38. LACEY
Chapter thirty-eight
L eaving Club Xyst was a whirlwind.
The main floor was absolutely jam packed, and the music throbbed deafeningly, but it didn’t matter; the second we appeared, people scurried out of our way.
But what startled me more than the space they gave us…was the look on Nik’s face.
Cold. Carved. Kill-switch ready.
He was a man seconds from snapping the neck of anyone who dared breathe in his direction.
Was this how he always looked?
Or was this the cost of starting a war?
I stayed close to him, my feet struggling to keep pace. Nik’s hand guided me with silent pressure. He retrieved my coat but whisked me out to the front without helping me into it. The moment we stepped outside, a sense of danger hit the air like a static charge.
Rory was already waiting with the car, the engine running.
Nik opened the door for me himself.
An eerie silence reigned as we pulled away from the curb. The streets flashed past in a blur of traffic lights and neon signs, until the skyline shifted and we coasted into Chelsea.
I blinked, confused, as the Bentley eased into a parking space on Tenth Avenue.
A stone church loomed beside us—tall, solemn, and gothic, its stained glass dark at this late hour. A wrought-iron sign near the street read: Church of the Guardian Angel .
I still didn’t know why we were attending midnight mass.
Without a word, Nik stepped out of the car, circled all the way around the vehicle, and opened my door like this was all perfectly normal.
He offered me his hand.
I took it, stepping out slowly. My dress caught the breeze, and I shivered from the lack of my coat.
As he guided me up the stairs and into the narthex of the church, everything in me suddenly went on high alert. The vaulted ceilings, the scent of old incense, the flicker of candlelight in red glass—all of this was too…sacred.
And Nik didn’t strike me as a religious man.
So why were we in a church?
A man stepped out from one of the alcoves to greet us. He was tall, mostly silver-haired, and he exuded quiet power in an impeccably cut three-piece suit.
“Nik,” the man said, extending a hand.
Nik shook it. “Lacey, this is Luca Genovese—boss of the Genovese and Moretti families.”
My heart skipped a beat. My eyes flew to Nik’s face.
Boss? Of two mafia families?
Luca turned to me and gave me a gracious nod. Something dark glinted in his eyes. “You made the right choice, young lady. We’re glad to be expanding the family.”
“Expanding?” I echoed.
He smiled. “Father Giovanni’s doing me a favor. A special midnight mass. Your wedding ceremony.”
My stomach dropped.
I spun toward Nik. “ What? ”
He didn’t flinch. Didn’t even blink.
Luca clapped him on the shoulder. “Tradition matters, boy. You know that. You don’t take a wife without vows. Not in this life.”
Nik’s jaw flexed. “Rituals are important to Luca,” he said, not quite apologetic. “He’s like the uncle I never had, and he loves his weddings.”
Luca chuckled at that, utterly unbothered. “You’ll thank me later.”
But I wasn’t listening anymore. I was still stuck on the words wedding ceremony.
Tonight? Now?
I looked down at my gown—the shimmery silk, the Chantilly lace.
My heels. My hair.
God.
It did look like a wedding outfit.
How the hell had I not seen this coming?
“Damn,” I whispered under my breath. “I really am na?ve.”
My head spun, the wine from dinner buzzing harder now. Everything felt too fast, too final.
I turned to Nik and said in a shaky breath, “I thought we were just going on a date…”
He looked down at me patiently. “I told you,” he said huskily, “I don’t do things halfway.”
“Come, Nikolai,” Luca said. “We have paperwork to attend to. The Father is eager to receive your donation.”
As Nik and Luca moved down a hallway toward the back of the church, the heavy wooden door behind me opened.
Aria swept in like a vision, holding a bouquet of white roses and deep green myrtle wrapped in silk ribbon.
“Don’t look so shocked,” she whispered, slipping it into my hands. “You said yes, remember?”
Yes.
I’d said yes .
But I hadn’t realized that would start the clock ticking.
Like it or not, I was about to walk down the aisle.
Aria stayed by my side in the narthex, her hand lightly resting on my arm as if I might bolt if she let go. Hushed voices floated over to us from a side corridor—Nik, Luca, and the priest, presumably finalizing whatever sacred pact this was turning out to be.
I still wasn’t sure how we’d ended up here.
Scratch that—I was sure. I’d agreed to marry Nik.
But I hadn’t realized he’d meant tonight.
I glanced down at the bouquet Aria had handed me. It was beautiful. Romantic, even. But it felt like a prop from a play.
“They’ll be just a minute,” Aria whispered, rubbing her hands up and down my arms gently. “You doing okay?”
I gave her a tight nod, too afraid to open my mouth and admit what was whirling around in my head.
Before I could spiral further, Luca returned alone. He looked composed, almost cheerful, as if this was just another business arrangement checked off for the day.
Suddenly, music started echoing through the empty church.
Luca pulled open one of the doors leading into the nave and braced it open with a drop-down stop—then he secured the other.
Aria moved ahead of me down the aisle, her heels clicking steadily on the stone floor. The moment she reached the altar, the music changed to the wedding march.
Nik stood beside the priest, hands clasped in front of him, a small smile playing across his lips. My vision tunneled.
My knees buckled.
Luca caught me before I hit the marble.
“Easy,” he said, chuckling like he’d done this a hundred times. “You’ll be fine. I haven’t lost a bride yet on the walk down.”
How many women had this man escorted to the altar? I didn’t want to know.
He tucked my arm into the crook of his, and suddenly we were moving. The walk felt endless and too short all at once. My shoes clacked loudly along the aisle.
With each step, my hands trembled harder.
Aria is so dead for picking these heels.
Before another sarcastic thought could surface, we reached him.
Luca handed me off, murmuring something in Italian. Nik took my hand and chuckled. Though it was a faint sound, it was enough to tighten my chest.
He leaned in, asking in a barely audible voice, “Ready, little lamb?”
I swallowed hard, unable to speak, and let him guide me the rest of the way.
We stood before the priest, who gave us a brief smile and began the ceremony in a calm, measured voice. “Dearly beloved, we are gathered in the presence of God and this Church to witness and bless the union of this man and this woman in Holy Matrimony…”
I couldn’t focus; the priest’s words began to fade as I stared at the crucifix hanging behind the altar, wondering how I’d gotten here. What did God think of this whole thing? What would my parents have thought?
This wasn’t the wedding I’d imagined.
No engagement ring.
No bridal shower.
No flowers lining the aisle, no dress shopping with friends, no reception dinner.
Just me, him, a mafia boss looming behind me, a new friend lingering to the side, and a priest officiating in front of me.
“Do you, Nikolai Aleksandr Volkov, take this woman…”
That name— Nikolai Aleksandr Volkov —pulled me back to reality.
It hit me that it was the first time I had heard my soon-to-be husband’s full name.
Nikolai.
Not Nik.
Not Mr. Stalker.
My husband.
I loved the way it sounded.
I barely registered the moment when the priest turned to me.
“And do you, Lacey Grace Oakley, take this man—”
My lips moved before my brain did. “I do.”
Nik slipped a ring onto my finger—a platinum band set with diamonds so delicate and perfect, it looked like it had been made for me.
Aria handed me his ring, and I placed it gently onto his finger. A simple platinum band. Understated, just like him.
“By the power vested in me by the Church and by God,” the priest said, “I now pronounce you husband and wife. Nikolai, you may kiss your bride.”
Nik didn’t hesitate.
He stepped forward, cupped my cheeks in his palms, and kissed me.
Not roughly. Not hurriedly.
But with slow, deliberate possession. He pressed his mouth onto mine with such restraint that I found myself rising onto my toes, craving more. His fingers curled around the side of my neck, his thumb just barely brushing my jaw as if to say: I own you now.
It was the kind of kiss that threatened to deepen but didn’t—because he wanted me to ache for the rest.
When he pulled back, I was breathless. Melted.
And just as quickly as the kiss was over, we were rushed to the sacristy behind the altar. Luca handed us some pens. Documents appeared. I barely glanced at them before signing—church papers, civil papers, mafia papers? Who knew? My hand moved on instinct.
Aria hugged me tight. “You did great.”
Luca kissed both my cheeks. “Welcome to the family, bella.”
And then they were gone.
Nik took my hand and led me outside. Rory was waiting with the Bentley again, holding the door open.
Once we were seated inside and the doors were shut, silence fell.
Nik slipped his arm around me, pulling me in against his side. I didn’t resist.
“You okay?” he asked quietly.
My lips rolled in as my eyes locked onto my ring, which was now catching glints from the street light. “I don’t know.”
He squeezed my shoulder. “You did beautifully.”
I wasn’t sure if he was being genuine or was praising me for not passing out in front of the priest.
Nik reached for something.
Pop.
The sound of a cork startled me.
He poured champagne into two flutes he pulled from a hidden compartment beneath the seat.
“To my wife,” he said, with that devil’s smirk, “and the body I’ll memorize tonight—inch by inch, moan by moan.”
I took my champagne and drank it in one go.
He blinked. “Easy, Mrs. Volkov. You trying to pass out on your wedding night?”
I held out the glass without a word.
He refilled it, smiling.
And I drank that one too.