Page 135 of Beautiful Cruelty

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 knowingsmirk 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.

40

LACEY

My heart racesa mile a minute as Megan pulls into the police station parking lot. Every breath feels like I'm drowning.

One wrong word and I risk putting everyone in danger.

But I have to do this. There's no other choice.

Taking a deep breath to steady myself, I reach for the door handle.

Megan grabs my wrist. "Wait."

"What now?"

"Your ring." Her eyes fix on my left hand. "That massive diamond on your finger is going to immediately raise some questions you don't want to answer."

My stomach drops. She's right. I'd gotten used to the weight of it around my finger ever since Vadim slipped it on my finger that night.

I twist the ring around my finger, feeling the heavy diamond scrape against my knuckle. Each turn makes my heart ache a little more.

When I slide it off, my finger feels impossibly bare.

It shouldn't feel this way. It's just a prop, part of an elaborate ruse.

"Here." I drop it into Megan's outstretched palm. "Keep it safe."

She tucks it into her purse, but I can't tear my eyes away from where it disappeared. The pale band of skin where it sat feels exposed, vulnerable. Wrong.

This isn't how it's supposed to be. A wife shouldn't have to hide her ring. But then again, most wives don't marry bratva pakhans in whirlwind ceremonies that end in death and bloodshed.

My fingers reach instinctively for the necklace, and my breaths come out shallow and labored.

"You alright?" Megan squeezes my shoulder.

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