at Olga's words. She falls into step behind me as we exit my office, her heels clicking against the hardwood floors.
When we reach the door, something feels wrong.
I push the door open, and my stomach drops. The room is empty. Irina's sketches are still spread across Lacey's desk, but her chair is pushed back as if she left in a hurry.
"Where is she?" Olga demands.
"Lacey!" My voice echoes through Pankration's halls as I stride past the library.
But she's not there.
I walk into the dining room. Empty.
The sitting room. Empty.
The kitchen. Empty.
Room after room I search. And not a single one of them contains Lacey.
"Lenka!" I call, changing my tactic.
"Vadim Petrovich." Lenka appears at the top of the grand staircase.
"Where is Lacey?"
"Your wife has retired with a headache. She asked not to be disturbed."
"Liar." Olga's voice cuts through the air like a knife before I can respond. "I know that look, Lenka Feliksovna. You used to wear it every time you tried to buy Polina a few hours of respite from Pyotr's relentless assaults."
Lenka's composure cracks for just a moment. "Olga Romanovna, I?—"
"Silence." Olga steps forward. "Where is she really? And don't you dare lie to me again."
Watching Olga berate Lenka, I'm suddenly transported back to being that small boy hiding in Pankration's shadows when I first came here, powerless against the cruel machinery of Pyotr's world. The familiar tightness grips my chest, but I force it down.
"Lenka," I say, gentler than before. "Where is my wife? Tell me the truth."
"Vadim Petrovich, I told you?—"
But Olga is already ascending the stairs, her heels thudding on each step like hammer blows. I follow close behind as she strides toward my suite. The door flies open under her hand.
Empty. The bed is still unmade from this morning.
"Well?" Olga turns to Lenka, triumph glinting in her eyes. "Care to try again? The truth. Now!"
Lenka's shoulders slump. "She left to meet her sister in Seattle. Personal matters, she said."
"Why didn't she have her sister come here?" I demand, though I already suspect the answer.
"I asked her the same thing." Lenka wrings her hands. "But she insisted on going out. Said she needed to speak with her sister alone."
"How convenient." Olga's voice drips with venom. "Your wife runs off right as Sayanaa arrives in Seattle. Tell me, bastard, just what have you told her about the bratva?"
"Everything she needs to know." The words taste bitter in my mouth.
"And what haven't you told her?" Olga's eyes bore into mine. "What secrets are you still keeping from your precious bride?"
Nathan Walker's bloody face flashes through my mind. The sound of bones breaking under my fists. His final gasping breaths. And the slow and methodical way Demyon and I disassembled him after he finally passed.
It's the final truth I've kept from Lacey. The one sin I couldn't bring myself to confess.
"How did she leave?" I demand, my voice tight with emotion.
"The Prius," Lenka replies. "She wanted something inconspicuous."
Without another word, I storm toward my office, my footsteps echoing through Pankration's halls. Quickly, I pull up the tracking program, and scroll down until I find the Prius.
A red dot pulses on the screen. Three Birds Bakery .
I pull out my phone, and dial Demyon's number.
"Three Birds Bakery." The words come out like bullets. "Lacey is there and I need her back, now. Keep it clean. Keep it quiet."
I hang up before he can respond.
"My, my." Olga's voice slides through the air as she settles into the chair across from my desk. Her lips curl into that knowing smirk I've hated since childhood. "Just what are you hiding from your precious bride, bastard?"
My jaw clenches. "Nothing that concerns you."
"No?" She leans forward, eyes glittering. "Then why such panic when she slips away? What truths are you so desperate to keep buried?"
The memory of Nathan Walker's face floods my mind—bloodied, broken, eyes wide with terror in his final moments. My hands curl into fists.
"I killed him," I say finally. "Her ex-fiancé. The one who helped Kirsan move his money."
"Ah." Olga's cruel smile widens. "And tell me, are you afraid of her discovering this truth?"
The question hangs in the air between us. I think of Lacey's fierce defense of Mrs. Klossner, her unwavering belief in my goodness, and the way she looks at me like I'm someone who deserves her love.
And I know the answer.