Page 117 of Beautiful Cruelty

"No." Her voice is raw but determined. "I want to go with her."

"Lacey—"

"Please." She meets my eyes, and I see the same fierce protectiveness that I've come to love in her. "I can't just leave her now."

My objections die in my throat. This is the woman who faced down Sayanaa in that cathedral, who refused to break even with blood on her hands. Who am I to deny her this?

"Alright." I signal to Demyon to take the first car. "We'll go together."

She squeezes my hand. As we get into the SUV with Irina's body, I wonder if there's still hope for forgiveness.

The funeral home'sfluorescent lights cast harsh shadows across Irina's lifeless face. Lacey stands beside the metal gurney, her fingers trembling as she smooths down the fabric of a dress Demyon retrieved from Irina's shop—one of her final designs.

"I want to help dress her." Lacey's voice is quiet but firm. "Please."

I nod, unable to find words as the mortician leads her through the swinging doors.

"Vadim Petrovich." Demyon approaches from the shadows.

My jaw clenches as I think of Sayanaa's face in the church.

"The Golden Crown on Fifth and Pike. And Club Medusa in Pioneer Square." I recite the two entries I saw in the bible we'd taken. "Both with hidden basement levels where they keep their victims. I want them gone."

"Now?"

"Now." I watch through the window as Lacey gently lifts Irina's arm. "Get the victims out. And then kill anyone associated with Kirsan. Show no mercy."

"You're not thinking clearly."

"Iamthinking clearly." My voice drops to a dangerous whisper. "And I'm doing what you said: making sure Irina's death wasn't in vain. Get this done.Eto moi prikaz."

Demyon studies me for a long moment before nodding. "It will be done, Vadim Petrovich."

As he turns to leave, I catch a glimpse of Lacey carefully brushing Irina's hair, tears streaming down her face. My heart constricts at the tenderness in her movements.

"One more thing." I grip Demyon's arm. "Make them hurt."

I step through the doors, my footsteps echoing in the stark room. Lacey's hands still as she finishes arranging Irina's hair, each auburn strand perfectly placed against the silk pillow.

"Would you like to say something?" Lacey's voice breaks the silence.

I step closer to Irina's body, my chest tight with grief. All I can see is the same terrified girl forced to kneel beside her father in front of Kirsan and Pyotr in Pankration.

In the years since her escape, she transformed that pain into purpose.

Used her talent to save others like her.

My throat tightens. She looks so peaceful, as if she might wake any moment to share another secret about her designs or tease me about my inability to appreciate haute couture. I lean down, my lips close to Irina's ear.

"You were the first person who believed that I could be more than Pyotr's son," I whisper in Russian, my voice rough with emotion. "Where everyone else saw a monster's shadow, you saw something else. Someone worth believing in."

"Remember how you used to tease me about my 'boring' suits?" A sad smile tugs at my lips. "Yet you never stopped trying to teach me. About haute couture. About the difference between batiste and voile..."

The words catch in my throat as old memories flood back from a more innocent time. The sound of her infectious laugh, the fire of her fierce determination, and the way she'd light up when describing her latest designs.

But most importantly, the way she channeled every bit of her own suffering into creating beauty and hope for others.

"I'm sorry." I brush a strand of hair from her face. "I'm so sorry I couldn't save you in the end. But I swear on my life, I will destroy every piece of Kirsan's empire. Every trafficker, every enabler, every single person who helped him. They'll all pay. I swear it. His entire world will burn for what he's done to you."

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