The Final Hour

by London Miller

  Mishca hadn’t known them all well, if at all, but that didn’t mean he didn’t care about their deaths. If they had any family, he would make sure they were taken care of.

  “You do know these men, don’t you?” She asked.

  “They were employees here,” he answered simply.

  From what he could see, they were shot, no defensive wounds that he could make out, and it seemed like a pretty clean death, except for the one bloke who’d been cut down the middle.

  “We might have more questions for you, if you’re willing to come down to our offices…”

  She phrased it like a suggestion, but Mishca knew it was anything but. And worse, did she really think he would actually agree to that.

  “I’ll pass. If you need to contact me, call my attorney. You should have her on speed dial by now.”

  With a mocking salute—Luka was rubbing off on him—Mishca made his way out of the restaurant, and back to the car where Lauren was waiting. He already had his phone in hand, ready to lay into him for being late, but to his surprise—and annoyance—Luka was sitting happily in the car.

  He looked up with raised brows, blinking twice. “What took you so long, Boss?”

  Deciding it was best not to threaten him, Mishca got down to business. “Where is he?”

  “Couple locals saw him leave, not much else. A few of my contacts thinks he flew in about six hours ago, so he has a good few hours ahead of us.”

  Mishca was nodding along, then frowned. “Where the hell is Vlad?”

  “How the hell should I know? He called, told me to come wait with the missus—I assumed you sent him off.”

  Strange, but he didn’t have time to worry about that. “Let’s just go before Green starts running my plates.”

  “Just because I’ve decided not to kill you doesn’t mean you can call me whenever you want,” Klaus said dryly as he slammed the door behind him. “I do have a fucking life.”

  As he walked by him, Luka poked him in the side, earning a scowl from Klaus. “You’re a prickly thing, aren’t you?”

  Glaring at Mishca, Klaus said, “What the fuck. Where’s his leash?”

  “I left it at the office,”—Clearly Mishca was was willing to play along this time too— “That wasn’t why I called you here.”

  “Then by all means,” Klaus said with a grand wave of his hand. “Get on with it.”

  “Have you seen the news?”

  “I hate local politics.”

  “I’ll take that as a no. A bunch of civilians were killed at Mikhail’s restaurant and,”—he rushed to go on when Klaus scoffed—“they weren’t just killed by anyone. Jetmir is back.”

  Completely blank of any emotion, Klaus said, “Give me a location.”

  “We don’t know where he is, but I’m hoping you can find him.” His eyes skirted to Lauren for a moment, then back to Klaus as he spoke in rapid Russian, too fast for Lauren to get a grasp on, not that she would have known what he said otherwise.

  Klaus just blinked. “You think I speak Russian?”

  Mishca rolled his eyes, looking like he was slowly losing his temper. “It might have crossed my mind.”

  “You know,” Luka interjected—as he always did—propping his feet up on the table. “Since there’s that whole Russian blood thing you got going on.”

  Rolling his eyes, Mishca pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger, grappling for patience. Between the two of them, he didn’t know who irritated him more.

  “Luka…”

  “Yea, yea. I got it. Let’s go, Lauren. We’re no longer wanted.”

  Mishca was thankful that she didn’t question him about it, though he didn’t doubt she would be asking him about this later, but by then, he would have thought of a plausible excuse to give her.

  Klaus waited until it was only he and Mishca in the room before he addressed him. “What do you need that your lady can’t know?”

  Mishca’s plan was essentially fool proof, and if they were successful, their problem would be solved, but one wrong step could potentially ruin them both.

  With everything happening with Jetmir’s sudden appearance back in the state, it went from a time of relaxation and enjoyment from their trip out of the country, to constant vigilance. At one point, Mishca was a bit lax with security, letting Lauren go certain places on her own, but that went out the window the moment he left The Den.

  Lauren tried to stay out of Mishca’s way, and not give him any more of a reason to worry about her, so instead of complaining about his high-handed behavior, she accepted it, knowing he only wanted to keep her safe.

  There hadn’t been any more deaths since The Den—at least to Lauren’s knowledge. Since she hadn’t seen anything on the news, she hadn’t bothered asking Mishca about it. She did know, however, that the FBI was involved, no doubt because of the number of bodies, but she hadn’t thought it could have gotten much worse…at least until the next afternoon.

  Lauren was laying in bed, wearing nothing but one of his button-ups as she surfed the web, Mishca’s head in her lap, resting his eyes as he called it. Occasionally, she would reach down with her free hand to weave her fingers through his hair.

  He’d been so stressed lately that when he wasn’t answering calls or out in town, he stayed with her, just like this.

  “Are the guys okay?” She asked, as she always did when he came back.

  “Luka is as to be expected, the others are doing what they’re told, and Vlad is doing his job.”

  “No casualties?”

  Mishca’s phone chose that moment to ring, interrupting their comfortable conversation.

  “As far as I know.”

  He kissed the curve of her hip, reaching over to grab his phone. He frowned at the caller ID, but accepted the call anyway, putting the phone up to his ear. Lauren could just hear the person on the other end yelling, but they were too muffled to make out anything clearly, only that whatever the male voice was saying made Mishca tense beside her.

  Without ever actually saying anything, he hung up the phone, leaving it on the bed as he hurried into the closet.

  “Mish?” Lauren called. “What’s wrong?”

  He came back out, jerking on a pair of pants, tossing a shirt and tie onto the bed. There was an almost anxious look about him that hadn’t been there previously. Also holding a pair of lounge pants, he tossed them at her. “Put these on.”

  She didn’t argue with him even though she had no idea what was going on. She had no choice but to watch as he finished dressing, quickly grabbing his phone and turning it over. He removed the back, plucking out the battery to remove the SIM card. Tossing the other pieces on the bed, he broke the SIM card into pieces, then stepped into the bathroom and flushed what pieces were left.

  He didn’t stop there, he went from room to room, shredding documents, burning others until there was nothing left but ash. By the time he reentered the bedroom, she was thoroughly freaked out.

  “Mishca!”

  He finally slowed down enough to face her. It was never easy reading him, even when he was being transparent with his thoughts and feelings, but this time, she had a sneaking suspicion as to what was happening.

  There was only one reason why Mishca was destroy the memory to his phone.

  “Who’s coming?” Lauren asked. “They were warning you, whoever called you on the phone.”

  He sighed heavily, finally slowing down enough to give her answers. “Yes.”

  “How much time do we have?”

  Lauren didn’t realize she was shaking until he moved towards her, his hands drifting from her shoulders to her hands, grasping them. “Don’t worry.”

  The ding of the elevator sounded, making Lauren’s gaze shoot to their closed bedroom door, then turning back to Mishca with wide eyes. They still had some time before the officers were there, but it wasn’t enough, not for Lauren.

  “Don’t be scared,” he whispered as he kissed her quickly, taking a few steps back.<
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  He’d left his jacket on the bed, and as the agents in tactical gear rushed in, assault rifles trained on them both, he held his hands up without a word, not dropping to his knees—not that the stars on them would allow him to. While a couple of the agents were watching her steadily, she knew they weren’t there for her.

  Only one of the agents that walked in at the end, wearing a bullet proof vest, her badge hanging on a silver chain around her neck, was familiar to Lauren. Her name was Tabitha Green if she wasn’t mistaken, the one from the club shooting nearly a year ago.

  She smiled at them as she entered, holding up a set of folded pages, no doubt the warrant that she needed to arrest Mishca.

  “He’s not resisting!” Lauren shouted as two of the agents pushed Mishca to the ground, roughly pulling his arms behind his back to place handcuffs on him.

  Agent Green slapped the search warrant into Lauren’s hands as Mishca was wrestled from their apartment, led out by several of the men in tactical gear. Lauren made to go after them, just to keep Mishca in her sights, but Agent Green held out a hand, forcing her to stop.

  “He’s the least of your worries at the moment.”

  Mishca wished he’d had more time to prepare Lauren for what was happening, knowing that she was probably panicking at the sight of the agents tearing their apartment apart.

  Thankfully, they had already moved from his old place, and since he hadn’t allowed many of his men inside the penthouse, it was doubtful they would find anything of relevance.

  As he’d been led out of the building, there had been police cars nearly blocking off the entirety of the street, big, black SUVs parked along the sidewalk. With the sirens and flashing lights, they were making more of a spectacle than it truly needed to be, which told Mishca that they were trying to make a point.

  This wasn’t just about a routine stop-in, they were really trying to take him down.

  Right. He would see how well that worked for him.

  Mishca hadn’t spoken on the drive over, and was more surprised that they were going to the local precinct as opposed to the FBI headquarters in the city. In this time, he had plenty of time to go over everything he knew, and what he expected. He was glad Vlad had asked for some time away so that he hadn’t been there at the time of the raid.

  Vlad usually armed at all times. They didn’t need a gun charge added to whatever bogus claims they were going to make.

  Mishca wasn’t surprised to see that several of the Bratva’s men were being processed in the police station. The officers standing around looked more than happy to do their job, others standing around talking about it. By the end of the day, Mishca was sure these arrests would be on the news.

  Upon seeing him, hushed murmurs fell across the room, their eyes finding Mishca as he was escorted to the photographer first to have his mug shot taken. It was an extraneous process, one that annoyed him as they took their time with it all.

  After he was fingerprinted, he was led to a holding cell where a dozen other men were being held, not that he was worried. The lot of them were far bigger and looked like they had been in and out of prisons for the majority of their lives.

  The officer escorting him removed Mishca’s handcuffs, giving him a slight shove as he slammed the door behind him. Mishca rubbed his wrists, going over to the lone bench in the entire cell that was completely occupied.

  He didn’t have to say a word before they all stood, moving out of his way. Whether they knew who he was, or that they heard the rumors he knew were circling the precinct, they made a point to move out of his way.

  While he had no idea how long he would be there, he did need to make a phone call, but before he could ask for one, two agents—distinctly different from New York police officers—took him from the cell into an interrogation room.

  As he was entering the room where Green was already seated, he could just see the back of Mikhail’s head as he was led into another room. Whatever evidence they thought they had must have been enough if they went after Mikhail too.

  “Can I get you anything?” The rookie officer asked as he stood in the doorway.

  Smirking, Mishca shook his head. He had been doing this far too long to fall for a trap like that. If they wanted his fingerprints, they would need to work a little harder.

  “I doubt this is about pleasantries,” Mishca said dryly as he took a seat in one of the aluminum folding chairs. “What can I do for you, Agent Green?”

  He doubted anyone gunned for him as much as Agent Green did, but he didn’t take it personally. She loathed anyone that bore his last name. It didn’t help that she had been tied to the same case agent that tried to unsuccessfully take down his father back in ’98. It also didn’t help that she’d been made a fool of on more than one occasion by his organization.

  There wasn’t much he could do about a bruised ego but laugh at her expense.

  She slammed a stack of papers on the table, shoving them over to him. He immediately noted the letterhead at the top of one of the pages.

  It seemed the U.S. Attorney wanted to strike a deal.

  That told Mishca two things. One: Their case was shit and they needed corroborating witnesses to make their case stick. Two: They wanted to make it appear as though Mishca was cooperating with their investigation.

  Despite their differences, Mishca and Mikhail knew one thing about each other. They would never betray another Vor. Kill one? Sure. But never help law enforcement with their cases.

  “What use do I have of this?” Mishca asked, shoving the documents back to her.

  “How long do you think you can cheat death?”

  “And what business of that is yours, Agent Green?”

  She chuckled, shaking her head as though she found him amusing. “None, but do remember that those closest to you will not be as lucky.”

  Mishca’s jaw clenched, but he made no move to go near her, despite what the nearby officers seemed to think. “Is that a a threat?”

  Agent Green leaned forward until they were eye level, her lips turning up at the corners. “And what of your wife, Volkov? How long do you think she has before someone leaves her in pieces for you to find? The State’s Attorney is offering you protection, a one time deal that expires in thirty seconds.”

  “That’s quite enough, Agent,” Jessica said as she entered the room, dropping her briefcase onto the table, taking her place next to Mishca.

  Not that Mishca minded her presence, he did wonder how she knew to be here when he hadn’t called her yet.

  “And you are?” Green asked narrowing her eyes on the woman.

  Staring coldly behind the black framed glasses, Mishca’s attorney wasted no time. “Jessica Turney, I was retained by my client’s wife.”

  Mishca smiled, if only because Agent Green looked so irritated.

  “I see your wife is learning, Volkov.”

  Now that his attorney was here, he had no reason to respond to her taunts, especially when he was paying Jessica over a hundred dollars an hour to get him out of situations like this.

  “Don’t be cute, Agent. And if you wouldn’t mind, I would like a word with my client.”

  Now that Mishca’s right to counsel was invoked, there wasn’t much the agent could do. He watched her and the other officers leave, hearing the click of the door as it shut.

  Looking to his attorney, he expected good news, since she had never failed him in the past, but the look on her face banished that hope as quickly as it had formed.

  “We’ve got a problem.”

  For hours, men in ‘FBI’ backed windbreakers were in and out of the apartment, searching through every corner for evidence of the secret life Mishca led. They even brought out electronic devices to sweep the walls. Though Lauren doubted there was anything for them to find—they hadn’t been living there long—she still couldn’t be one-hundred percent positive.

  She tried not to hover as she watched them work, but any time someone called out for the lead agent Green had left in charge
, her heart raced faster. She had no idea if there was anything remotely important in their apartment, but she couldn’t be sure.

  After calling the attorney Mishca kept on call, Lauren then tried calling Luka, but his phone went immediately to voicemail, making her consider the fact that he could have been arrested as well. She knew better than to call Klaus, for obvious reasons, so that only left one person that knew what she should be doing at a time like this.

  Alex arrived in no time at all, and while the agents didn’t allow her farther into the apartment, Lauren stepped outside so they could talk. If by the way she was scanning everyone around them, this wasn’t the first time she had been through this.

  “Where’s the warrant?” Alex asked.

  Lauren handed it over, biting at her nail as Alex read over it. Lauren had read a few back when she spent time with Ross at the station, and knew the basics of what to look for in the document, but she had never read anything as extensive as the one for Mishca’s apartment.

  “Shit.”

  The soft curse was enough to make Lauren’s heart rate triple. “It’s not good, is it?”

  “They have a warrant for this place and his old apartment, and considering Luka hasn’t answered any of my calls, I’m assuming they got to him too.”

  She didn’t have the time to even question why Alex was calling him. “What do we do now?”

  “We—isn’t that Mish’s attorney?”

  Sure enough, Jessica stepped out of the elevator, flashing her identification to one of the officers standing guard. He had barely nodded before she continued forward, directly towards them. The last time Lauren had seen her was the day at the precinct when she was questioned about Viktor’s death.

  “Nice to see you again, Alex,” she greeted with a pleasant enough smile. “Lauren, could I have a moment?”

  Alex stepped to the side, though it was clear that she wanted to know what the deal was as well.

  Clearing her throat, Jessica began. “Seeing as how Mr. Volkov is my client, I can only reveal what he allows me—attorney-client privilege. If you do have any questions about what I’m about to tell you, I will try to answer them as best I can. Okay?”