He set her down, far gentler than she was expecting, on the settee across from the bed, grabbing the foot stool to pull up in front of her. She almost smiled, remembering the other times he had done this exact thing when he wanted her full undivided attention.
Tugging a miniature, electronic device from his pocket, he flipped a switch on the side of it, setting it down beside her leg. At her baffled expression, he explained, “It blocks radio signals. If there are bugs in here, they won’t be able to hear this conversation.”
“Why would—”
“Brazil wasn’t a vacation,” he interrupted her. “I knew Naomi better than anyone else, her habits, where she would score next. I asked Lucia to set up the sale, a favor for an old friend, so that I could lure her there. She’s not as clever as she thought.”
Lauren folded her hands in her lap, trying not to give away how she felt about this revelation.
“As soon as she touched soil, I had Marco’s men on her, tracking her every movement, until I was able to get to her myself.”
“That night when you left with Vlad,” she added softly, thinking back to that time—she also didn’t miss the way his eyes narrowed when she said his name.
“Yes. I met her at a restaurant, I took her back to her room.” He paused here, resting his hands on either side of her, caging her in. “She kissed me, and I let her. I needed her to believe things were fine between us until Marco arrived.”
He sighed, long and hard, his eyes flickering over her face. “I’m sorry that I hurt you, but I can’t apologize for the results.”
“You talk about her in the past tense,” she said, keeping her gaze trained on him. She needed to hear the rest.
“That’s because I gave her to Marco, and if she’s not dead already, she’ll wish she was.” His entire body tensed when she moved back from him just slightly, but it wasn’t because of what he was saying, but because of the look in his eye.
“Why?”
He barked out a humorless laugh. “Do you really need to ask me that?”
“I want to hear you say it.”
“I could give you a list of reasons, but the only one that matters was because she set you up to die. I did everything I could to help her, but instead of giving me that fucking diamond, she sent Brahim after you. That’s unforgivable.”
Lauren didn’t know what to think of that. “And if anybody else acts against me, are you going to have them killed?”
Without hesitation, he answered, “Yes. That’s who I am, who I’ve always been.”
“Not always,” she whispered.
“Yes, always. Ivan, Viktor, Naomi, Lyov, and if not for Klaus, Brahim as well. I’ve shielded you from it all, but that fear was paralyzing and it was the reason why so many have acted against me since you became a part of me. Now, they remember.”
At this moment, he seemed so cold and distant, and yet he was resolute in what he was saying.
“Is there anything else I should know?”
He shook his head. “No.”
Except, she didn’t believe that. “Tell me the truth. Before today, you’ve been walking around like a ghost for days—never mind the drinking. What’s going on?”
The muscle in his jaw was working, and it was pretty clear that he didn’t want to answer her question. “The entirety of the case against me is based on information an informant is providing the FBI.”
“But for them to bring you up on RICO charges, whoever it is has to be a credible source, right? Meaning someone within the Bratva.”
“Yes.”
“Do you know who it is?” She asked, though a part of her thought she already knew the answer.
It made sense now, the way he had been drinking heavily, acting strange, staying out until the wee hours of the morning. She knew it was partially due to the fact that they were fighting, but it always felt like there was more weighing on his mind.
“Does it matter?” He asked, his tone serious.
“Mish, you’re unhinging and I’m only trying to help.”
Even before her conversation with Amber, she’d thought about going to Mishca herself, demanding he give her an explanation, but now that she had one she was ready to move past it, but he wasn’t ready to let her in about what he was dealing with now.
“There’s nothing to help me with.”
There was nothing she could do if he wasn’t willing to let her in. She had done the same thing to him, refusing to listen to his explanation of the events in Brazil, but he had turned defensive, and she would be patient with him, whenever he was ready to let her in.
Until then, she would give him his space.
It was never easy watching Lauren walk away from him, even if it was just to another room, but she was right about him unhinging. Mishca thrived in order, had always preferred to keep every aspect of his life carefully controlled, and when he couldn’t, he found a way to make it happen. That was how it had always been, though this time, there was nothing about this that he could fix.
Despite his lifestyle and general distrust of those around him, Mishca had never doubted Vlad’s loyalty for a second. He had always been there, and had proven himself on a number of occasions, but now that Mishca was thinking back on the last couple of years, he tried to recall a single time when Vlad actually killed someone, or did anything remotely illegal for that matter.
Sure, he carried a gun on him at all times, ran errands for Mishca, but that was not nearly as bad as some of the things Mishca had done himself. It hadn’t mattered to him at the time—mostly because sometimes Mishca acted on impulse—that Vlad had never fired his gun. He mostly just stood in the background, observing.
How blind he had been.
Left to his thoughts, Mishca couldn’t help but think about his relationship with Vlad, spanning the length of nearly a decade…a man he had never really been. He remembered asking him once why he had never been with a female, but now he wondered if it was because he already had a wife.
Was she waiting for him once the job was over? Mishca didn’t doubt if this mystery woman did exist, she would enter the witness protection program with Vlad—the only safe route he could take now that the Vory v Zakone knew of his true identity. What about kids?
These questions plagued Mishca’s mind constantly, but that wasn’t the reason he sought solace in the bottom of a alcohol bottle.
It was because Mikhail had given him the kill order.
The state’s attorney couldn’t have thought that having Mikhail remanded would have hindered the Volkov Bratva. His reach was farther than anyone realized and in the short time he had been released before arrested again, Mikhail had already put the wheels into motion.
Mishca had never doubted that he would be the one to receive it—Vlad did work under him specifically. He had both dreaded and hoped for it, not liking the idea of someone far less compassionate going after his friend. To disobey it, considering it had come from farther up the chain than even Mikhail, meant certain death. And those old Russians wouldn’t kill him outright, they would torture the hell out of him first before killing everyone he loved, then making sure Vlad was taken care of.
But he didn’t think much on that, putting Vlad’s impending death to the back of his mind.
A part of him, and Mishca sometimes hated that part because he wished it would turn off for once, thought of how Vlad, even as a dead man walking, could help him. No one spoke of it, though it was undoubtedly thought about, but it was common knowledge that Mikhail had been the one to bring Vlad into the fold. That was an offense punishable by death, but because Mikhail was a Pakhan, it was slippery territory.
A single beep on the burner phone Klaus had given him made him glare down at the tiny device, already knowing what the message was going to say.
It was time.
Picking it up, he read the address, going over the quickest, but most secure route in his head. He took a moment, looking towards the bedroom door, imagining Lauren on the other side. He thought of go
ing to her, telling her that he would be gone for a few hours, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. She would ask too many questions, and with the mood he was in, he wouldn’t give her the answers she wanted.
Instead, he left the apartment silently, taking the service elevator downstairs, out to a car that was idling at the curb, away from any traffic cameras.
Klaus emerged from the vehicle, looking more like Mishca than he ever had now that his facial hair had grown in. Their relationship had changed, in the smallest degree. While Klaus still made it a point to be a smartass whenever he could, now, at least, he only did it when Mishca was in a good mood.
“Be easy, Russian.”
In a perfect world, Mishca would have been able to embrace him, discuss his troubles with him, but they weren’t there yet, and he doubted they ever would be.
Nodding, Misha climbed into the car, backing out, speeding off. The windows were tinted to the darkest shade the law permitted, making Mishca less worried about the cameras he would be passing.
It took no time at all to reach the rundown motel Klaus had stashed Vlad. Since Klaus had been a part of an extraction team during his first years as a mercenary, it was easy enough for him to find Vlad with very little fuss.
Mishca had other concerns, but at the moment, but he couldn’t be bothered with thinking on it at the moment.
He parked in the back lot, walking the perimeter first before stopping in front of room 701. He already had on gloves.
Turning the key in the lock, Mishca unlocked the door, shoving it open just far enough that he could get inside before closing it behind him, narrowing his eyes in the low lighting.
Much to Mishca’s surprise however, Vlad wasn’t restrained in any way. In fact, he was sitting near the lone lamp in the room, an ashtray full of butts of cigarettes ground out.
For the first time in what felt like years, Vlad looked his age. After years in their service, Vlad knew what they did to those that betrayed the organization. They were never shy about making an example out of people. It didn’t matter that he had the entirety of the FBI backing him, the Bratva would have got to him regardless.
Vlad blew out a stream of smoke as he watched Mishca, leaving his cigarette on the edge of the ashtray. “I knew they would send you.”
It was rare that Mishca was at a loss for words, especially when he had time to ready himself. He wanted to be cold, he wanted to be indifferent, but seeing Vlad there, knowing what he would have to do, forced the words he had so callously spoken to his victims in the past to the back of his mind.
“Before you kill me, you should hear my story.”
Mishca had often remarked on how those that faced death only fit into two categories: those that were willing to beg for their lives, and those that refused to speak a word.
Vlad was neither.
“I wanted to change the world, that was why I joined the FBI, for what they stood for, but down the line, I lost my way.” Vlad had a faraway look in his eye. Regretting or just recalling the past, Mishca didn’t know. “They—you were no longer the job.
“There have been so many agents that have gone rogue, defecting to the other side, and I swore I would never do that.” He dropped his face into his hands. “I didn’t, but the thought was always there. I watched you grow up from the time you were a boy. I saw the innocence, I watched your father trying to taint it, but while you have committed many wrongs, I still see that little boy in you.”
Mishca had his gun in hand, trained on Vlad the entire time he spoke, but with each word, Mishca’s resolve wavered. Even if he attempted to fire off a shot at this point, his aim wouldn’t be true.
“How could they have expected me to be around you for so long and not grow to care what happens to you?” Vlad gestured over to a number of duffel bags sitting in a corner. “That’s everything I have on you.”
Mishca briefly glanced over, just imagining how much information was stored in them, but it didn’t all make sense. “How did they know about Brazil? About the wet rooms?”
“In the beginning, I didn’t have to report in. We couldn’t risk it at the time, but as years passed and you all began to trust me, it was easier to report. Green knows about the wet rooms because she grew impatient with what I was feeding her, which granted, wasn’t very much at all, but I knew that there wasn’t anything she could do with the information but speculate. She was tired of what I was giving, and she threatened to end my assignment early if I didn’t give her something new—that’s why I sent the pictures of Brazil. They meant nothing in the grand scheme of things, but they were enough to present to Lauren. I didn’t know that she was still going to break my cover.”
“That doesn’t make sense,” Mishca argued.
“She acted against orders. This—” He gestured between the two of them. “—Was not supposed to happen for another six months.”
“It still doesn’t explain how it was so easy for Klaus to find you, even with what he can do.”
“That does explain it all, and once you realize that, you’ll do what you need to.”
Vlad was trying to tell him something, Mishca knew this, but for the life of him he couldn’t figure out what it was.
When he heard the unmistakeable sound of the door clicking shut behind him, Mishca turned, his grip more firm around his gun as he aimed at whoever had come in behind him. Luka’s usual amusement was gone as he looked from Mishca to Vlad. Now that he was here, Mishca had to worry about someone else potentially trying to prevent him from carrying out a plan he wasn’t even sure he was going to do. He did, however, wonder how Luka could have known to come here when Mishca had only learned of the location hours ago.
Ignoring his presence for the moment, Mishca turned back to Vlad, his heart racing. Right now, he only had two options, both being detrimental to him. Vlad could live and Mishca would lose everything he had built with Lauren, or he could end this now, and turn into the one thing he had sworn never to be.
Vlad could see it in his eyes, the words he couldn’t bring himself to say. Even if it were possible for him to walk out of that room alive, Vlad knew the life Mishca would be giving up, and the danger he would put Lauren in because of it.
Vlad shook his head, a small, but sad smile playing at his lips. “It’s over, kid.”
Mishca’s arm was shaking, his aim wavering again. It was hard, standing there trying to hold his composure when the only thing he wanted to do was walk away. The moisture in his eyes blurred his vision, making it almost impossible to see, but he did see a blurred shape just out the corner of his eye, and by the time he realized what it was, it was too late.
“No!”
But Luka had already pulled the trigger before Mishca could utter a single syllable of the word.
Vlad didn’t scream, not when the first bullet hit him, nor the second. He had been expecting it after all, though not from Luka. His eyes were wide for only a moment before they slowly slid shut, his body going lax in the chair.
Mishca swung around in fury, his gun aimed at Luka’s heart. He wanted him to fear what he would do. He needed him to, but Luka refused to balk under the hatred in Mishca’s eyes.
It pissed him off that Luka could just stand there, unaffected, despite having just taken a man’s life. Rage unchecked, Mishca swung, connecting first with his jaw, then again to his nose.
At first, Luka didn’t fight back though his nose was bleeding heavily. Instead, he grinned, blood staining his teeth, his eyes taking on a maniacal gleam, and as he chuckled, as though he found the entire situation funny.
Then his gaze grew vacant, like he wasn’t entirely there.
Before Mishca could swing again, Luka struck out, faster than Mishca thought possible, jerking Mishca’s index finger, breaking it in the process as he effectively disarmed him. He didn’t stop there, sweeping his leg out to knock Mishca to the ground.
Luka loomed over him, the gun still in his hand as he tapped it against his knee. Mishca had always appreciated how e
asily Luka could disarm his enemies and take them out with very little effort, but now that he was on the receiving end, he now understood what others saw in Luka.
Never had he seen someone go from completely calm, to deadly in a span of a few short seconds. Sometimes it annoyed him, but most times Luka’s maniacal behavior amused him. Now, he thought something was seriously wrong with the enforcer.
His voice didn’t portray any of the amusement he had felt minutes before. “I’ve never liked getting hit.”
What did he expect Mishca to say to that?
But he didn’t seem to be looking for an answer as he went on. “He had to die, you know this. Now, finish your goodbyes so I can take care of the body.”
Luka held the gun out like a peace offering, that dead look in his eyes disappearing as his easy humor replaced it.
He was an excellent man to have on his side, but Luka was a formidable enemy, and anyone that thought to cross him would live to regret it.
Facing his enforcer, the silence of the room nearly suffocating him, Mishca had never felt more out of control in his life.
Lauren heard the door slam shut, but didn’t bother going out, knowing that if Mishca wanted her to know where he was going, he would have told her. She dropped her face in her hands, wishing she knew what to do for him.
Every time it seemed like they were taking a step forward, something knocked them back two more.
When she heard the unmistakable sound of footsteps, Lauren shot up, reaching into the drawer of her nightstand for the gun Ross had given her for protection. She checked the clip, then the chamber before scrambling out of the bed.
She was ready to cause whoever it was major bodily harm, but Klaus’ voice rang out, dispelling her fear.
“Where the hell are you?”
Exhaling in relief, Lauren pulled the door open, keeping the gun in her hand just because it was Klaus. “What are you doing here?” She asked, finding him in the living room.
He was dressed casually, sure, but there was still something about it that reminded her of Mishca.
The Final Hour Page 28
