The Final Hour

by London Miller

  “Seeing as the prosecution has failed to meet their burden of proof, I believe that it is only fair that all charges against my clients be dismissed without prejudice.”

  “Your honor,” the State’s attorney immediately protested, “the State just needs a little more time to locate our witness.”

  “That would only deny my clients the right to a speedy trial.”

  “Your Honor—”

  Behind his bifocals, the judge stared hard at Mishca first, then turned his gaze to the stone-faced district attorney, interrupting her. “Regrettably, I am inclined to agree with the defense.” Reclining back, Judge Canten raised his gavel and announced, “All charges against the defendants, Mishca Volkov and Luka Sergeyev, are dismissed with the court’s apologies.”

  The gavel slammed down, the sound echoing around the courtroom. Lauren climbed to her feet, breathing out a sigh of relief as she rushed forward, wrapping her arms around Mishca’s shoulders.

  Despite the verdict being in his favor, Mishca didn’t gloat as many would in his situation. Only Lauren knew why. Whispers started around the room, the shock clear at how quickly Mishca’s trial had went by. It wouldn’t be the first time a suspected organized crime member was in and out of court in less than a month.

  Mishca didn’t care how it looked, he was just ready to leave and put this behind him. He couldn’t say how long it would take for him to get over it, but as he pulled Lauren to him, he didn’t care about that, only that she stayed by his side.

  Shaking his lawyer’s hand, Mishca promised to wire her money first thing, and truthfully, he was ready to leave.

  But Agent Green was less than thrilled by the verdict, and she couldn’t afford to have Mishca Volkov walk out of the courthouse unless he was wearing handcuffs. She knew he wouldn’t be the only one. Sure, they might have gotten a few of the lower level members on weapons charges, and she might have dismantled their organization, but Vlad had been the ticket to taking down everyone, and without him, all of her hard work had been for nothing.

  Without any options left—and perhaps not thinking too clearly—she did the only thing she could.

  Climbing to her feet, she stepped into the aisle, preventing Mishca and Lauren from walking another step. “Arrest him.”

  Even the State’s Attorney looked surprised by this, but she didn’t protest, hurrying behind Jessica to see what the agent was doing. Green had been hoping for Mishca’s trademark smirk to cross his face, or for him to even have a smart retort, at least then she would know he knew why she was arresting him, but instead, he just looked remote.

  “On what charge?” Lauren demanded, almost at the same time as Jessica.

  “The kidnapping and murder of FBI Special Agent Terrence Novak, also known as Vladimir Robakov.”

  There were two things Mishca knew for sure. The first, Agent Green was desperately reaching. She needed a reason to arrest him, if only to save face with her bosses. If anything Vlad had said was true, Agent Green hadn’t even known where Vlad was, so she couldn’t possibly know that he was dead, and with Luka on disposal, Vlad would never be found, if there was even a body left to discover.

  All the same, it wouldn’t be hard to assume Vlad was missing at the very least, and Mishca was willing to entertain this until Jessica was able to provide the information that would clear him.

  After, he wouldn’t be as nice.

  Since Mishca had immediately asked for an attorney before he was even out of the courthouse, he was able to talk to Jessica beforehand and tell her what she would need for this upcoming interrogation.

  While he might have sat in lockup for another few hours, he didn’t mind it as much because he knew what was going to happen in the end.

  “If you continue down this road, Agent, we will have to file for harassment,” Jessica said as she entered the room ahead of Mishca.

  For once, Mishca had absolutely nothing to worry about. Under normal circumstances, he would be thinking over every possible scenario that could happen, and what information they would present against him, but this wasn’t a normal circumstance.

  He sighed as he sat in an identical folding chair which should have had his name engraved on it with the amount of time he had spent in it over the last couple of weeks. Despite the officers following them inside, they didn’t bother moving to take the cuffs off of him.

  Agent Green was very obviously angry at the lack of a response she was getting from them, and even worse, the expressions on the officers surrounding them. They looked far more confused by what she was doing than Mishca did and he was the one charged with another murder.

  “Your client will not have anything to worry about anything if, of course, he has nothing to be guilty of,” Agent Green said still standing, though both of her hands were on the table as she leaned forward, glaring at Mishca.

  “Let me see if I understand this correctly, Agent,” Jessica said not rising to the bait as she crossed her legs, her eyebrows furrowing in mock confusion as she spoke. “Are you saying that the agent that was under your command…his body has been found?”

  A muscle ticked in Agent Green’s jaw, and Mishca didn’t doubt for a second that if she had a choice, she wouldn’t answer the question.

  “No, but—”

  “And have you, or your office, filed a missing person’s report on this agent—” She looked down at her phone though she already knew Vlad’s name. “—Terrence Novak?”

  “No—”

  “Then I fail to see what we’re doing here when the man in question could be half way around the country at this point.”

  Agent Green slammed her fist onto the table, pushing her hair back off her shoulders. “He wouldn’t!”

  “Listen,” the other agent—one who no one had bothered to learn the name of—spoke over his partner. “We had contact with the agent up until the 26th, nothing since. We would just like to know where your client was on that evening.”

  Jessica made a show of looking over at Mishca, waiting for his nod before answering.

  “Luckily for the two of you, my client has an alibi,” Jessica said, sounding every bit as smug as Mishca felt.

  “I can’t wait to hear this,” Agent Green said carefully, though her tone dripped with condescension.

  Jessica nodded, giving Mishca the go ahead.

  Mishca withdrew his phone from his pocket, scrolling quickly through the pictures, selecting one. “I was having dinner with my wife at Le Bleu. I’m sure if you call the restaurant, they can produce a receipt or a record of my time there.”

  Agent Green picked up the phone, glaring down at the picture. Lauren was very obviously smiling in the picture, but instead of Mishca, Klaus was sitting next to her.

  But no one in present company knew that.

  “As you can clearly see, my client was very clearly out at a restaurant.”

  Agent Green’s jaw clenched. “This photo could have been taken at any time.”

  “In the details, you can clearly see the date and time. And,” Mishca went on when he saw her about to protest. “If that’s not good enough, I’m sure your forensic agents can determine when it was taken. And—as I just said—you can check with the restaurant.”

  “You’re a liar,” Agent Green snarled, losing her temper.

  With a shrug and a smile, Mishca said,“I’ve been called worse.”

  Jessica placed a hand on Mishca’s shoulder, silencing him. “My client was with his wife from five to ten. If my client is guilty of anything, it is of spoiling his wife.”

  “You think I don’t know what you did,” Agent Green spat at him, even garnering a look from her partner who was surprised by her outburst.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Mishca said, steel entering his voice. “But if one of your—” Mishca gestured around, even towards the two-way mirror. “—People could look into my alibi, I’m more than ready to leave.”

  Agent Green was preparing to say more, he could see it in her eyes, but
they were interrupted.

  Another man stepped into the room, and judging from his sharp suit and the way Agent Green’s eyes widened slightly at the sight of him, he had to be higher up the chain of command than she was.

  “This interrogation is over,” he said, his tone brokering no argument.

  Mishca’s brows rose as he looked over at Agent Green pointedly, raising his shackled hands to her. She barely spared him a glance as she climbed to her feet, visibly trying to calm herself as she faced her boss.

  “Sir, we—”

  “You are free to go, Mr. Volkov.”

  Whatever she had been about to say was shut down, and Mishca couldn’t give a shit what was going to happen to her, he was just ready to get out of there. Once he was free, Mishca thought about being a good sport, leaving as quickly as he came, but he changed his mind at the last moment, extending his hand to her once he was free.

  When she didn’t return it, threatening to kill him with just her gaze alone, he shrugged and winked at her, buttoning his jacket as he left.

  Everything had come together perfectly, one more obstacle marked off his list. Now, he was down to one.

  Lauren was waiting for Mishca outside, and when she saw him walking free, heading towards her, she breathed a sigh of relief. She was in his life, always until the day she died, but even she didn’t quite understand how it had been so easy for him to skate by on this trial entirely. She did know of the sacrifice he’d made, but there had to be more to it than that. From what she knew, a few of his other associates had far more evidence against them, and would more than likely be convicted.

  It also didn’t escape Lauren’s notice that most of the men arrested and detained worked for Mikhail specifically.

  When he reached her side, he drew her forward, holding her tight, and she felt the tension draining out of him. She closed her eyes for a moment, reveling in the sensations.

  He kissed her forehead, drawing back to meet her gaze. “Let’s go home.”

  She nodded, waving over to Jessica as she walked in the opposite direction. When they were in his car, pulling away, Lauren couldn’t help but silently observe him.

  The weight of what he’d had to do weighed on his mind, that much Lauren knew just from watching him day to day. She had wanted to give him space, not knowing how else to help him, but that didn’t seem to be working.

  She had seen an improvement since the day he had confessed everything to her, but he was still dwelling in it.

  Mishca immediately went into the bedroom when they got home, hardly speaking a word along the way. She left him alone for a while, just sitting in the kitchen, but she decided that she didn’t want him to shut her out, so instead, she went after him.

  Lauren entered their bedroom and heard the shower running. Mishca was standing beneath the spray, his eyes closed, his body immobile. She didn’t think she had ever seen him so still, so devoid of life.

  She took off her clothes, opening the glass door to step inside. Crossing to stand in front of him, Lauren reached up, cupping his face, wanting him to look at her. He did, almost reluctantly.

  “I’m sorry,” she said softly, blinking the water out of her eyes.

  Nothing, not even the slightest acknowledgement that he’d heard anything she had said.

  Pulling his face down as she went up, she kissed him, trying to coax a reaction out of him. It took a moment, him just being immobile beneath her lips before she finally felt his lips part.

  One moment he was passive, the next he turned aggressive, taking over the kiss. He fisted a hand in her hair, holding her closer. Lauren could feel the change in him, when it changed from comfort to something more.

  If this was what he needed to help him cope, she would gladly give it to him, but at the same time, she knew that it would only be a temporary fix.

  He had to face it if he wanted to move past it.

  “Nothing anyone could say or do would take the pain of my father’s death away. At first I was angry, why me, then I was sad for years. Finally, I had put it to the back of my mind, at least until the anniversary of his death came around. Then I would relive it all over again.” She brushed his hair back out of his face, hating the look she saw there. “But every other day during the year, I’m fine. I’m not telling you to forgive him, and I’m not telling you to forget him. I’m asking that you talk to me. Share with me so that I can help.”

  He was shaking his head, and she feared that he wasn’t listening to her—or at least didn’t agree—but his next words rid her of those fears.

  “I feel like I didn’t know him at all.”

  She went up to kiss him again, linking her hands with his. “Don’t forget what you told me about that night, what he was willing to do for you. Know that he loved you, and that’s all that matters.”

  That night, Mishca came into the room, sober for a change, slipping into the bed beside her. He was careful, not wanting to wake Lauren, but when he leaned over, kissing the spot below her ear, she stirred.

  He drew back, giving her space. For the past three days—or three weeks if he was being honest—he had treated her poorly. Everything had gone from bad to worse, and he had foolishly taken his frustrations out on her.

  Mishca didn’t know how he was going to make it up to her, but whatever she asked of him, he would do. But it couldn’t be tonight, not with what he had planned.

  Rolling over to face him, she rubbed her eyes, blinking them open as she yawned, covering her mouth with her hand her wedding rings in full view. Despite not knowing what she was going to say, the sight of them made him smile.

  “Hi.”

  She smiled sleepily, snuggling deeper into his arms. “What are you doing up so late?”

  “I have to go.”

  Lauren frowned, though she didn’t move from her place in his arms. “Where are you going? It’s like one in the morning.”

  “I have a meeting with the heads of the four families.”

  Those words seemed to wake her right up, not that he could blame her much. Meetings with mob bosses were notoriously tense situations, and it was never easy judging how or why an argument might start, leading to the death of one or more people.

  But it was mandatory that he do this, for the sake of his own life.

  “Come back to me, Mish.”

  He smiled, kissing her one last time. “You have my word.”

  Mishca stripped down to nothing but his briefs, a memory of the last time he had entered these rooms coming to mind. He didn’t need to be completely naked during the act, but it was how it was done for as long as he could remember, and he didn’t want to break tradition.

  The men he would be addressing didn’t care for expensive clothing, nor for the money that the prospective men who entered that room had, but for the ink that adorned their skin, the story that those tattoos told.

  He left his clothes in his former bedroom, ignoring the way it made him feel. While he had always hated the manor, it never bothered him as much to stay there a couple of nights over the years, but being here now, even if it was only for a couple of hours rubbed him wrong.

  There weren’t any good memories for him, and depending on the outcome of this meet, he would have to make a decision as to what he would do with it.

  Besides the guards stationed outside, the manor was fairly empty, only a select number of people waiting for him down in the basement.

  Mishca stared at the closed door, barely hearing the voices on the other side, reminding again of how a moment like this years ago had drastically changed his life.

  Taking a deep breath, Mishca opened the door and stepped inside.

  There were three men already inside, one representing each of the three other families, a empty chair representing the Volkovs. If this meeting ended well, the chair would soon become Mishca’s. Since there was no one left in the family that could take on the role—Klaus would never agree even if he was considered—Mishca didn’t doubt that he would be taking it, except a pa
rt of him still wanted to earn it.

  That was why it had been Mishca’s idea to hold this instead of them just handing over the cross. He didn’t want anyone to oppose his rule, especially when he was already going to have problems because of his age.

  Taking a seat in the chair in front of the three, Mishca kept his arms on the sides of the chair, proudly showing off the stars on his chest and knees, and the epaulettes on his shoulders.

  Mishca had always respected this tradition. He understood their need to question him, especially with everything that had happened since Lauren had come into his life. He didn’t know whether or not they would understand his actions, or even the fact that he cared for her, especially when a lot of the older members still followed the old rules, but that didn’t mean that he would allow them to disregard her.

  “We know what you ask of us, son of Mikhail, but why do you think you deserve this?” Petrov asked, tapping his fingers against the snake tipped cane resting between his legs.

  Mishca spoke of his accomplishments, not as a boast—even if no one had achieved what he had since he joined the Vory v Zakone—but because he wanted them to know what he was capable of, and if they entrusted him with the position, they would know the Bratva was in good hands.

  “And the girl?” Zyanovich spoke up. “How can you expect us to trust your word that she is loyal to us?”

  “Besides the fact that she bears my stars?” Mishca questioned, trying to keep the sharpness from his tone. “You don’t need to trust her. Trust my word.”

  For what felt like an hour, Mishca was questioned, grilled on everything he knew of the structure and what was to be expected of him in the role of Pakhan. He spoke carefully and with precision, and despite a touch of reluctance on Zyanovich’s part, they had no problem agreeing that Mishca was the best for the job.

  By the time they were finished, Mishca was more than ready to accept what was coming.

  Clorick, their resident tattoo artist, one that was as ancient as he was proficient came into the room with his kit, the smallest of smiles curling his lips as he saw Mishca. Since he had been the one to do all of Mishca’s ink, they both took it as an honor for him to be the one to place the cross on Mishca’s chest.