London Miller The Final Hour (Volkov Bratva #3)

The Final Hour Volkov Bratva [3] London Miller London Miller (2014)

The Stunning conclusion to Mishca and Lauren's Story Three months pass without incident, leading Mishca and Lauren to believe they can finally move on from the past and build a life together ...but enemies both old and new lurk in the shadows, waiting for the opportunity to strike.

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When a dangerous threat presents itself, Lauren is forced to turn to the one person that would rather see Mishca dead than live happily ever after ...she now has to step into a role that demands payment in blood. Alliances are formed, one side fighting for survival, and the other for retribution. No one can be trusted. No one is safe. War is coming. ...and not everyone will live to see the end of it.

Contents Cover Copyright Dedication Part One 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 Part Two 11 12 13 14 15

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16 17 18 19 20 21 Part Three 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 E Author's Note Stay Tuned Excerpt Red.

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The Final Hour Copyright © 2014 London Miller All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, distributed, stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, without express permission from the author, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages for review purposes. This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to any person, living or dead, or any events or occurrences, is purely coincidental.

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Cover Image Copyright © Wolfgang Lienbacher Used under license from istockphoto.com

To Mrs. Gardner, The greatest AP Literature teacher anyone could ask for.

The course of true love never did run smooth -William Shakespeare

She nodded, but before he could call Luka and Vlad to him, loud footsteps on the stairwell stopped him. They were deliberate, meant to call attention to whoever was arriving, and as Mishca looked from the window, to the corpse, and back to the hallway, he stiffened. He knew who was coming.

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Twelve more steps brought the stranger to the entryway. He was distinctly male, with a sniper rifle across his back, throwing knives strapped to his thighs, and was decked out in full tactical gear that was as dark as the man’s soul. His face was concealed by a black mask, the design rather plain with only the eyes cut out and a space for the nose and mouth. He wasn’t just a man with a gun, Mishca knew, but a brutal mercenary, one that lived and breathed his occupation, all to feed his vendetta. He was just as much a mystery as he was a legend. For the last few years, after using multiple contacts he had around the world, and abusing every resource he possessed, Mishca had tracked this particular individual, one that he knew had become a lethal weapon.

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Especially known for shots like the one that had taken the life of the dead Albanian on the floor. The mercenary stopped, his head cocked to the side as he surveyed them with casual disinterest, unconcerned with the guns trained on him. Not that he needed to be. Undoubtedly, he was the best shot there, even outnumbered. Knowing the man’s skills and the lack of exits, Mishca chose instead to push Lauren behind him, making sure every part of her was shielded by him. She was trying to see past him, but he wouldn’t allow it, because at the moment, there was no explanation he could give her that would help her understand the delicate situation they were in now. Not one short enough, at least.

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Sensing Mishca’s dilemma, the mercenary canted his head in the other direction, sighing heavily behind his mask. Mishca couldn’t see the expression the mercenary wore behind his mask, but he could guess that he was amused. Finding his voice, Mishca asked, “Where are my men?” “Alive.” Already, despite the danger he posed, Mishca felt his temper flaring, in a way that only this man could cause. “Why are you here?” “I made a promise to you,” the mercenary said in a flat tone, his words distorted. “When you die, it’ll be by my hand.” Luka, having a particular disdain for mercenaries and authority, didn’t appreciate the mercenary’s words, but Mishca couldn’t allow him to draw his weapon, not against the man in front of them.

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“Ostavit’ yego—Leave it,” he said harshly. “He’s not here to kill me.” Lauren’s hands tightened on the back of his shirt, her fear for him making this that much harder. “No?” The mercenary asked looking around, drawing a pistol from the back of his pants. “It kind of feels that way.” “You don’t play with your targets,” Mishca responded evenly, though he had never been sure of that fact. He had always assumed—because of the precision in which all of the marks were hit without any evidence left behind—that when the mercenary got a job, he completed it quickly and efficiently. “Don’t be so sure about that, Russian,” the mercenary said with a hint of amusement in his voice. Mishca stared at him, trying to see through the black mesh that shielded the man’s eyes though it was impossible from

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that difference. He knew all too well what eyes hid behind it. “Not while she’s here to watch,” Mishca reiterated, gesturing to Lauren. “Especially not in this place.” That seemed to break the mercenary’s resolve. No longer did he appear casual. His body grew taut with tension, his fingers tightening around the gun he held. Mishca had never been back here since that day, but he could still remember it like it had happened just hours before. Where there was a hole in the floor was where he, himself, had found the mercenary broken and bloody. A time he hated to think about. It seemed years worth of anger broke out of the mercenary, his attention now focused solely on Mishca. Not waiting for a command from Mishca—though one was not coming—Luka swung at him, but effortlessly, the mercenary spun out of the way,

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the heel of his palm swinging out at the same time, landing a well placed hit to his jugular, sending Luka to the floor wheezing for air. Vlad, wisely, stood where he was. After all, he knew the man behind the mask. Mishca reached behind him, trying to pull Lauren forward and away from him, not wanting her to get accidentally hurt if anything happened, but she clung to him, refusing to let go. She didn’t realize they were now facing the one person that hated Mishca the most in the world. Up close, the mercenary was only an inch taller, if that, but his presence made him seem bigger, though at times he could appear smaller as well, a good trait to have in his line of work. “Careful,” he said with barely restrained fury. He didn’t bother pointing the gun at him because he knew twenty-three ways to

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kill Mishca without it, and those were just the few that wouldn’t get blood on him. There were men that cowered in Mishca’s presence, but this one, no, he didn’t fear anything. He couldn’t know for sure, but Mishca thought the mercenary’s gaze slipped past him to where Lauren was standing at his back, making his arm tighten with awareness. He might have thought he knew the mercenary’s plan, but he could never be sure. “It would only be fair, would it not, if I took your love from you,” the mercenary said though there wasn’t any real threat in his tone. Now, just that quickly, he sounded bored. “Except, I only kill those that wrong me.” “I didn’t,” Mishca said, remembering when he had said something similar all those years ago. “Guilty by association.”

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He felt Lauren stiffen behind him and Mishca nearly cursed. He needed to end this. “We don’t have time for this,” Mishca said. “Do you not realize what you’ve done? The Albanians are going to want blood for this.” The mercenary shrugged. “Personal problem.” “And you think they won’t find out it was you?” Mishca retorted, trying to get him to see reason. “Someone, somewhere has seen your face.” Laughing, the mercenary pushed his mask up, over the beanie he wore to cover his hair, revealing his face for the first time. Lauren’s gasp was audible in the decrepit building. The mercenary looked at Mishca, a burning fury in the identical set of blue eyes they shared, so different from the broken spirit Mishca had seen before.

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“I’m not the boy you used to know,” the mercenary said echoing Mishca’s thoughts. “If anyone can identify me, good. I’m counting on it.” “Klaus—” It was the first time Mishca had said his name in what felt like ages and it had the desired effect as he lost his maniacal smile. “Never speak my name.” “And how will they differentiate between us?” Mishca asked solemnly. No one had ever been able to tell the difference between them until they were side by side, and even then, it was still a guessing game. “I could always kill you, then continue my mission.” “You’re not going to kill me,” Mishca repeated. “Why not?” Klaus asked with genuine confusion on his face like that had always been a part of his plan.

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“Because despite your hatred for me, brother, it would be like killing yourself.” Mishca had thought he’d made his point and finally gotten the upper hand, but he was mistaken. “Maybe, but you’re not me,” Klaus said calmly. Mishca hadn’t noticed the blade hidden in his palm. Lauren Thompson thought she knew everything about Mishca after being with him for a year and a half, but there were far more secrets than she knew. One, in particular, was standing before her. When Mishca had stiffened in front of her, Lauren hadn’t known why he’d had that reaction to the man walking towards them, more confused since they were having a heated discussion while the man wore a mask. It was obvious they knew each other,

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but she didn’t know whether he was a friend or foe. As he shoved his mask up to rest at the top of her head, Lauren sucked in a startled breath, seeing his face for the first time. It was Mishca, but an angrier version. Lauren watched in horror as Mishca’s twin flipped the blade end over end, catching it in one swift movement, holding it to Mishca’s neck. Only five minutes ago, she had learned that the man she loved had a twin brother—a homicidal twin brother if his actions were anything to judge by. Not only that, but he also hated Mishca with a burning passion that Lauren couldn’t begin to understand. “P-Please,” Lauren stammered, drawing Klaus’ attention from Mishca to her. There was a burning fury in those blue eyes of his, but she couldn’t back down no matter how much she feared him. Mishca’s arm came around her, holding her to his

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back, a clear message that if he thought to make a move against her, Klaus would have to go through him. Klaus spat something at her in another language, definitely wasn’t Russian because she was used to that, and she could see from the confusion on Luka’s face that he didn’t understand either. “They know of us,” Mishca said gaining back Klaus’ attention. “I suggest you leave. Now.” “You think I fear the Albanians?” Laughing, Klaus said, “You doubt my abilities, Russian.” “Doesn’t matter what I think, but it is pointless to continue to stand here and argue a moot point. We both know the Albanians will want retribution for this and standing here waiting for them is not in our best interest. Save your rage for another day.” Lauren didn’t think he would leave, despite Mishca’s plea, but he did. Sheathing his

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blade, he made a gesture that had Luka lurching towards him, only held back by Vlad’s arm like a band across his chest. In seconds, Klaus was gone, but Lauren didn’t doubt she would see him again. “I could have taken him,” Luka spoke up, glaring. “Because he did not take you down with one hit?” Vlad asked dryly, surprising them all with his humor. Lauren could count on one hand the number of times she heard Vlad make a joke. “I owed him a debt,” Mishca said by way of explanation, turning to face Lauren, his eyes searching hers. Despite what was between them, Klaus had saved her life, even if he didn’t mean to. “What do you want to do about him?” Luka asked gesturing over to Brahim. Mishca looked at him for a second before saying, “Leave him.”

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As they left the warehouse, Lauren took one last look back at Brahim, wishing she could forget his lifeless eyes.

As the building faded away behind them, Lauren tried her hardest to put it to the back of her mind, wanting to compartmentalize the entire experience. Now that she was out of that environment, she felt every ache in her body. She closed her eyes for one blissful second, happy that she was safe with him…if only for a moment. As she reopened them, his thumb swept across her cheek, the look of relief in his eyes making her feel at ease. She could see the question in his eyes, the one he was too afraid to ask though it seemed he had asked it plenty of times over the last couple of weeks.

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“I’m fine,” she answered anyway, trying to put enough truth into that statement to convince him. Reassured, at least for the moment, he reached into his pocket for his phone, handing it over to her. “I promised Amber you would call.” And for the next twenty minutes of their ride, she did. Despite the circumstances, Lauren found herself smiling, trying to reassure her friend that she was fine. And surprisingly, she was. She had just seen a man murdered, learned that Mishca had a rather hostile twin brother, and there was going to be a new problem with the Albanians, but she was refusing to think about it all, pushing it all to the back of her mind. For now, she could only be grateful she made it out with just a few bruises. By the time the brownstone came into view, Lauren was back on her side of the car, quietly enjoying the sun on her face as she

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leaned against the window. This time, as she stepped out of the car, Mishca and the others following close behind, she didn’t try to go up alone, letting Vlad go first, Mishca and Luka taking up the rear. The door to her apartment was splintered, and the landlord was standing in the entryway, scratching his head as he assessed the damage. Lauren had only ever met the man on a couple of occasions, and both had been rather uneventful—in part because the man rarely left his own apartment. Tucker, Lauren thought his name was, didn’t look too happy about the damage he saw. “This is coming out of your security deposit.” “I got that the first ten times you said that,” Amber snapped from inside the apartment.” “I’ll take care of this,” Mishca interrupted.

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Lauren moved past him, into the apartment. Amber had her phone in hand, talking quietly, at least until she caught sight of Lauren in the doorway. Without a goodbye, Amber hung up the phone, dropping it on the couch as she hurried over. “Could you not do that again!” Amber shouted as she swept Lauren into a hug, nearly cutting off her oxygen as she squeezed, but she couldn’t complain, not when she was glad to be back in the apartment. Amber looked her over, making sure Lauren wasn’t hurt more than what she had already seen. “I came home and the apartment was a wreck, you weren’t here—do you know what that was like for me?” Lauren laughed, sniffing back tears as she tried to keep it together. It was easy to be strong with Mishca around, he made her feel

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that way, but when he was gone and it was just her, sometimes it became too much. “Don’t ever do that to me again. I almost had to stab Mishca in the thigh.” Mishca coughed, hiding a smile behind his fist. “With one of your paintbrushes, no doubt,” Lauren said pulling back. Amber scoffed. “Don’t mock the brushes, my friend. They can do some serious damage.” But her expression grew serious as she took in one of the bruises on Lauren’s face. “Can I ask, or is those one of those, ‘don’t ask, don’t tell,’ situations?” They both looked over at Mishca. “If that’s what you want, but it will need to be later once I bring you home.” “Wait, you’re leaving again?” Amber asked alarmed. Lauren looked back at Mishca, not sure what he was talking about, but didn’t

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question him. “We have to talk, but I promise I’ll be back in a few hours.” Nodding, Amber looked at Mishca. “Mish?” He inclined his head to her. “You have my word.”

Lauren was quiet beside him, lost in her own thoughts as she stared out the passenger window. She was almost too calm, no fidgeting, just still, but with Luka and Vlad in the car, he wanted to wait until they were alone before he tried talking to her. Mishca’s phone buzzed, the only time Lauren looked over at him. He didn’t have to look down to know that it was Mikhail calling, but he wasn’t leaving Lauren, no matter how angry Mikhail would be that he wasn’t answering right away. Letting it go to voicemail, he turned the vibration off entirely, pocketing the device

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without a second thought. When they arrived at Mishca’s apartment building, he glanced over at Lauren, then up to Vlad and Luka. In Russian, he said, “Vlad, I need you to go stall for me with Mikhail. Luka, you’re with me.” He would have sent Luka to run it, but he doubted Mikhail was in the mood for him. Climbing out of the car, Mishca helped Lauren out, keeping his arm around her as they entered the building. Tossing Luka a key, he sent the enforcer around the rear, not wanting to draw any more attention than they needed, especially with Luka covered in dried blood. On the ride up, Mishca drew Lauren to him, tilting her face up so he could better see the bruise on her face. Seeing it, he could almost feel the echoing pain in his own face. “It doesn’t hurt,” Lauren said softly, her hands covering his.

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It went from him trying to comfort her, to her wanting to calm the raging storm inside him. “I shouldn’t have let this happen.” “There was nothing you could do, Mishca. If not me, then someone else.” The bell dinged as they arrived at the top floor, the doors sliding open. Withdrawing his keys, Mishca unlocked the door, going in first to take a sweep of the room before letting Lauren come in. Heading into the kitchen, he grabbed a small plastic bag, filling it with ice, and a hand towel to wrap it in. She was sitting in his favorite chair when he returned, her face in her hands as she whispered softly beneath her breath. She looked up when he walked over to her, smiling though it didn’t reach her eyes. He held out the ice, shaking his head when she reached for it, pressing it gently to her face before she could protest. They sat in silence for a while, their eyes on each other.

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“You know, they’re going to probably think you’re beating me now.” She laughed at her own joke, but it didn’t make Mishca feel any better. “Mish, I’m fine. I promise.” “This is my fault. I should have done better, should have warned you what to expect from them.” Lauren shook her head. “There was nothing you could have done differently, Mish. I should have listened to you when you told me to stay at the safe house until you had things sorted. Bottom line, it’s happened. Let’s move on from it.” She gently pushed his hand away, climbing to her feet. “I’m going to take a shower, then we can talk. Okay?”

By the time Lauren got out of the shower, she felt a lot better, and was ready to get into this conversation with Mishca with a clear head. She really had needed that time to

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herself, just to get her thoughts together, and to figure out what questions were the most important. Majority of them centered around the brother she hadn’t known about. “You never mentioned you had a brother,” Lauren commented quietly, pulling on a shirt and a pair of shorts, throwing her wet hair up into a ponytail. She couldn’t say how long she had been in that building with Mishca’s twin, but she knew that everything she had believed before that short period of time was only part of the story. Mishca’s face was transparent at that moment. It was clear that Klaus was the last person Mishca wanted to talk about. “Only three people in the world actually knows about him.” Now four. “But how? You’re identical twins.”

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“To be honest, I don’t know. I hadn’t met Klaus until I was twenty-one, and we didn’t meet under the best of circumstances. Before he walked into my life, I assumed I’d been my mother’s only child.” “But somebody would have known, right? At the hospital?” “My mother didn’t give birth in a hospital. It was a home birth in the middle of nowhere in Russia. Since my mother never spoke of him, I can only assume what she had done to get him out of the country before Mikhail found him.” “But if you didn’t grow up together, why does he hate you so much?” “When I said we didn’t meet under the greatest of circumstances, I wasn’t exaggerating.” He shoved a hand through his hair, looking just over her shoulder. “The first time I met Klaus was the day I met the Albanians.”

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That was an understatement. Klaus was the reason why the Russians and the Albanians had a long standing feud, not because he had done anything in particular, but because on that one lonesome night, the Albanians had mistaken him for Mishca, and wanted to torture information out of him, but that was the least of what they had done to Klaus that night. “What happened to him?” She asked once he had stopped speaking. “I don’t know.” And he truly didn’t…but he could guess. What Mishca had found in that industrial building…he had no words for. Klaus had been barely recognizable by the time they got to him, and days after Mishca had taken him from that place, Klaus still refused to talk about it, the bitterness in his heart only growing. Especially the last day. “Tell me what you do know.”

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“Honestly? I don’t know much about Klaus, only what I was able to garner from the short amount of time I spent with him, and from the people he has crossed paths with over the years, but even they didn’t realize who they were dealing with. Still don’t. Mercenaries make a living out of staying in the shadows,” he explained. “I can’t even find who he works for.” “Mish, he was ready to kill you. I mean at least the Albanians had their own reason, but this time I would like to know what I’m up against.” He was already shaking his head before she finished. “He wouldn’t target you.” “Mish…” “I’ll tell you…just not today.” She crawled onto his lap, wrapping her arms around his neck as she held onto him. “I’m glad you’re not hurt.” He pulled at the tie in her hair, running his fingers through it before he rested at the

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nape of her neck, massaging the tension away. “I should be saying that to you.” “What happened with Jetmir?” “From what I understand, he didn’t know about what Brahim was planning. At least that was as much as I could get out of him.” At her confused expression, he amended that. “I broke his jaw.” “Sometimes I forget how volatile you are when someone crosses you.” “Only when they use you to get to me. But we can talk about this another day. I should get you home.”

“I would feel better if you stayed the night,” Lauren whispered when they were back at her apartment. They could have gotten a room, especially with the unfortunate situation with the door, but she wanted something familiar after everything she had dealt with.

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She knew, before he opened his mouth, that he would. That was just the kind of relationship they had. And after everything they’d been through, he didn’t want to be any further away from her than she from him. “Can’t say that I’m complaining,” Amber remarked after they came in, Luka already inside, stripping down to the tight-fitting briefs he wore, moving to stretch out on the couch. Lauren had always thought Luka was attractive—even with his crazy attitude—but she had never realized how fit he was underneath the clothes he wore. He had a tad more muscle than Mishca did, and was covered in a myriad of tattoos There was hardly any skin left that wasn’t coated in ink. One was faded, but took up a lot of space on his hip and stretching up towards his ribs, and placed directly in the center of his chest was an impressive, snarling tiger head.

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She knew what it stood for, but she had never really thought about Luka in that sense. He was always so playful, so at ease that she couldn’t really picture him in the role of enforcer, but looks were deceiving, and sometimes she did see a hint of that dangerous nature in him. His briefs barely covered anything, reaching just below the diagonal lines of his abdomen. There was no hair on his chest, but there was a line of curly blonde hair that went from just below his navel, disappearing beneath the band of his briefs. Luka was— Mishca gently, but firmly, turned Lauren’s head until her eyes were on him. She almost smiled at the indignant look on his face. “You only get one Russian.” “Go ahead,” Luka said, stretching his arms out wide, blatantly displaying himself,

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if only because he wanted to annoy Mishca more. “How is anyone going to take him seriously?” Amber asked, having yet to look away from him. Luka smiled, slow and wide, his attention shifting from them to Amber, his eyes ghosting over her. “I could show you.” Mishca rolled his eyes, probably used to Luka’s behavior, but Lauren had a sneaking suspicion that Luka didn’t really mean his advance, thinking that he had a thing for someone else entirely. “As much as I would love to take you up on that offer, can’t. I’ve sworn off men for the moment, especially ones that could probably kill a man with his bare hands.” “Actually, I only need one hand. It’s rather simple. I use—” “Good night, guys,”Amber announced cutting him off. “I’m glad you’re home safe, Lauren.”

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She gave Lauren a pointed look, letting her know that they would be talking about it in the morning.

In the darkness of the room, Lauren clung to him, refusing to let go. Here, she didn’t have to be strong anymore. He didn’t expect her to be. After what she had almost suffered—and for what she had—she deserved to let out her fears, but that only made his guilt worsen. Feeling her body shudder, Mishca rubbed her back slowly, trying to calm her. He had apologized, and he knew she didn’t blame him for what happened, but he had no idea what else he could say that would make this better for her. “Naomi set you up, or set us up rather.” He stilled, just for a second, before slipping his hand underneath her shirt, wanting the skin to skin contact. “I know.”

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“Sadly, I don’t really blame you. I’ve realized that you have terrible taste in women.” He tried not to laugh, not knowing whether or not she was serious, but he couldn’t help it. “Yet you make me better.” “Maybe a little, but I’m glad you got there when you did.” Kissing the top of her head, he nodded. “Me too. Now, get some sleep. There’s plenty of time to talk tomorrow.”

Vlad could only stall for so long before Mikhail grew impatient. Mishca knew that, but he wasn’t expecting the angry voicemail from his father. Leaving Lauren in bed, he headed to the manor, occasionally glancing over at his phone when it lit up. Having Lauren taken, and all the ensuing fear he felt, Mishca was done with Mikhail. There were two things he revered above all

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things. Before, the Bratva had come first in every aspect of his life, but now, it was second to Lauren. She held precedence, and despite how much that bothered Mikhail, it wouldn’t change a damn thing with Mishca. The were other cars parked along the extensive driveway, one he recognized as Alex’s. He had no time to wonder why she was there as he headed inside, nodding in respect to the others that spoke to him. Mishca didn’t have to ask where to go. To Mikhail, the only room he practically lived in was his office. He took a moment to see if Alex was nearby, but he caught sight of Vlad looking pensive—and he never looked pensive. “Boss is waiting.” He gave Mishca a pointed look, telling him everything he needed to know. Mikhail was pissed. Sighing—because he was beyond tired of being called on like a child—Mishca

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knocked once on the closed door before letting himself in. Mikhail was by the windows, his lieutenants standing around like bumbling idiots. Looking over his shoulder, Mikhail barely spared Mishca a glance. “Leave us.” The brigadiers rushed to do as Mikhail bid, not sparing Mishca a glance though they were all thinking the same thing. The Bratva Captain was in deep shit. “Is this how you deign to join me?” Mikhail asked, tapping his ringed index finger against the glass he held. “Apologies that I couldn’t change after nearly being killed by your associates,” Mishca said dryly, dropping down into the seat across from the fireplace. “Your rudeness will not be tolerated today, Mishca,” Mikhail snarled, slamming his glass down on the edge of his desk. “Have you any idea what you have caused? For five

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years that deal was in place and what do you do—you spit in my face.” “Lauren was—” “Zatknis—Shut up! I could care less about your pet. This is business.” Mishca didn’t like his tone, and disliked the way he referred to Lauren even more. “And yet you have cost our business more because of your whore than because of my relationship with Lauren.” “She has made you bold,” Mikhail said with fire in his eyes. “I gave you those stars and I will take them from you. I have let this go on for too long. You end this, this fling before I end it for you.” Before, Mishca would have heeded Mikhail’s warning, had, in fact, done so, but that was before. Now, the power difference between them was less significant. And even if it weren’t, Mishca still wouldn’t have went along with it.

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“And why exactly would I do that?” asked Mishca evenly, reclining back in his chair, drumming his fingers on one arm of the chair. “Because you order me? That’s no longer how this works.” “No?” Mikhail couldn’t hide his surprise at Mishca’s audacity. “You listen to me.” “But not everyone does. You consider yourself unmoved by emotions, yet you had your own brother killed for fucking your wife. How do you think the others view this?” Mikhail’s face mottled with anger, his temper barely checked. “He acted without my blessing and—” He waved his hand, cutting his father off. “You could give a shit about Lauren or her family. That may have been your excuse, but we know the truth, along with half the men that you control. How quickly do you think rumors spread, father?” “Don’t forget, boy, you were the one to take his life.”

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Mishca shrugged. “My motives were clear. He took from Lauren, which means he took from me. But that’s inconsequential. What do you think I will tell the other Pakhans if they were to ask?” “You think to threaten me? I am your Pakhan! You obey me! I have told you, women have no place in our world, yet you believe you are above the rules. Your life has—” “Precisely,” Mishca exploded. “My life. As long as it is not affecting the Bratva, it is none of your concern.” Just as quickly as his burst of anger came, Mikhail calmed considerably, an amused smile curling his lips. “Then I will only treat you as a Pakhan would his Captain.” Mishca climbed to his feet, buttoning his jacket. On his way out, he threw over his shoulder, “Were we ever anything else?”

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Lauren stumbled out of her bedroom, bleary eyed and ready to commit murder if whoever it was didn’t stop making all that noise. To her confusion, several men were going in and out of her apartment, one at the door replacing the locks, others moving furniture in and out. Amber was in the kitchen looking on casually, a glass of lemonade in one hand. She looked far too happy at this time in the morning—despite it being a little past noon—smiling at one of the younger workers that repeatedly looked back at her. “What the hell is going on?” Lauren asked when she made it over to the kitchen, nearly throwing herself at the fresh coffee on the counter. “It seems everyone’s favorite Russian wanted to up the security around here. Not that I’m complaining of course.” Lauren looked around at the men, not really surprised by what she was seeing. He

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had promised things would be different from now on, but she didn’t realize that he was going all out. She vaguely remembered him leaving that morning, kissing her before he left, but nothing after that. It was clear that he had at least talked to Amber beforehand. “Did Luka leave with him?” “Nope, he’s in my shower.” Lauren coughed, nearly spitting out her coffee as she turned wide eyes on her friend. “You didn’t…” “Of course not, but I’m not ashamed to admit that I walked in on him.” Laughing, Lauren asked, “What was your excuse?” “I left a pen on the sink.” Even the workers looked over as Lauren’s laughter grew louder. “That’s a terrible excuse.” “He didn’t seem to mind. Hell, he waved while using my loofah by the way.” Amber

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leaned forward conspiratorially, lowering her voice to say, “Have you seen his junk?” Smiling brightly, she used her hands to provide a rough estimation of what she had seen. “And he wasn’t even hard,” she said, feigning awe. “I really don’t need to hear about Luka’s—” “My what?” The man in question asked emerging from Amber’s room. There was a towel slung over his shoulder, his jeans riding low on his waist, his boots on too. “Your terrible personality,” Lauren said instead, hoping that her face didn’t portray what they had been talking about. “I have a stunning attitude, actually.” He went over to the backpack he’d brought with him the night before, pulling a clean shirt out of it. “But it’s not as great as my dick, so there’s that.” Pretending like he hadn’t just said that, Lauren asked, “Where’s Mish?”

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“Meeting with the Boss. We burned a few bridges to get to you in time.” He cast a sideways glance at Amber, not elaborating on what he meant. “How long are you staying?” “’Til they’re done, then I’ll pretend to get a call, and sneak out.” She shook her head. “Why would you need to do that?” “Doesn’t everyone?” He asked, blinking. And that was what he did. As soon as the door was installed and the new deadbolt finished, Luka answered his phone dramatically, winking at them as he left. Lauren was ready for Amber to start grilling her on everything that had happened, especially since she had unwittingly become a part of it, but she didn’t, even though it was pretty clear that she wanted to.

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Since she didn’t plan on talking to Susan—and definitely not Ross—about it. The best person was Amber. “Do you even want to talk about it?” Amber asked, keeping her voice low though there was no one around to hear them. “I can’t tell you much, but from what I can understand, Naomi—the girl I was telling you about—stole something from this Albanian mobster, who in turn came after Mishca. Best way to get to him, I assume, was through me.” Amber had already guessed that Mishca was something more than just a run-of-themill club owner—probably was obvious to everyone but Lauren back then—and since she had clearly talked to Mishca some hours ago, she didn’t feel it was too big of a secret to keep from Amber. “Are you sure you’re not hurt? I mean, what happened in there.”

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Lauren ran her thumb around the rim of her mug, images of Brahim’s head snapping back when the bullet punched through his head flashing in her mind, the utter contentment and overall disregard of the Albanian men that stood around her, more than willing to torture her any way they wanted to just because. But that wasn’t something she could just tell Amber. She didn’t want to put those kind of images in her head, instead she would live with them alone. “Mish got there before anything too bad could happen,” Lauren lied easily, already seeing Amber’s gaze shifting over her face. “This was during the struggle to get me out of the apartment. I promise, I’m fine.” In a bid to change the subject, Lauren looked around the apartment, already noting how clean it was, but there was also a number of paintings leaning against the counter in the kitchen.

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“New pieces?” Amber almost seemed reluctant to talk about them as she glanced back at the canvases, but like any artist valuing their work, she had to share a little bit about them. “Yea. There’s a new gallery opening in the Village and they asked me to bring in some samples. Hopefully, they like something, otherwise I’m not sure how I’m going to live.” “They would be fools not to,” said Lauren as she hopped down from the bar stool, hearing her ringing phone, instinctively knowing that it was Mishca. “Go on and get that,” Amber suggested. “I’m already late for my interview, but I wanted to talk to you before I left.” Lauren gave her a quick hug, squeezing tightly before letting go. “Good luck, and when you get it, I’m definitely saying ‘I told you so.’”

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Sure enough, Mishca was on the other end, and sounded more than relieved that Lauren answered. She could only imagine the panic he would feel if she hadn’t answered, especially after the number of missed calls she had seen from him when she was taken. “Where are you?” She asked crawling back into her bed, feeling sore all over. She heard the sound of cars passing rapidly, and could guess that he was in the car. “Just came from a meeting, on my way back to you. Doc should be meeting me there.” It hadn’t been that long ago that Lauren had learned that her father had been replaced by another doctor who was indebted to the Bratva. The information had surprised her at the time, not because she thought her father had been particularly special to them, but because she had never

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thought much of what they did for medical care after he was gone. The new doctor was kind enough on the lone occasion that Lauren had met him. At the time, Lauren had rather heatedly offered to pay the man’s debt to the Bratva so he could be free to be with his family, and not suffer the same fate as hers. She still didn’t know if Mishca would take her up on that or not. Lauren rolled over on the bed, rubbing her eyes as she listened to Mishca arguing with someone in the background. God, had it only been a day since she was in that safe house? Two? “How far are you?” Maybe she could go back to sleep for a bit before he arrived. “Ten minutes out.” So much for that idea. “Are you hungry?” She really wasn’t though she had no idea when she had last eaten. “No.”

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He didn’t seem to like the sound of that, grating words in Russian that sounded suspiciously like curses. “Lauren…” Rolling her eyes, and not in any mood to fight with him, she relented. “Whatever you pick up is fine. You know what I like.” “I’ll see you shortly.” After the call clicked off, she grabbed one of the pillows from the top of her bed, smashing it until she was satisfied, sighing as the coolness kissed her cheek. One minute it felt like she had just closed her eyes, the next she was opening them as Mishca came into her room, a bag in one hand, a to-go cup in the other. She gave him a sleepy smile, turning over to face him. He set it all on top of her desk, coming to lean over her, pressing a sweet kiss to her forehead. His eyes were closed, the tension in his body drained away. That one simple act meant just as much to him as it did to her.

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“Ya lyublyu tebya, Mish—I love you, Mish.” “Myoe serdtse tvoya—My heart is yours.” She blinked up at him in confusion, only understanding part of what he had said. It had grown easier to understand when he spoke in Russian, in part because of him using the same phrases. “Translation?” He only smiled. “How are you feeling?” “I think you asked me that already, Mish. I’m fine, honest. Are you in trouble?” Mishca looked away, but not before she saw the anger in his eyes. “That bad? What did you do to piss him off…or was it me?” “Either way, it doesn’t matter. He doesn’t matter.” She didn’t know if she was ready to believe that. Mishca didn’t have a habit of being irrational…except when it came to her.

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She didn’t want Mishca to get in any more trouble because of her. “Put it out of your mind,” Mishca insisted, heading out of her bedroom when the doorbell rang. “Wait!” She didn’t mean to yell, but her voice echoed around the room, bringing him up short. He was able to see the fear in her face, the exact thing she had been trying to hide from him. It was reasonable, it wasn’t like he had expected her to bounce back from this so quickly, but she wanted to move on from it. Reaching behind him, Mishca pulled out the gun she had grown used to him carrying, holding it out to her. When she hesitated, he placed it in her hand, wrapping her fingers around it. “Shoot anyone that’s not me.” That was enough to loosen the fear constricting her, making her laugh aloud. “The neighbors would hear.”

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Walking backwards out of the room, he shrugged. “And I’d take care of it.” Lauren was smiling, but she did take a few steps back from the doorway, her hands feeling clammy with sweat as she waited. She thought about what Ross had taught her, going over what might happen, but Mishca was back in seconds, the doctor following behind him. He came up short when he noticed the gun in Lauren’s hand. “Sorry,” Lauren said quickly, practically shoving it at Mishca—luckily, the safety was on. That helped dispel some of his fear as he continued in, setting his bag on the floor. As he began his cursory exam, Lauren made sure to mention that she didn’t think that it was at all necessary because she felt fine. “All the same, it doesn’t hurt. Besides, that looks like a pretty painful bruise.”

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Lauren instinctively touched her face, feeling the soreness in her jaw. “Sometimes Mish has a heavy hand.” Doc froze in shock, Mishca scowled in the background, a promise of pain in his eyes. “I…uh.” “Lauren.” “Sorry,” she said with a smile in Mishca’ direction. “I was only joking.” Judging from the way he carefully moved on, she doubted he believed her. When he was finished—and everything was fine as Lauren had said—he was packing up to leave when Mishca finally spoke. “Your debt to the Bratva has been filled.” They both looked over at him in surprise, the doctor more than Lauren. “You will not receive another call from anyone, and I trust that our arrangement will be kept quiet.” Now that part sounded more like a veiled threat.

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He looked far too stunned to do anything more but nod, but that shock soon turned to relief, then an undeniable happiness that even made Lauren smile. “I…thank you.” He rushed forward, grabbing Mishca’s hand with both of his. “Thank you.” With a wave to Lauren, he was practically running out the door. Mishca came back from locking it behind him, stumbling back a step when Lauren threw her arms around him, hugging him tightly. He returned it, kissing the spot just below her ear. “It’s coming out of your account just so you know.”

The first few of months were tense, it felt like they were walking on eggshells as they waited on Jetmir to retaliate. Some time ago, Mishca had went back to the building—Lauren choosing to sit that one out—and found that Brahim’s body was gone. There hadn’t been any crime scene tape, nor was there any talk of a body being found.

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Since then, Mishca had made it a point to have Luka shadow Lauren wherever she went. Unlike Vlad, however, Luka didn’t stick to the background, keeping pace with her instead. It hadn’t been so bad at first, at least not until Luka began to annoy her. “When he said you had to watch me, I don’t think he meant for you to actually follow me inside,” Lauren said dryly as Luka got more comfortable in the desk, stretching his long legs out in front of him, oblivious to the double-takes by some of her classmates. When Mishca had told her that Luka would be her new guard until he could find somebody he trusted more, she didn’t argue with him, knowing there would be no point after what they’d just faced. She was actually grateful for it, but she had almost forgotten how badly Luka teetered on the edge of sanity, at least until he showed up today.

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It wasn’t his attire, that was relatively normal. Jeans and a T-shirt, scuffed boots on his feet. No, it was the fact that he made a point to glare at any person that came within three feet of them. Two seats on all sides of them were empty, no one daring to sit any closer. By the time class was over, Lauren was sure the professor would tell her to drop the class or leave Luka at home next time. “Just doing my job,” he said with a big grin, leaning back in his chair, stacking his hands behind his head as he whistled softly, a song she was growing used to, though it appeared that the noise was only irritating her professor. He was a tiny guy, with a round stomach and thick glasses, and despite his irritation at the constant interruption that was Luka, he didn’t say a word. If Lauren were him, she probably wouldn’t either. It didn’t just stop in class though. Luka literally stayed with her all day, purposefully

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crowding her space, grabbing for doors before she could—the latter she didn’t mind as much. By the time they got back to Mishca’s apartment, Lauren was ready to take him out herself. Mishca was on the phone when they entered the apartment, but one look at her face had him telling the person on the other line he would call them back. “What is it?” “As much as I appreciate what Luka is doing—“ That made Luka raise his chin proudly, waving like they had any doubt she was referring to him, “—maybe we can find somebody else.” Mishca looked amused even as he shook his head. “There is no one else. There are only two people I trust with your life, Vlad and Luka. I need Vlad for work.” Lauren took a step closer to him, not wanting Luka to overhear what she was

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about to say. “You do realize that he’s insane, don’t you?” He bit his lip, scratching at his facial hair as he tried to stifle a smile. “That’s his way of saying he likes you.” She narrowed her eyes on him, stabbing him in the chest with her finger. “This isn’t funny, Mish. Do you know how threatening he looks? Hell, they probably thought he was going to kill them.” “Is that not the point?” “No. It would make more sense if he didn’t look threatening because if he does, people will wonder why I need a personal bodyguard all the time, thus attracting more attention.” “That may be true, but he’s all I have at the moment.” “Mish.” “Lauren.” It wasn’t the first time he’d started trying to intimidate her into agreeing to his terms,

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but she refused to be bullied. She might have been the only person that didn’t fear his wrath. “No.” “This isn’t up for discussion,” Mishca said slowly, his earlier amusement vanishing. “You’re not going out alone.” “You’re right about that. It’s not up for discussion.” He pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and index finger, grappling for patience. “Why are you making this difficult for me?” “You’re saying that as though I’m telling you I don’t want anyone at all. I didn’t say that.” Luka cleared his throat, raising his hand. “I have a—” “Shut up, Luka!” They both shouted back at him. The enforcer wasn’t offended, instead he smiled in good humor and went to grab one

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of the apples Lauren had left out, stretching out on the couch to watch the ensuing fight. “Just listen to what I have to say,” Lauren said. Nodding, Mishca waved her on. “If you’re going to leave me with Luka, you have to make him stop doing the death glare at anyone that comes near me.” “Death glare?” Lauren looked back at Luka. “Show him.” Anyone else might have looked confused by the request, but not Luka. Instead, he made the exact face he did when they were in her class, proving her point that he had been doing it on purpose. “Anything else?” “What about my demands?” Luka piped in. Mishca looked like he was dangerously close to doing them both harm, but he obligingly turned to face Luka, waving him on in the same fashion as he had Lauren.

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“Oh shit…I didn’t actually think you were going to listen.” Mishca barked something at him in Russian, making Luka laugh as he went back to eating his apple. Sometimes Lauren wondered if it were all an act, or if something was really wrong with him. “Is he even getting paid for this?” “No.” “Seriously?” She looked to Luka for confirmation. “Why not?” “It was an order.” “But what about his other duties, like the Gilded Room?” Glaring at Luka, Mishca simply said, “He’s been reassigned.” “Having too much fun,” Luka chimed in. “It might also be because of the shirt.” Mishca, as he always did, threatened Luka when he began unzipping his jacket, turning to show Lauren the shirt he was wearing despite Mishca’s protests.

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Printed in bright red letters were the words, MISHCA’S MINION. It nearly took up the entirety of the front of the shirt, and when Luka turned around in an excited spin to show off the back of it. A smiley face, with stars for the eyes and a tongue sticking out, had to be the best part. Laughing, Lauren said, “I want one.” “I’ll burn it,” Mishca threatened. “Fine, I won’t buy the shirt if you do something to help me.” When he narrowed his eyes on her, she knew she had won. “I’ll work on it. For now, Luka is all I have.”

Before long, those first few months turned into six months, and those six months turned into nearly a year. Without even a hint of Jetmir in all of that time, Lauren had gradually stopped fearing that she would see him on the street. Mishca

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hadn’t. He was still as vigilant as ever. And while Luka had started on other assignments for Mishca, no longer just watching Lauren, there was always someone nearby. During this time, she gained a full understanding of Mishca’s true network. He had people everywhere. Instead of taking the summer off—as she had done since starting college—Lauren stayed in school, taking fifteen hours, and another eighteen for the fall and spring. Because of this, she was graduating early. She had barely been able to spend time with Mishca with the amount of course work she had for her last semester, but it was all worth it, knowing that in just a few short weeks, she would be graduating, one step closer to medical school. To say that she was stressed was an understatement. Most of her nights were spent in the Manhattan Public Library, studying away to prepare for graduating in May. More

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often than not, there were empty cups of coffee resting in front of her, but by the time finals came around, it was no longer just coffee, but numerous shots of espresso as well. On one particular night, she had consumed so many, she was practically bouncing in her seat, her thumb twitching ever so often. She was so wired it felt like she was running on pure adrenaline. It was only four in the afternoon. Since she had planned on staying the night at Mishca’s apartment, he came to pick her up an hour later, his eyebrows rising the closer he got to her. Gently distracting the cup from her vice-like grip, he tossed it in a nearby trash can. She watched him curiously, her leg still bouncing beneath the table, as he shouldered her bag, the sight of him like that making her smile since he was wearing one of his suits. “I’m not done yet,” she said shaking her head. “I still have two chapters to go over.”

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“I can help you when we get back.” He wasn’t really giving her much of a choice, and she wasn’t in the mood to fight him over it—though it felt like she could. She picked up what few belongings she had left on the table, following Mishca out to his idling car. Vlad waved from the driver’s seat, his usually stoic expression melting away when Lauren climbed in the car exuberantly. Mishca was more subdued, but it was clear that he was amused by her. “How many of those have you had?” Mishca asked as they pulled off. Lauren shrugged, waving her hand like it was no big deal. “I’ve only had like two cups.” She tried not to seem too proud of that answer, but it was written all over her face, and he had a feeling that she wasn’t telling him everything.

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“How many shots of espresso were in each?” “Maybe three or four, but I needed them,” she quickly went on as he dropped his head back at her answer. “I didn’t sleep much last night—your fault by the way. I only asked you how the position was possible, not to give me a demonstration.” Vlad’s startled cough made Mishca smile, shaking his head. “Lauren, now would be a good time to stop talking.” “But—” He gently placed his hand over her mouth, drawing her closer. “Maybe it’ll be a good idea if you get some sleep now, no?” She shook her head, pulling his hand away. “But I’m not tired. Give me like another three hours and I’ll be ready.” When they were back at his place, Lauren set up her books on the couch, Mishca heading into the kitchen to get a glass of water for her. By the time he got back, though only a

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few minutes had passed, Lauren was fast asleep.

“I need a favor,” Mishca said pressing a set of keys into Lauren’s hand when she got home the next day. “Alex is in Brighton Beach. I need you to pick her up.” “Why is she there?” Lauren asked, peeking down at the logo on the keys she held. The set for the Range Rover were hanging just beside his head, and without a second thought, Lauren reached past him, grabbing them, replacing the Mercedes keys instead. Mishca didn’t comment on this—not that he cared which car she drove—just smiled. “I prefer not to ask questions. Take Luka.” “But it’s only Brighton Beach.” That did make him look at her, making sure she saw the seriousness of his

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expression. “Precisely. It’s because it’s Brighton Beach that I want you to take him.” “You’re the boss.” He scowled at her as she left but she merely blew him a kiss, Luka trailing behind her. “Want me to drive?” Luka asked, already reaching for the keys in Lauren’s hand, but she snatched it back, pressing the button to unlock the doors. “Of course not.” He eyed her nervously, reluctantly climbing into the passenger seat, reaching to pull his seatbelt on. “Should I be nervous?” Starting the car and putting the truck into drive, she smiled though she didn’t look at him. “Not at all.”

When she was finally parked near the pier, Luka snatched the keys from the ignition before she even had her seatbelt off.

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“Oh come on, Luka. It wasn’t that bad.” It was only made worse because Luka was a terrible passenger, and made it a point to voice his opinion on her driving the entire way there. She might not have helped matters when she had tried to imitate his driving. He grumbled something below his breath as he climbed out, already heading towards the brick building where Alex was supposed to be waiting for them. Judging from his expression, she wasn’t the only one wondering what Alex was doing out here. She and Alex had hung out a few times over the last couple of months, and normally the were relegated to Manhattan or the Village. Alex had expensive tastes, but Lauren didn’t fault her for that. She doubted Mishca would have sent Alex to do a job for him, and she really doubted he would have let her come here alone which made her even more curious.

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Before they even reached the entrance, Alex came hurrying out, a tote bag thrown over one shoulder, reflective sunglasses in place, dressed in a shimmery dress that clung to her body. If Lauren had to guess, she was still wearing the clothes from a night out. Unlike her older brother—who always seemed to carry himself stiffly in public—Alex walked with a dancer’s grace, thanks to a long life of ballet. Her hair was different too. While still blonde, there were several different shades through out it. In Lauren’s opinion, it seemed like she was trying to step out of Anya’s shadow. “Why’d you bring the brawn?” Alex asked, barely sparing Luka a glance as she sauntered by him, tossing her bag into the trunk. “Mish’s orders.” “You should remind him who wears the pants in your relationship.”

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“What were you doing in there?” Luka asked as he opened the door for Alex first, then Lauren. “Nothing you wouldn’t do, Tiger.” He rolled his eyes at that, like he was used to her calling him by that. Sometimes it seemed like they got on each other’s nerves, but other times, like this, they enjoyed bantering. Luka forced them both to sit in the back, climbing into the driver’s seat. There was no other experience like being in the car when Luka was driving. When they were on their way back home, they passed by Mishca’s club, the first time Lauren had seen it since the day she was there with the Albanian hitter. And thoughts of that unwillingly brought back ones of Naomi and what she had shown her. She had been so proud of those stars, blatantly showing them off, knowing the effect they would have on Lauren.

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Before her, Lauren would have never known that women in the lives of the men in the Bratva could even possess those stars, and she still didn’t have a clear understanding as to what they meant when they weren’t on Bratva Captains. It felt too awkward for her to ask Luka about it, and there was no guarantee that he would give her a straight answer. Her only other option—because she didn’t want to ask Mishca—was Alex. “Alex, can I ask you a question?”—She nodded.—“Did you know Naomi back when she was with Mish?” “Of course,” Alex said filing one of her fingernails. “Hated her. Why do you ask?” “She showed me something. The stars.” They had been on Lauren’s mind for a while. She had never thought to bring it up to Mishca again since the day she found out about them, and knowing him, he would downplay exactly what they meant.

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Alex looked at her out the corner of her eye, pausing in her filing. “What about them?” “What do they mean exactly?” Alex sighed, dropping her feet down to the ground. “They’re like an order of protection, normally extended to those closest to the Bratva—lets others know that they can’t be touched and if there’s a problem, you go to the person that put the stars there.” Alex shrugged like that wasn’t a big deal. “I can’t say why Mishca gave them to her, not when he knew Naomi’s history.” “What was her history?” Lauren didn’t mean to sound as desperate as she did, but she wanted to know what happened between the two of them. “Just so you know, I have a birthday coming up. I want you to remember how helpful I’ve been when I ask you for that dress I’ve been eyeing.”

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Laughing at being caught, Lauren nodded. “Sure thing.” “Naomi is a jewel thief, pretty good from what I’ve heard. Of course no one wanted to tell me anything, being as young as I was, but they also forgot I had ears. Idiots.” She rolled her eyes. “Anyway, they had their little thing—” “Little thing?” Lauren asked cutting her off. Her face scrunched up. “Do I really have to go into detail?” Ah, so that’s what she meant. “No, go on.” “Anyway, they had their thing, and if Mishca wasn’t completely blotto, he would have seen what a raging bitch she was, but alas, when they think with their dicks,”—this seemed to be targeted at Luka— “there ain’t shit we can do to change their minds. What’s all this about anyway? You want them, the stars?”

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Lauren shrugged, not really committing to an answer. “I just wanted to know more about them.” “If you want the stars, demand them,” Alex said with a smile. “He’ll give you whatever you want.”

Back at home, Mishca was climbing out of the shower, a towel around his waist, another in his hands as he ran it through his hair. While she did have reasons to wait for him to finish, that didn’t mean she could appreciate the view in the meantime. Mishca had never been shy, not since they first started dating, and she was almost used to it. Almost. He met her eyes briefly, reading her face before stepping into the closet to get dressed. “Drive okay?” “Yea, it was fine. Why was Alex out there?”

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“No idea. She doesn’t tell me anything anymore.” He stepped out, zipping his jeans. “Why, where was she?” Smiling helplessly, she shrugged. “I couldn’t tell you. A really big building?” He nodded, and she didn’t doubt that if he really wanted to know, he would find out, but currently that wasn’t what she wanted to talk to him about. If talking was the right word. Mishca was notoriously stubborn and while she might have thought having the stars was a good idea, he might not agree, and that would just lead to him gradually talking her out of the idea. The best course of action was for her to just demand he give them to her, just as Alex had said. “What is it?” He asked, breaking her train of thought. “Huh?”

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“You’ve got that look on your face when you want something that I won’t agree with. What is it?” It was now or never. She placed her hand over one of the stars, making sure to look him dead in the eyes as she said, “I want them.” To be honest, she didn’t really need them, she knew that. It wasn’t like there was any doubt in anyone’s mind what she meant to him, but she also thought about the way Naomi was handled when the Albanians came to town. The Albanians didn’t immediately go after her, instead, they came to Mishca. She wasn’t kidnapped, wasn’t hit, wasn’t threatened. With them, Lauren hoped to not only avoid what had happened to her, but to show Mishca that there would be no more running. With him was where she wanted to stay.

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“They can’t be removed,” Mishca said, “unless I strip them from you. Which, you should be warned, I will never do.” “I understand.” “You don’t have to do this,” Mishca said watching her face, waiting for any reaction that she was unsure of this, but she looked resolute, and no matter what he said, she wouldn’t be changing her mind. Grabbing a pair of chairs, he set them up near the table, going for his kit next. Not everyone in the Bratva knew how to do the stars, and even fewer were even allowed to ink them on others. It was a tradition they stuck to religiously, not letting any outsider do their work for them. When she was seated in front of him, her arm resting on the table between them, he snapped on a pair of gloves, cleaning the skin where he would be placing his mark. Mishca had only been twenty-one when he put the stars on Naomi, and had only been part of

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the Bratva for a few months though he’d done work for his father for years. At the time, he hadn’t known the significance of the stars, and what it meant for another person that wasn’t sanctioned to wear them. He had only done what Naomi had asked of him. He’d been young and could care less that she wanted them. It was only later that Mishca learned why she wanted them and how it would affect the Bratva because of his bad judgment. What he was doing now was different. He wasn’t being tricked into putting the stars on Lauren, these were more like a gift. It also helped that he was specifically mimicking the ones on his chest. Naomi’s were slightly altered—he’d been drunk out of his mind and was still surprised they turned out so well—but these would be perfect. He still had a few stencils of the stars from Clorick, the man who had done his stars.

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Now, he carefully placed the design on either side of her chest just below her collarbone, smoothing them out to make sure they were in place. She’d wanted them on her wrists first, but he’d talked her out of that, knowing that she was going into the medical field. He drew back once he finished, studying their placement and the lines. “You look pleased,” she said smirking at him. Was he? He had to admit that it filled him with a sense of pride that she would proudly wear his stars, and knowing that she wanted nothing in return for them only made it better. “This is going to hurt,” he warned her, grabbing the bottom of her chair to drag her closer. “I’ll be fine.” He smiled. Of course she would. Firing up his machine, he dipped it into the ink, turning back to her so he could do a single

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line first, waiting to see if she could handle the pain before he continued. At her nod, he started in, taking his time as he did the line work. He paid close attention to her as he went about finishing the first star, using her body as a reference to how she was feeling. Lauren hardly made a sound. In no time at all, the first star was done, the skin around it an angry red. Setting the machine down, he gently cleaned it, rubbing ointment over it as he looked up at her face. “How was that?” “The first ten minutes wasn’t so bad, but I was plotting your death for the last twentyfive.” He laughed, shaking his head. “Not so bad though, no?” She scoffed, wincing as she rotated her shoulder. “The hell if it isn’t—and you got these on your knees too? You’re insane.” Though he would never admit it to her, when he’d gotten the stars on his knees, it

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hurt like hell, but with the bone there, it made it ten times worse. “One more.” She took a deep breath, nodding for him to continue. This one was over just as quickly and as he sat back to look at his work, he couldn’t contain the smile that bloomed on his face. It was like a visual reminder that she was his and anyone that thought to harm her would now face the wrath of the entire Bratva, not just Mishca himself. Clicking off the machine, he set it down, gingerly cleaning off the excess ink before smearing ointment over it. He tried to hide it—though she saw right through that mask—but he was proud of having those stars on her. For several moments he just stared at them, like it was the first time he had ever seen them. Finally, he looked up at her, smile still in place as he snapped off the gloves. “Ready to see them?”

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She nodded, accepting his hand as he helped her up and led her into the bathroom. He moved behind her, his hands at her hips as she gave her time to take a look at her reflection. Lauren didn’t look immediately, preparing herself for what she would see. It didn’t disappoint. While her skin was angry and swollen, Mishca’s stars sat prettily below her collarbone, made even better since Mishca was standing behind her. He had done a great job, placing her stars in nearly the same place as where his were inked. “I like them,” Lauren said. “Guess I’m stuck with you.” He leaned down, tenderly kissing the spot below her ear. “You never had a choice.”

The stands were overflowing with people, but that didn’t matter to Lauren as she spent the majority of the ceremony searching the crowds for her family. Since she was towards the end of the alphabet, she had plenty of time to look. She had almost given up hope when her row was called. As they made their way into the aisle, Lauren caught sight of a sign being

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raised into the air. Everyone was staring at the obnoxious screaming person as he waved it around, but Lauren could only laugh at his antics. This, in its entirety, was one of the main reasons she loved Luka. He was so odd. With him happily making a spectacle of himself, Lauren found everyone else surrounding him. He was even able to get a reluctant grin out of Ross who was shaking his head at his behavior. Mishca was sitting in front of them all and when his eyes found hers, the biggest grin lit up his face. She waved up at him, just hearing the subtle sound of someone clearing their throat behind her. Back on track, she followed the line of people in front of her to the stage, her entire body jittery with nerves as she waited for her name to be called. Years of work, just for these few minutes and the crisp, bundled paper in her hands…it was all worth it. And

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even though it was just one step towards her dream, it meant everything to her. She instinctively reached for the necklace that hung around her neck, but with it hidden beneath her gown, she could only feel the slight indentation it made as she felt for it. As much as this was for her, it was also for him. When her name was called, Lauren took a calming breath, lifting the bottom of her gown so she wouldn’t trip on her way up—there would be nothing more embarrassing than falling flat on her face in front of hundreds of people. She tried to discreetly wipe the sweat from her hand before she shook the dean’s hand, then accepted her diploma from the woman standing next to him. Overall, she doubted she had been on the stage longer than a couple of minutes. Lauren returned to her seat, clapping along with everyone else as the last of the

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names were called. Towards the end, all the graduating students pulled off their caps, flinging them up into the air as everyone cheered. Lauren watched hers flutter up, turning end over end before it dropped down to the ground amongst a sea of others. They had done it.

As Lauren made her way through the abundance of students and proud family members, she pulled out her phone, ready to call Mishca to find out where they were, but on the outskirts of the crowds, she saw Susan and Ross were waiting for her, their eyes alight and infectious smiles on their faces as she rushed forward to hug them. They had arrived the day before, staying at the Waldorf hotel for a couple of nights. Mishca had offered to put them up, but Ross adamantly refused. Knowing Mishca though,

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he probably did it still, just because Lauren wanted him to. She hugged Susan first, kissing both of her cheeks before doing the same to Ross, but he didn’t stop there, swinging her up and around. “We got these for you,” he said proudly, handing her a small bag with a teddy bear hanging out, a tiny graduation cap on its head, as well as balloons. “Thank you. I’m so glad you guys could make it.” “We wouldn’t have missed it for the world,” Susan interjected. “Don’t worry, he’s on his way back.” Lauren flushed guiltily, not meaning to have been so obvious as she looked around for Mishca and the others. “Did he tell you about the party tonight?” She asked, trying to get any information she could. She had known that Mishca was planning something special for her graduation, but

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she had no idea what it was, and he wasn’t wiling to share any of the details either. “We’re on strict orders not to reveal anything,” Susan said, reaching out to brush Lauren’s hair off her shoulders. She didn’t think there was any parent in the world that looked even half as proud as Susan and Ross did as they unraveled Lauren’s diploma, smiling at each other. Lauren was just glad that she could put those smiles there. “Oy, oy!” Mishca, Luka, Alex, and Amber were all walking towards them, Mishca rolling his eyes at Luka’s outburst. “Who is that?” Ross asked, clearly referring to Luka. “Luka. He’s my bodyguard.” She thought that sounded better than saying he was an enforcer for Mishca. While she doubted Ross would completely thaw towards Mishca, he had at least become cordial.

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“He has plenty of tattoos, doesn’t he?” Susan asked. “And he’s a bit…odd.” Lauren could only laugh. “That’s only the half of it.” It didn’t matter that she had just seen Mishca a few hours prior, she still reacted like it was the first time all over again. Mishca came over and despite Ross’ glare of death, Lauren fell into his side, wrapping an arm around his waist. If anything, Ross hatred for him had worsened since the last time they’d been in contact, thanks in part to Lauren’s phone call home after Brahim. Susan might have been willing to let Mishca handle it, but Ross was still a cop through and through. After quick hug and a congratulations, Amber swept past to talk to Susan, and was the only one that was able to get a genuine smile out of Ross. Alex was off to the side with Luka, both arguing with each other softly, like they didn’t notice they had an audience of one.

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At Lauren’s approach, Luka turned away, presenting her with a bright green apple that looked like it had just been plucked from a tree. “For you.” “Thanks Luka.” One day she would get to the bottom of his obsession with fruit. “My mom was just asking about you.” He stood a little taller, straightening an imaginary tie. “I’ll try not to embarrass you.” Patting her head, he walked past. “Why were the two of you arguing?” Lauren asked when he was well out of earshot. “Because he’s an idiot.” “I don’t think I’ve heard that one before, but I’ll let you deal with him. Have you met my mom and Ross?” Lauren was ready to pull her over and introduce them, but Alex froze where she was, looking a bit sheepish.

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“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” She asked softly, glancing down at the toes of her heels. “What do you mean?” Alex shifted on her feet, looking apprehensive, like she wanted to be anywhere but there. “I’m the reason that—” “No, you’re not,” Lauren spoke up before she could finish. “I never blamed you, not once, and I know they won’t either. There’s no need to feel awkward at all.” “Mom, Ross, this is Alex, Mishca’s sister—Alex, these are my parents.” Susan didn’t miss a beat, engulfing Alex into a hug that she wasn’t expecting. Lauren could almost see the tension draining out of Mishca as he stood to the side, silently. “Luka will drive you over,” Mishca said as Susan continued to fuss over Alex. “Don’t take too long,” Ross said with narrowed eyes. “I know where you live, boy."

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Riverpark in Kip’s Bay was one of the many restaurants Lauren had wanted to go to since moving to New York. Since he had asked, Lauren had made a list of It took only a single phone call to book the patio of the restaurant for the night. The management staff took every liberty to make the space even more magical than it already was, adding to the view of the East River it provided. The party was going quite well all things considered, at least until Lauren shrugged out of her blazer, her dress shifting with the movement to reveal a hint of one of the stars inked in her skin. To say that Ross didn’t take that well was an understatement. She was sure that the glass he held would shatter with the grip he had on it. Cringing

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slightly, Lauren straightened it, hiding her stars, but it was too late. Surprisingly, Ross didn’t mention them, though his expression promised that with the slightest provocation, he would snap. Dinner was a rather quiet affair, all things considered, and if not for the rather candid guards sitting around, it would have felt like a normal dinner with family. As they ate, beneath the table, he kept his hand on her bare thigh, jut as he had done so many times in the past. It was hard to concentrate on anything else when his thumb swept across her skin. It wasn’t like he was doing it on purpose, not when he was busy holding a conversation with the others, but it was the only thing she could focus on. “I’ll be right back,” Mishca said before long, pressing a quick kiss to her temple. She didn’t question him, but did watch as he entered the restaurant, making a beeline to the bar.

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While Lauren was preoccupied, Mishca took a moment to just watch her. The way she smiled when she spoke softly with Amber, how her eyes would light up with humor when Luka told a joke, and how even when he promised to return shortly, her gaze still sought him through the crowd. Such simple things in retrospect, but more the reason why what he was about to do was more than worth it. He’d specifically told Vlad and his men working security for the night to stay out there with her, knowing that when he approached Ross, he would probably get punched in the face for what he was going to ask. Mishca liked to think that if he were in Ross' shoes, he would be more understanding if his daughter wanted to be with a known criminal, but then again, if Mishca

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ever had a daughter, he would be the most overprotective father in the world. Mishca signaled for the bartender again, needing another shot of Vodka as he waited for Ross to exit the restrooms. This was the only opportunity all night that he had gotten the detective alone, and while Mishca could have asked his question over the phone where the likelihood of him getting hit was low, but he wasn’t a coward, and he knew he would eventually have to face Ross whether he liked it or not. Like Mishca’s thoughts had conjured him, Ross came walking out, his eyes intent on the party. Mishca tipped back his drink, swallowing it down without really feeling the burn, clearing his throat to get Ross’ attention. This was the first time in a really long time—besides with Lauren—that Mishca felt nervous.

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Ross didn't look too happy, but he did wait as Mishca approached him, his frown deepening when he noticed Mishca touch his breast pocket. It wasn’t the first time Mishca had done it throughout the night, but Ross was one of the few that noticed. "You've been doing that all night. What the hell are you hiding?" Ross asked suspiciously. Only he would notice Mishca doing that and actually call him out on it. "I have a question for you." "Yea? Get on with it." "I know you don't like me much--" "At all." Mishca almost smiled. "But Lauren and I are serious and I..." Mishca hesitated, clearing his throat again. Ross looked at him expectantly while Mishca tried to covertly remember if he was right-handed or not. Deciding that it didn't matter, since either hand was going to hurt like a bitch, Mishca finally

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said the words. "I wanted to ask you for Lauren's hand in marriage." There was a split second of shock on Ross' face as he stared Mishca down like he thought it was a joke. When Mishca didn't laugh, he cocked that left fist back and slugged him so hard, the people observing them gave cries of surprise, drawing the attention of their party outside. Straightening, Mishca raised his hand, a silent stand-down to his men that were already making their way towards them. He couldn't stop Susan though. "What the hell is going on with you two?" She asked in a heated whisper, glaring at them both. "You should be glad Lauren didn't see that." Mishca touched his face, wincing as the pain radiated through his face. Dammit, that was going to bruise. Ross seemed too angry for words. "I asked for Lauren's hand."

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"I don’t—Oh." She drew out the word, understanding what Mishca was saying. She tried to keep a straight face, but the edges of her mouth were twitching like she was trying to fight a smile. “Thomas, we have talked about this. We agreed not to interfere.” "Well I'm not going to give my blessing on something I don't agree with, and I definitely will never agree to having a Volkov in the family." Mishca understood, but that didn't stop his temper from flaring. "I'm not my father." "The hell if you're not. Look what you've gotten her into since she's been here. Damn Albanians--and hell, she isn't even safe with your lot." Susan shushed him, noticing that they were still the center of attention despite their lowered voices. "I didn't take that into consideration then," Mishca said trying to remain calm. If he lost his cool, he would never get them,

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Ross in particular, to agree. "I would protect her with my life, of that you should have no doubt." Even if Ross didn't know what that meant, Susan did. Mishca knew he could never win him over, but Susan, Susan was another story entirely. She had never outright told him, but he believed she had a soft spot for him. "I've met your father," Susan said, "and I met your mother. No matter how brief, I can see a little more of her in you than Mikhail Volkov. More importantly, I know you love Lauren and I know she loves you. If you're what makes her happy, we won't stand in your way.” But she wasn’t done yet, noting his triumphant smile. “But from now on, I want someone with her when you're not around." "It's already been done," he promised her.

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She nodded, looking relieved. Ross only looked a little more pissed off. "I hate you," he said bitterly. Mishca looked the man dead in his eyes and said, "That may be true, but your love for her overshadows your hatred for me." "I want to talk to Lauren first," Ross said, gazing out past the windows. "I'll tell you my decision after." Mishca had no choice but to stand there with Susan and watch Ross walk off with his fate in his hands.

Lauren stood with a glass of pink champagne in hand, leaning against the railing as she stared out into the night, noticing just how beautiful the Manhattan Bridge was when the lights hit it the right way, but everything about this night felt magical. She couldn’t describe it.

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For once in her life, everything was seeming to fall right into place. Everyone she loved was here and she couldn’t regret the events that had brought her to this point. “There’s my girl.” Lauren smiled, turning at the sound of Ross’ voice. He looked so proud, the lines fanning out beside his eyes crinkling as his smile grew. He stopped just beside her, gazing out at the water like she had done moments before. “How’s it feel?” She laughed. “Indescribable. It doesn’t really feel real yet.” “And he’s who you want?” Ross asked quietly, like he was afraid of her answer. She knew he would never approve of Mishca, not just because of what happened to him, but because of who Mishca was and what he represented. Ross had spent his career putting men like Mishca behind bars.

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Lauren understood that, even though she loved Mishca with all her heart. “Yes,” she said finally, looking up at him. “He is.” Ross downed the rest of his drink. “Then I can’t stand in your way.” “Ross—” “No, no, let me finish. What I said before, I meant it. I could tell you about all the danger you’ll face—hell, you know about the danger—but it wouldn’t do me any good. We want you to be happy.” Placing her flute on the railing, she wrapped her arms around Ross, hugging him tightly. “Thank you.” When she pulled back, she thought she saw tears in his eyes. “Can I give you a little advice?” She nodded. “Plausible deniability. I’m sure that boy over there already knows not to tell you anything about his dealings, but I’m telling you.

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Don’t ask any questions. The less you know, the better. It would break your mother’s heart if you were sent to prison.” “And God knows what would happen to me in there.” She laughed when he glared at her. “No, but I hear you Ross.” He kissed her forehead. “Good.” He sighed long and hard, looking a bit defeated though Lauren didn’t know why. “Let me go find your mother.” He disappeared back into the restaurant, but Lauren could see him just off to the side talking to Mishca. Whatever was said made Mishca nod, then he too disappeared from view. Now, Lauren was really curious. She finally found Mishca in the crowd, making his way back to her, but instead of the carefree expression he’d been wearing all night, he looked nervous. He was holding a carefully wrapped gift box, a sparkling silver bow on top. She

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should have known, despite what she had told him, he would do what he wanted. “I thought we said no gifts,” Lauren said as she tried to watch him put the bracelet on her wrist though she could hardly see it with his hands in the way. Several months ago, he had taken it back from her, telling her that he wanted to put another charm on it, but she’d eventually forgotten he still had it. “Before you look at it,” Mishca said meeting her eyes, closing his hand around her wrist gently, “I need to tell you something first.” Unsure what he was about to say, she just nodded. “We never talked about that night, when you came by the club and I wasn’t there. When I went back, I saw Naomi’s phone on the ground and I knew what you were probably thinking, but I wasn’t with her that night, or any other night. The phone was left

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that day you saw Naomi and Luka there. She dropped it on her way out.” His thumb slipped beneath the links of the bracelet, rubbing over the sensitive underside of her wrist, where her pulse raced. “I didn’t think too much into it, but seeing it again…I just don’t want you to have the wrong idea.” Lauren smiled. “Mish, it doesn’t matter now. It’s in the past.” “Not yet, I—just give me a minute to explain.” He looked so anxious that she was worried what was bothering him so much. “The night he came in there, I was at the manor, looking through some old boxes in the attic—it’s where my father kept my mother’s old things. I was supposed to get back in less than an hour, but it took longer than I was expecting.” Mishca didn’t ramble. If anything, he was too careful with the way he spoke. But now that he was, she couldn’t help responding to

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his own anxiety. “Mish, what are you talking about?” “I’m getting there,” he said on an uneasy laugh. “You have to hear the whole thing—believe it or not, I’ve been practicing this. Do you have any idea how much shit is up there?” He asked suddenly. “It was like a fucking museum up there and—” “Mish…” “Right. Anyway. I needed to find what I was looking for that night. For the life of me, I cannot tell you why it needed to be that night, but I refused to leave until I found it. Finally, after two hours of opening boxes, I found it.” That manic expression in his eyes cleared, now filling with shame. “I was in the car heading back when I tried calling you. I’m so sorry I let that happen.” “It wasn’t your fault,” she whispered meaning every word. That was why she had never bothered to ask because her presence there would not

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have made a difference to the Albanian man that was sent after Naomi. She just happened to be there at the wrong time. “I should have been more careful. I didn’t think about your well-being enough before. Not that I hadn’t been warned, I just thought if I kept you away from it all, no one would try to get to me through you. For that, I’m sorry.” Now, she really had no idea what he was getting at. It almost felt like he was readying to break up with her. “Mish, what are you trying to tell me?” “I love you,” he said blowing out a breath as though he was gathering his nerve, “and I promise to never let anything like that happen to you again, not so long as you’re with me.” His hand slipped free of her wrist, both hands capturing her own as he gave them a slight squeeze. “Do you believe that?” “Yes, of course.” “And you trust me?”

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“Mish, yes, but—” “And you love me?” It was that that made her notice him moving slightly back from her, his eyes trained directly on her face. In that split moment, she knew. She knew exactly what he would ask her next. “Yes, I love you,” she said back, watching as he dropped down to one knee. Her heart beat ten times faster at the sight of him kneeling in front of her. Everything was so silent around them that she knew the others were watching, but she didn’t care about them, not now. A small smile tilted the corner of his lips as he lifted a shoulder and asked, “Ty vyydesh’ za menya—Will you marry me?” It was the way he did it, so innocently that made her laugh earnestly, not even caring that she had started crying. He let go of her right hand, the same one he had put the bracelet on, and on one of the links was a

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beautiful diamond ring, a single solitaire in the center of it. Lauren met his eyes, saw the vulnerability he tried to keep hidden. There was never a doubt in her mind that she would say ,”Yes, yes I’ll marry you.” The biggest and brightest smile lit up his face and he swept her off her feet, spinning her around as everyone cheered. She couldn’t tell who was cheering the loudest between Amber and Alex, their squeals of excitement matching the others. Finally, Mishca set her on her feet, smiling like he was the happiest man in the universe and as she went up on her tiptoes to kiss him, and she couldn’t tell who was happier between the two of them.

The night was ending in a way Lauren hadn’t seen coming, like the dynamic between them had changed. She felt it as

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soon as everyone finished their cheering, and Mishca pulled away long enough for her to catch her breath. It was in his eyes, that stark need that made her blush. From that point on, Mishca kept hold of her hand, never letting her stray far from his side. Everyone else thought it was just because of his surprise engagement, but she knew him better than that. By the time they were finally leaving the restaurant, climbing into Mishca’s Range Rover—which he tended to drive more now since she favored it—Lauren was more than ready to get home. Traffic was impressive, as it normally was during the late evening, and instead of keeping both hands on the wheel, Mishca reached over, resting the palm of his hand on her bare thigh. He probably didn’t mean anything by it, he had done it many times in the past, but with the mood she was in, the heat of his touch warmed her all over. Sometimes she

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forgot just how perceptive he was of her, so when she shifted in the passenger seat, he spread his fingers a little wider, taking up more space, his thumb stroking back and forth over her inner thigh. Mishca didn’t even have to look over to know the effect he was having on her. Lauren narrowed her eyes on him, knowing that he was playing with her, but two could play that game. After all, he had taught her how best to please him. But that wasn’t her goal currently. No, she wanted to make him suffer. She rested her hand on top of his, could almost se him peering at her out of the corner of her eye, then slowly, she pulled his hand beneath the hem of her dress, opening her legs just wide enough so he could feel the damp lace that covered her sex. Lauren wanted to laugh in triumph, the way his fingers tightened around the steering

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wheel until his knuckles blanched, or even how he cursed softly. But he didn’t speed up like she thought he would, he took his time. With nimble fingers, he easily moved her panties to the side, seeking her out with his fingers. They didn’t have much space to make it work, but Mishca was determine. With a gentle nudge, he silently commanded her to spread her legs wider, and she had no choice but to comply. It was hard for him, trying to pay attention to driving as well as her, and Lauren found his growing frustration amusing, but she wasn’t laughing for long. They stopped at a red light, the car jerking to a stop as Mishca immediately reached for her, drawing her over onto his lap despite their limited space. He was painfully hard, she could feel the length of him through his pants.

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His hands tangled in her hair, his mouth demanding. She gave as much as she got, grinding down against him. Lauren reached for his belt, almost at the same moment he shoved up the skirt of her dress, ready to rip her underwear off, but the light had turned green, and the insistent honking of the car behind them—even though there was ample opportunity to drive around— made Lauren climbed back across the seat, laughing softly when Mishca put the car in drive, nearly speeding towards his place. “Isn’t Alex coming back here?” Lauren asked on the ride up to his apartment, toeing her heels off. “Said she wanted to spend time with a friend.” Smiling, Lauren faced him. “Or maybe you told her to give you the night?” He shrugged. “Not in so many words.”

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Knowing they would be alone, there was a significant charge in the air, one that made Lauren’s breath catch when Mishca looked at her. She didn’t feel like herself when he looked at her, she felt like more. She walked ahead of him out of the elevator, opening the door. Glancing over her shoulder to smile at him. Curiosity lit up his gaze as he followed her in, pausing to shut and lock the door. Lauren waited for him to round the corner, then reached behind her back, feeling for the clasp and zipper, drawing it down with ease. His eyes drifted over her as the dress pooled at her feet. With the look on his face, she was glad she took that trip to the boutique with Amber. She crooked her finger, wanting him to follow her to the table. Sitting on the edge of it, she motioned for him to sit in the chair. Once he was seated, she leaned forward, tugging at the knot of his bow-tie, watching

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him smile slowly. “I thought of you when I bought this,” she told him as she dropped the material on the floor, going for the buttons of his shirt next. “I’m not disappointed.” When he attempted to lean forward, probably to draw her closer to him, she placed her foot against his chest pushing just enough to get him to comply to what she wanted. “Not yet,” she said, but there was a challenge to her tone and he picked up on it immediately. Wrapping his fingers around her ankle, he turned her foot just slightly, pressing a kiss to her instep. “You don’t want to play this game, Lauren,” he said as he kept hold of her. “And if I do?” With ridiculous ease—not that she put up much of a fight—he stood, moving between her legs, resting his hands on the table on

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either side of her hips. She could feel him, hard and ready against her. His hand was in her hair next, the strands wrapped around his fist as he tugged, forcing her to look up at him. “Before this is over, I’m going to make you beg.” Blowing out a breath, trying to seem unaffected though her entire body clenched with need, she said, “Promises, promises.” His smile was brilliant, his eyes bright with excitement. He released her, just long enough to strip out of his clothes. When he reached for her again, he kept his hands moving, never resting in one place as he kissed a heated path along her throat to her lips, biting gently on her bottom lip. He broke free from the kiss only when she was swaying slightly, silently begging for more. But that wasn’t good enough for him. “Show me,” he ordered. Lauren’s heart was racing a mile a minute, her thoughts scattered as she

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dutifully, albeit shyly, spread her legs for him. He was different, like he had been when he’d stormed over to her apartment after her talk with Naomi. He took his time dropping his gaze, his hand inching up her thigh. She couldn’t help but watch his slow ascent, the anticipation at feeling him where she needed him most making her desperate to get closer. “These have to go,” he said softly, using both hands to rip off the panties that were no use for his strength. It might have taken seconds for her to slip out of them, but clearly those seconds were too long for him. Mishca didn’t waste any more time, touching her intimately, his fingers slipping between her folds as he rubbed up and down, coaxing moans out of her. He nudged her legs farther apart, finally pressing a single finger inside of her, then another. All the while, he watched her face,

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his other hand back in her hair. “I would give anything for you to look at me like this every night,” he said on a soft whisper, slowly sliding his fingers in and out. The look she saw in his eyes…she couldn’t look away if she tried. “What look?” She asked. “Like you need this, like only I could give it to you. You have no idea what that does to me.” He was making it hard for her to speak, the words he was saying, the way he was trying to force an orgasm out of her. “I do need you, Mish. Always.” And she meant that, but for more than just this. “You have me.” He captured her lips again, taking her breath away as he sped up, drawing her closer to the edge, faster than she could have imagined. Her legs were quivering as he finally relented, but she could still feel the urgency in

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him as he hoisted her up, spinning her around until she was facing the table. She could feel his erection straining against the fabric of his pants, and made it a point to press back against him, smiling in satisfaction at his growl of approval. With a gentle, but firm hand, he pressed her forward until her stomach was flush against the table, her butt perpendicular to his body. The heat of his palm seared her as he swept up her back, cupping the nape of her neck. The sound of his zipper sounded impossibly loud to her oversensitive ears. Those few precious seconds where she didn’t feel him at all against her made Lauren squirm, twisting her head around so she could watch him. He was shedding the rest of his clothes. After torturous seconds, she sighed at the feel of him back behind her. Mishca was poised at her entrance, one thrust away from sheathing himself inside of her, but he held

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fast, just the head breaching her. It didn’t matter how she tried to move, he wasn’t going anywhere until he was ready. He didn’t bother with a condom, considering they had talked about it—and he had gotten the paperwork in case she was worried. She was trying to breathe normally, waiting, aching for him to get on with it, but he merely shushed her soft moans, pulling her nearly off the table until they were flush against each other His tongue traced her bottom lip as he eased inside of her. He wasn’t even fully inside her, but her legs were shaking, her mind blissfully blank as she focused solely on him. Her back was to his front, his body solid behind her. In this position, she felt vulnerable, like he was all that was supporting her. The worst part, he wasn’t moving. After finally seating himself inside of her, he held steady inside of her, but despite how

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good it felt, she refused to do what he wanted from her. Beg. “We’ll be here all night,” he whispered next to her ear and she could hear the smile in his voice. She ground her teeth, trying to move herself on him, but he reached down with one hand, clasping her hip to still her movements. “You wouldn’t.” “Try me.” She ducked her head, breathing deeply through her nose as he ground his hips against her, giving her a taste of what he would be doing if she complied. She wanted to wait him out, just to see if he would actually stay like this, but her need for him was too great. “Please Mish—” It was simple, barely over a whisper, but it was enough to spur him into motion. He

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eased out of her, until just the tip of his length was still inside her, then shoved back into her, his path made easy by how wet she had grown around him. Mishca wasn’t gentle with her, it was rare that he was anymore, not since that night at her apartment some months ago after their fight about Naomi. She had been right about one thing, Mishca had been holding back from her, in most things besides this, but once Lauren had asked for it—practically demanded it—he didn’t anymore. She got what she asked for. He brought her hand up with his, squeezing one of her breasts possessively as he grated in her ear, “Say it.” Exhaling, she wanted to follow his command, knowing what he was demanding her to say, but the way he felt around her, inside of her, she couldn’t form a coherent thought, not until his thrusts slowed down, but if anything, that made her more conscious of him.

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“Say it,” he demanded again, the hand in her hair pulling just a bit tighter. “I’m yours.” It was enough. It was what he needed. He released the hold he had on her, forcing her front back against the table, his hands moving to her hips as he jerked them back to meet his thrusts. Lauren couldn’t think of a single word to describe how she felt in this moment, from the grip he had on her, from the restless words falling from his lips, even the way she was practically shaking under his onslaught. But when his hand snaked around, his fingers delving between her folds, she felt it as she crashed over the edge, him quickly following her.

Alex was at the table the next morning, eating a bowl of cereal when Lauren exited the bedroom. It wasn’t so much that she was eating there…but the place she was sitting. Of all places, she had to sit at that end of the table? Noticing Lauren, Alex raised her spoon in greeting. “Why are you looking at me like

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that?” She asked noticing the deer-in-headlights expression on her face. Lauren coughed, clearing her throat, shaking her head as she felt the flush creep up her neck. Mishca was right behind her, buttoning his shirt. “Alex, you’re—” He paused when he saw the way everyone was looking, but unlike Lauren, he couldn’t keep the grin off his face. “What the hell is wrong with you two? I know you’re engaged—hurrah hurrah—but you’re like freaking me out.” “You, uh, might want to move,” Lauren stammered out, blindly reaching out behind her to punch Mishca when she heard his soft laughter. “Why would I…” She looked down at the table first, then at the two of them. “Seriously? We eat here! God, Mish keep it in your pants. If I can restrict my guests to my room, you can do the same.” “It is my house.”

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“And when has that ever mattered to me?” But Mishca had just realized what she said to him. “Who the hell have you brought here?” Grabbing her bowl off the table, and snatching the box of cereal, Alex smiled sweetly, heading towards her room. “Wouldn’t you like to know.” “Dammit Alex.” Ignoring him, Alex asked, “Are we still on?” “As soon as the resident babysitter arrives,” Lauren replied, reaching for Mishca’s hand when he moved to follow Alex. “She’s only messing with you, Mish.” “Knowing her, she probably meant it. What do the two of you have planned for the day?” “Apparently my mom suggested we go browsing around the city for wedding stuff.” She reached for his tie, pulling the knot into

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place and straightening it, smoothing it down. “Alex is going to pick her up.” He reached behind him, pulling out his wallet, handing over a black American Express card. “For whatever you want.” “I guess there’s no use in me turning this down?” She asked as she took it. Judging from his expression, she’d guessed right. “Oh, Mish,” Alex called as she stuck her head out to peer at them. “What’s my timeline?” “Two weeks.” “What?” Lauren and Alex both parroted. But they had heard him correctly as he repeated, “Two weeks.” “That’s not enough time,” Alex said aghast, just as Lauren said, “That’s so soon.” “Plus, it doesn’t give me enough time to get everything in order.” “Fine.” Mishca amended his earlier words. “Four weeks.” “Two months.”

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“Four weeks.” “Fine!” “Do I get a say?” Lauren asked dryly. Mishca and Alex both said, “No.” Lauren threw her hands up, knowing she would never be able to voice her opinion with the two of them. As Alex retreated back to her room, presumably to get dressed, Lauren turned to Mishca wit another concern. “Shouldn’t we talk about a budget or something?” Lauren asked as she settled against his side, turning the card he’d given her over in her hands, staring down at his rather legible signature across the back of it. “No.” “No? What do you mean, no?” He shrugged. “Whatever you want.” “Mish—” He gave her a hard stare. “Thank you.”

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Kissing the top of her head, he inclined his head to Amber and Alex, then he was gone. “I’m ready!” Alex declared, her blonde hair pulled up into a ponytail, a pen behind her ear, a three ring binder under her arm. “What are you doing today anyway?” Mishca asked after he kissed Lauren’s forehead. “Every girl’s dream,” Lauren said though she didn’t really sound all that enthused, “Shopping for a wedding dress.”

On every wedding show Lauren had ever watched, the brides-to-be always went through multiple dresses before they found the one, and normally that was followed by tears of joy. Lauren didn’t know if she would experience anything like that, or if she would get that grand epiphany that most had, but

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she was excited, if not a little nervous about the whole experience. They entered the boutique on Fifth Avenue Alex insisted they go to. One floor was designated for wedding dresses alone, another for bridesmaid gowns, and another for alterations. Since it would cost a fortune to have her dress altered if she needed it—although Mishca was footing the bill—Susan had already volunteered her services. The windows in front provided plenty of natural lighting, making the space appear brighter and bigger thanks to the white walls and offsetting black fixtures. There were a few parties waiting off to the side, their eagerness palpable. While hey were looking forward to this with giddy excitement, Lauren wasn’t sure what she was feeling. They had only been waiting for a few minutes at most when a woman came walking towards them.

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“Good morning, I’m Mariah Lawrence. I’ll be working with you. Who do we have here today?” The consultant was a plump, middle-aged woman with a warm smile and a kind personality. Lauren introduced her to everybody—their small party consisting of Lauren, Alex, Amber, and Susan. “Can you tell me what you’re looking for today?” Everyone was looking at her expectantly, leaving Lauren at a loss for words. She really had no idea what kind of fit she was looking for. Noticing this, Mariah suggested, “How about I bring out a few different styles, then we can get a more precise idea about what you like and dislike.” “Sounds good.” Lauren followed her back to a private room, stripping out her clothes and putting on one of the white robes as she waited for

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Mariah to get back. Up until she put on the first dress, it didn’t feel real to her, not until she saw her reflection. This was it. She was really getting married to the love of her life. “What do you think of this one?” Mariah asked as she stepped back. It was absolutely stunning, with a beaded corset bodice and puffy skirt, but Lauren didn’t think it was for her. “We can show them, see what they think.” Before Lauren even made back to where they were waiting, they caught sight of her, their faces lighting up. “I like it!” Alex spoke up first. Laughing, Lauren said, “I thought you would.” “What do you think of it?” Susan asked. “It’s pretty.” “But…” “Maybe something a little more form-fitting.” Lauren smoothed the front of the

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dress, though there was nothing she could do to tame the bottom half. “Like, I like the top, but I kind of want the same thing at the bottom. Maybe a train?” “Okay, we can do that. Let’s get you changed.” Seven dresses later, they were no closer to finding Lauren’s dress than when they’d started. She felt that familiar unease creeping in, worrying that she might not find the dress. It might have been easier if she had more time, but since the wedding was only a few weeks away—and Susan would still need time to make alterations—she felt like she needed to find a dress today. Lauren was alone in the dressing room, waiting for Mariah to get back when there was a knock at the door. “Your family wanted you to try this one,” Mariah said coming into the room, a garment bag over her shoulder.

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As she helped her put it on, Lauren knew this one was different from all the others. This time, when she walked out, Lauren couldn’t contain her smile, and seeing her excitement, the others brightened up as they exclaimed. “I love this one,” Lauren said happily, going to stand in front of the mirrors. No matter if she were wearing one of the ugliest dresses on the planet, no one could tell her that with the way she smiled. This was the dress. The under layer was made of satin, and another layer of lace on top. It had a sweetheart neckline that dipped low in the front, but the lace overlay still covered her chest, sweeping around to the back where there was a long line of pearl buttons from the nape of her neck, down to the small of her back. “This one is amazing,” Alex agreed, snapping a photo with her phone.

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“It seems we’ve agreed on this one,” Mariah said with a smile, clasping her hands in front of her. Before Lauren could agree, Susan came over, wanting to look over the dress, wanting to make sure she could make the necessary changes in the time she had left. “You have to stand still, Lauren. You know how this goes.” She did know, after years of seeing Susan do this to countless brides, but that didn’t make it any easier. Standing there as her mom poked and prodded her was exhausting, but Susan was determined to make sure the dress was perfect, even if it meant Lauren had to endure the torture of standing there. Once she was done, Lauren knew that this was it when she saw the tears forming in her mother’s eyes.

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“Cameron would have loved to see you in this dress,” Susan said dabbing at her eyes with a tissue. If Lauren wasn’t crying before, she was crying now, but they were happy tears because in her heart, she knew he would have been happy too.

Once they were back—and Mishca was surprisingly not busy working on the opening for his new club—they were all gathered around in the living room, looking at invitation mock-ups that Alex had put together. “Why do we need wedding invitations?” Lauren asked as she flipped through the sample book, then up to Alex. “We already know who’s coming.” “But we don’t. We have no idea who has kids, or if they’re coming from Russia, not to

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mention people that need to RSVP their dates.” “What about this one?” Lauren asked as she picked up one of the cards, holding it out for Mishca to take a look at, waiting to see his reaction to it before she voiced her opinion. He stared at it for a while, blinked, then stared at it some more. Finally, he said,“It’s pink.” That was it. That was all he said. “To go with the cherry blossoms,” Lauren explained, pointing them out in the book where hundreds of different flowers were present. He tried to hide it, but his distaste was clear. “But it’s pink everywhere.” Trying to hide her smile, she took the card back from him, placing it on the desk. “If you don’t like it, just say that.”

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“Okay.” He clapped his hands together, sitting back against the couch and closing his eyes. “I don’t like it.” With the way he was acting, it almost felt like he had been doing all the work when this was the first thing he had been involved in when it came to the wedding planning. “You never like anything I make!” Alex exploded, coming around from her position on the floor where she had also been waiting for his answer. Mishca shook his head. “You’re being a little dramatic, no?” “What color would you prefer? Gray? Black?” He shrugged. “Perhaps something darker.” If Mishca wasn’t careful, Alex just might strangle him for not taking this seriously. “But that’s so boring. This is supposed to be the happiest day of your life, and you’re

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trying to make it dark and depressing. Like you do.” “Ask Lauren if she likes it,” he said, immediately looking over at her, knowing that the only reason she had shown it to him was because she hadn’t wanted to hurt his sister’s feelings. Alex blinked over at her, smiling sweetly, and for just that look, Lauren wanted to tell her that she did like the design, but she had never been a really good liar, and it was her wedding. “Maybe a touch less pink?” She asked by way of compromise, not wanting to dismiss the color entirely. “Fine, I’ll use this for my own. What do you want then? Something black like Mishca’s heart?” While he appeared wounded, his hand covering his heart, he didn’t bother commenting.

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“Cherry blossoms would be cool if you could incorporate that into it. Maybe some reds, have the stock paper slightly off-white.” “If that’s what you wanted, why didn’t you just say so?” Alex left in a huff, though Lauren doubted she was really upset now that she had something to work with. This was going to be a long and tiring process.

Despite their time restraint with the wedding fast approaching, Lauren took a day off, in part because she needed a break from all of Alex’s enthusiasm, and because Mishca had asked her to spend it with him. He was still naked in bed, the sheet pooled at his waist, an arm thrown over his eyes to block out the shining morning light.

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“Alex left to pick my mom up from the hotel,” Lauren said as she swept her hair up, pinning it in place. “They’re looking into catering and all that.” She’d been up for a few hours, getting ready for when they were to leave, but it didn’t seem like Mishca was in any rush to get moving. He grumbled something unintelligible, not sounding too happy that he was being woken up. “We should get going,” she urged him, touching his side. “Remember all those errands you said you needed to run?” He reached out blindly for her, pulling her down on top of him. “Ten minutes.” “Babe, ten minutes is never ten minutes with you.” His lips turned up at the corners, but he made no move to get up. She trailed her hand down his chest, lifting up enough that

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she could wrap her hand around him, his erection growing almost immediately. “We could stay here,” Lauren whispered, and she could tell Mishca was amendable to that idea, “but Ross said he wanted to stop by and maybe spend some time with us.” She couldn’t help but throw her head back and laugh as he grabbed her hand and stopped her movements, his erection wilting. “Fine, I’m up.”

“I thought you would like it here,” Mishca commented as he held the door open to the café where they’d met. When they’d first gotten into the car, Mishca had been rather quiet about where they were going, but Lauren didn’t mind, especially not when they had pulled onto this street. “And you’re wearing white. This should be fun.”

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Once they had ordered and were seated at the table where they’d had their first conversation, and Mishca began texting away on his blackberry, it was almost laughable how one innocent morning had brought them to this point. “Do you think we would be here if I hadn’t made the first move?” Lauren asked innocently, looking over at the giant sign that still had the signature names of the drinks in different colored chalk. “If by first move you mean throwing a cup of coffee on me, perhaps not. I don’t think it would have had the same affect if I’d done that to you.” True enough. He reached for her cup without a second thought and she bit her lip, knowing that he wasn’t going to like it. He preferred his unsweetened with only a touch of creamer. Taking a swallow, his entire face scrunched up as he lurched to the side,

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nearly spitting it back out as he cleared his throat loudly, earning confused stares from the people seated around them. “What the hell did you put in this?” She laughed, retrieving her cup. “Don’t knock my drink, Mish.” “I wouldn’t dream of it,” he said earnestly…but his lips twitched. “If it were actually a drink and not liquid sugar.” “So, what’s on the agenda for the day?” “Clubs. Bank. Surprise.” “In that order?” He nodded, glancing down at his watch. “Yes. We should get going, don’t want to be late.” The first stop was 221 where they picked up the week’s deposits. The renovations had finally been completed and the club was now back to its former glory, maybe even better than it was before. Next, they went to Mishca’s newest investment, one that he had kept a secret for

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reasons she didn’t understand until they arrived. It was a prime piece of real estate, located in one of the hottest spots in New York City. Outside, workers were busy using a crane, hoisting up a giant letter to fit onto the front of the building that would ultimately be the name of the place. Just one letter, one that was enough to tell Lauren everything she needed to know about the secret he had been keeping from her. L. It could have stood for anything, but Lauren was not dense enough to think it wasn’t meant for her. “Trying to send a message there, Mish?” Lauren asked as they ventured inside and she saw, for the first time, what he had been working on for months now. There wasn’t much inside—they were still a couple of months from opening after

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all—but from what she could see, there were similar elements to his other club. “I thought you would be flattered.” “I am, really.” A little taken aback by the gesture, a better description, but she didn’t tell him that. “It’s not a tattoo, of course.” She touched one of the stars on her chest, smiling when he did the same. “But it’ll do.” He gave her a tour of the place, introducing her to some of the people that would be working there…mostly girls. She was immediately brought back to a time when she’d wondered about the effect he had on girls, and how they flocked to them, but there was something reassuring about the way he only had eyes for her. By the time they left—far later than Mishca had planned—the bank was nearing closing time, but they made an exception for Mishca. Lauren was used to him getting five-star treatment wherever they went, and had

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stopped getting surprised by it, but she wasn’t as surprised by the treatment at the workers’ behavior as opposed to surprised at what she found in Mishca’s safety deposit box. The manager had already taken his leave, giving them the privacy Mishca had asked for. He didn’t seem to notice her watching him as he pulled out stacks of bills from the large blue bag, placing them in the vault where more money was stacked. Noticing her standing to the side observing him, he gave a half-smile, turning back to what he was doing. “No need to look so surprised, Lauren. This will be yours soon enough.” “How much do you keep in there?” Closing the vault back, he pocketed the key, reaching for her hand as he led them out. “A little less than twenty.”

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“Twenty…”She trailed off, thinking over the number before her eyes widened, “Million?” He smiled, unabashed. “Like me better now?” “Maybe.” “Ah, is that why you agreed to this then?” He asked outlining one of the stars. “Please. I would have agreed to this a lot sooner if you’d bought me Sam Smith concert tickets. I’m easy, Mish.” “Of course.” They were interrupted by Mishca’s phone chiming, his tone shifting to business mode as he answered. Lauren tuned him out, her thoughts going back to the wedding. It just felt so odd to her, planning for everything without actually having a venue first. It seemed like that should have been at the top of the list, because if they couldn’t find a place to have the ceremony, everything else couldn’t go on, but she couldn’t think of

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a good enough location that she thought was appropriate. Neither of them were particularly religious, and she didn’t think it right to have their wedding at a church, not with their multitude of sins. Any place else would probably have needed to be booked months in advance, which only made her life more difficult. They were just crossing the street when Lauren noticed it. The architecture of the building was what had caught her attention—Amber instilling in her an appreciation for good aesthetics—and as she dragged her gaze up the entirety of it, she saw just a hint of people moving around on the roof, beautiful foliage peeking out over the edge. A rooftop wedding. The thought had never crossed her mind before. She was thinking ballroom or something grand like that, but on a modest

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sized rooftop, it could be more intimate, just what she wanted. Clasping Mishca’s hand—she’d been dragging him along anyway since he was hardly paying attention—they crossed the street, going through the revolving doors of the hotel. Leaving him to his conversation, Lauren went over to the front desk, smiling at the attendant standing there. He was a man in his late fifties, with snowy white hair, who looked like he might’ve worked at the hotel since it opened. “Welcome to The Grand Berlin, how may I assist you?” “Do you all hold weddings here?” If not for just the rooftop, they could definitely have them in the lobby alone. It was designed with royalty in mind, at least that was what Lauren assumed. Soft shades of peach and butter yellow, as well as bolder colors like burgundy and midnight blue

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adorned the surfaces of most of the furniture in the room. Gold gilded pillars stood tall, elegant fixtures hung along the walls. “Yes m’am. We are proud to host many events in either of our ballrooms, as well as—upon special request—access to our rooftop gardens.” “What would be the best time to tour those gardens?” He went over to the desktop set up on the other side of the desk, patiently typing. It took a minute, and by the time he was finished, Mishca was done with his call, and joined her. “We have an opening next week? Is that agreeable?” Lauren gave her name and got the time they would be available to do the tour. She and Mishca did return a week later, with Alex in tow, still carrying her checklist of what she would need from them for her to agree to this place.

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The resident manager, Abigail, led them up to the roof, reciting the history of the hotel as they went. She was mostly speaking all of this to Alex, since she had figured that she would need to win over Alex to make the sell. Abigail smiled, one hand on the door as she turned to them with a smile. “Are you ready?” Not waiting for their answers, she swung the door open, sunlight momentarily blinding Lauren as she took a step forward to see more clearly, and what she did see, she absolutely loved. While it had certainly been cleared out from the last time they had been there and Lauren had only caught a glimpse of people up here, she could see what it could be, how different it would look with the chairs set up, the runner going down the middle of the aisle, the podium at the end.

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Even better, there were cherry blossom trees on either end. She nodded before anyone else could voice their opinion. “I’m sold.” “Excellent. Our next opening isn’t until six months from now, but—” That was when Mishca spoke up. “We need it next week.” “I’m sorry, but we just don’t have the time to prepare, and—” He sighed, like he was used to this kind of response. “Whatever number your putting together in your head, done. Just write it up, yes?” “I’ll get started on the paperwork.” She walked past him, leaving them to look around more as they waited for her to return. “Money makes the world go round,” Lauren said with a shake of her head.

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Not even twenty minutes later, Abigail returned with a contract for them to sign, and a request for a nonrefundable deposit. One step closer.

“I think your sister is more excited about this than all of us combined,” Lauren commented after they had dropped Alex off at home, Mishca telling her they needed to make one more stop. “Probably because she assumes she’ll be getting this apartment.” Lauren frowned, not understanding. “Why would she think she’s getting your apartment?” But he didn’t answer. They drove to an older style building, with its name written in cursive script on a plaque in gold letters. She glanced over at Mishca, wondering why they were there, but she followed him inside anyway, towards the

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bank of elevators off the side of the reception desk. Mishca stuck a key into the slot next to a button marked with the letter ‘P.’ And when it lit up, they ascended slowly, classical music playing through the speakers softly. “Should I ask or—” “It’s a surprise.” The doors didn’t open to a hallway, rather into the foyer of the apartment itself. He gestured for her to enter first, following in behind her. She looked around in wonder, sunlight shining through the windows making the already large space seem bigger. “This is insane,” Lauren muttered as they entered the penthouse. It was like walking into a dream. The apartment, itself, had an open floor plan, much like Mishca’s apartment but almost double the size. The dark wood flooring contrasted with the blindingly white walls. Double French

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doors led into the master bedroom—one of three that were on the first floor—but Lauren wasn’t captivated by the expansive space, or the balcony that overlooked the Manhattan bridge, she had fallen in love with the clawfoot tub in the bathroom. It had its own area, on the opposite side of the sandstone shower that could fit at least six people. “Do you like it?” “Yea, I love it, but what are we doing here?” He tucked his hands into his pockets, giving her that charmingly crooked smile. “I thought since you agreed to move in with me—and become my wife—we should get a place of our own.” Elation ran through her, but she managed to keep a straight face as she asked, “You already bought it, didn’t you?” “Technically, I own the building.” “Mish!” “I dabble in real estate.”

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“Of course you do, because having two clubs is not enough.” He shrugged, looking out one of the windows. “I can’t complain when I can give you the world.” “Next thing you know, I’m going to be barefoot and pregnant in the kitchen.” “Love, you can’t cook.” She swatted his arm as he laughed. “I could learn.” Lauren couldn’t help but spin around in a circle, taking in her surroundings just one more time. “So this is really ours?” Lauren asked. “Yes.” She grabbed his face with both of her hands, going up on her toes to kiss him. “Ya lyublyu tebya.” “I ya tebya—And I love you. Welcome home.” “So how much is the—” “No.”

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She laughed, unable to do anything else. “What do you mean no? I didn’t get to finish.” “Whatever it is, no. You don’t have to pay for anything.” “But I want to,” Lauren insisted, tucking her arm into the crook of his elbow. “I know we’ll never be on equal footing, but I can at least feel like I’m contributing.” He looked like he still wanted to argue, but after glancing down at her, seeing that she was unrelenting, he finally caved. “Fine. The groceries for the apartment.” “Fine.” They were long gone from the building when Lauren thought about what he had said to her. “Wait, but we eat out most of the time?” He only smiled.

While Mishca and Lauren were planning for their future, there was someone that was looking forward to ending Mishca’s freedom, as well as bringing down everything the Volkov Bratva had built. FBI Special Agent Tabitha Green had worked for the Organized Crime Division for the last five years, desperately trying to make a name for herself

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amongst the seasoned men that were still revered at the agency. And she knew that the case against the Volkov Bratva would be the one that made her career. She craved the fame, the recognition for her hard work, and she would do anything to make sure that it happened, no matter what lines she had to cross and what rules she had to bend. When she first joined the OCD, it was a man’s world, still was despite their being a more significant female presence on the team. It was no secret that some of them were trying to land the next big case, hoping for their own ten minutes of fame and a corner office, but until they reached that point, they were all stuck on the floor. Back when she had first arrived, the men had been more than happy to hand off their files on the Volkov Bratva. It was no secret that the Vory v Zakone was notoriously difficult to infiltrate, and despite what others

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might have said about them, there were just as many members, and were just as deadly—if not more so—than La Cosa Nostra. Relishing the challenge, Green had gladly accepted the case, and had been working it ever since. Fast forward five years, she was now on the brink of taking down an organization that had managed to elude the law for over two decades. But she wasn’t going to stop until she reached her endgame. Grabbing all of the information she had gathered from her confidential informant—which wasn’t much to begin with—she entered her superior’s office, a mask of indifference on her face. In her mind, she had no reason to worry. While she might not have been in the OCD for long, she had worked for the New York field office for a little over ten years, and was known for her unwavering ability to

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get her man. Since she brought in results, her superiors often looked the other way when she skirted the edge of the law to bring down the deadly criminals she sought, though it was doubtful they would continue to do so if they knew just how far she strayed. But that was just how she worked. She was attractive and she didn’t fool herself into believing that the only reason others thought she had her own task force was because she looked great in a skirt. She had worked her ass off to get where she was and she wasn’t going to let anyone or anything stand in her way. In a room full of men, she stood out, and was often overlooked just because of her gender. Because of this, she tried to stay up on her work, and made sure she was one step ahead of her colleagues.

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“How fairs the case against the Russians?” Taylor was a man that took his job seriously, and expected results. “We’ve made progress. I am confident within the next three months, we will have enough evidence to prosecute,” she lied effortlessly. Taylor rapped his fingers against his desk, looking skeptical. “We’ve received credible intelligence that the problem between the Russians and Albanians is escalating. Your man, what has he reported?” Agent Green cleared her throat, refusing to fidget under his stare. There was no reason for her to be intimidated. “We have it under control. I expect a call later this week.” “Keep me up to date.” Nodding, Green left his office. What her superior didn’t know was that her contact in the Volkov Bratva was not supplying as much information as he was supposed to. In the beginning, when he’d

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first infiltrated, he checked in every opportunity he was able, but now, she was lucky to get intel from him once a month. After the shooting at the club, she had already made her decision to pull him out—another reason why she made her appearance there—but he had asked for more time, wanting to get as much information as he could to take them all down, at least that was the reason he had given her. She doubted there was any more information he could get after being with them for so long, but she permitted it, thinking of the lovely corner office she would get once this case was done and the Volkov Bratva was in shambles.

Lauren knew that it wasn’t going to always be sunshine while planning a quick wedding, but she didn’t realize just how stressed out she was going to get from it all.

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Though she had appointed Susan and Alex in charge of everything, she was still getting constant phone calls for last minute details, and it seemed like it would never end. She was currently laying with a pillow over her head, her phone ringing on the dresser beside her. Ten minutes of peace, that was all she needed. Once the shrill sound tapered off, she breathed a sigh of relief. …If only for a moment. Almost immediately, it started right back up again. Lauren thought about pulling her hair out, until she thought of the one thing that would have solved her problem hours ago. She turned off the damn sound. It was such a simple concept, yet it hadn’t crossed her mind until just then. Now that she was free from it, she could take an hour to herself.

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Lauren didn’t know how long she had ignored her phone as she lost herself in her book but the sound of a slamming door drew her out of it. Reaching for her phone, she winced when she noticed the numerous missed calls, especially when the majority of them were from Mishca. She had promised to always answer when he called, or at the very least, text a response. While he might not have worried initially, after the kidnapping, she knew it worried him more. As he burst into the room, for a split second, there was relief in his eyes as he scanned her from head to toe, but that was quickly replaced with anger since she was awake and had her phone in her hand. Yea, she could understand how that might look.

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“Why weren’t you answering your phone?” He barked at her, shutting the door behind him. Maybe it was the fact that he was snapping at her, or because she was just tired, but she wasn’t in the mood for his attitude, and she let him know that. “I didn’t know I needed to after talking to you like a couple hours ago.” “Six hours ago, Lauren,” he said, his voice rising. “Alex called me in a panic because you weren’t answering!” “I haven’t left the house, Mish!” She shouted back sitting up. “I just wanted a damn hour to myself without having to worry about whether I want a tall centerpiece or a small one.” She was so irritated that she didn’t see Mishca reaching for her until he had already snagged her ankle, dragging her to the foot of the bed. “What the hell are you doing?”

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But he didn’t answer her, instead showing her with his actions. He tugged on her pants, stripping them off of her in just moments. His intention was clear, making all the fight drain out of her as his hand moved between her legs, his fingers brushing over the center of her panties. Every protest she could think of died away, her attention too focused on the way he pulled the delicate lace to the side, using his fingers to rub against her. “You’re stressed, yes?” He asked, making her feel like his gaze was burning into her the way he was staring so intently at her face. “Mish—” “Yes or no?” “Yes.” Almost as soon as the word passed her lips, he pressed a finger inside of her, slowly drawing it out, adding another finger as he pushed back in. She reached for him,

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wanting to touch him, feel him beneath her hands, but he shook his head. “Hands down.” His voice was hard, but there was a layer of need in his tone that made her shiver all over. When she complied, his face disappeared between her legs. Her thighs were quivering as she accepted what he was giving her, but it wasn’t just how amazing he was at the act itself, but the deep, throaty groans he made as he did it, like he got off on it just as much as she did. Her head fell back as soon as his tongue curled against her, his arm going over her waist to keep her in place. She tunneled her fingers through his hair, gripping the strands tight as she fought not to cum as he continued his onslaught, but there was no point in trying to hold back from him, not when he was determined to make her break apart.

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He didn’t stop, not until she was begging him to, but even then, he didn’t seem like he was ready to be done with her. Never bothering to undress any further than undoing his jeans and sliding them down his muscled thighs, Mishca pulled her down the bed, his movements urgent. Breathless pleas fell past her lips as he rubbed the head of his cock between her folds, then finally, but slowly, entering her. His lips were at her ear, uttering words in Russian that she couldn’t hope to understand, but that didn’t stop her body from responding to them. His fingers dug into her hips as he used her, just as she used him, to get off. Seconds, minutes, hours, time didn’t matter as she let everything go, reveling in the moment with him. He reared back, his gaze intent on her face as he rotated his hips, shifting to a

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deeper angle. She didn’t have to say that she was close for him to know, he always did. Lauren held onto his shoulders, her nails digging into his skin as she went up to kiss him. “I love you.” The words were barely a whisper against his lips, but he shuddered, pounding harder. Her orgasm struck her out of nowhere, her entire body seizing up. Mishca’s hold around her tightened as he found his own release, both breathing heavily as they fell back onto the bed. Her legs were trembling on either side of him, but he was too busy nuzzling her throat to notice. “Better?” If she could just lay with him for the rest of the day, just like this, she doubted anything else could upset her. “Yes.” “Next time, just talk to me.” She was tired, exhausted really, but she did had enough energy to laugh, snuggling

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closer to his side. “No, I think I quite liked how you did that.”

“The fuck is dove gray?” Luka asked, looking through a collection of fabrics for any indication. Alex had made it clear what colors the groomsmen were allowed to wear, and made sure that Mishca enforced the rules. Their suits would be the soft gray color, white button-downs, and royal blue bow ties. Since it was the weekend, currently, Mishca, Luka, and Vlad were in a boutique, getting fitted for their tuxes. Vlad had gone first, and now Luka and Mishca were up. With the wedding date fast approaching, things had become far more erratic than they’d been over the last three weeks. Now that Lauren was more open with him, he was now the go-to person for the few details, and

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if either of them got too agitated…well, they figured out a way that would help them both. Roger was measuring Mishca’s arm span when the door to the shop opened. Everyone’s eyes turned to Mikhail as he entered alone. Like always, he was impeccably dressed, looking every bit of the mafia boss he was. Through the mirror, Mishca watched his father, wondering why he was there when he had made his feelings on Mishca’s relationship with Lauren quite clear. With a look, he sent Luka and Vlad out. When they were alone—Roger had been a friend of the Bratva for years—Mikhail took a seat, studying Mishca with a contented smile. “I remember a time when you refused to dress like a man of your position. Now here you are, being fitted for yet another fourthousand dollar suit.”

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“Not this time. This one has a different meaning.” Mikhail made a sound of disapproval, shaking his head. “What is this, Mishca? I hear about this, this wedding from my lieutenants, but not my only son.” “And what would you have said? I’m making a mistake? That love has no place in our world?” He then leveled a stare on him that could only be read as irritation. “And we both know I’m not the only son.” Mikhail, wisely ignoring the jibe, laughed heartily. “Is that not true?” “Not always.” As Roger finished with his measuring, he took a step back, quietly excusing himself to let Mishca appreciate his work—and gave them much needed privacy. “I thought you would learn from my mistakes, but you are a fool. You inherited this trait from your mother.”

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“What exactly did you come here for? I doubt it was just to annoy me, you could have done that in a phone call.” Some days, Mishca didn’t realize just how much of a good little soldier he had been during the days when he blindly followed Mikhail’s orders. He still didn’t fully understand why Mikhail allowed it, or if it was just because he was looking for someone to challenge him. Either way, he wasn’t backing down now. “Anya is gone.” Mishca sighed because he would have preferred to hear anything but that. Anya was the last person he felt like thinking about. “How long?” “Who is to say.” “And what about the idiots you had guarding her?” Mishca asked, wishing he did smoke so he could light up a cigarette and find a little relief.

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“Two found dead, the others are missing, presumed dead.” Mikhail didn’t sound particularly upset by the news. Hell, he had sounded more upset when he had scuffed a pair of his shoes. “What are you going to do about it?” “Nothing. You are going to find her and this. I should have finished her when I had the opportunity, but that is what you are for.” Mikhail stood, smoothing the front of his clothes as he smiled at Mishca. “Tell me, did you bring this to me only because you wanted me to take her out because of what she might do, or solely because of the fact that she’s Alex’s mother.” As he had done so many times in the past, Mikhail simply smiled and took his exit.

Lauren thought she looked cute, but Mishca didn’t seem to appreciate her outfit. She rarely wore anything this revealing, but Amber had insisted, and with Alex as her wing-woman, she couldn’t be deterred. “You don’t like it?” Lauren asked with a smile, spinning around so he could get the full effect.

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“You look beautiful,” he said though he still looked like he wanted her to go and change. “Must you wear this?” “Oh, stop your complaining, Mish,” Alex piped up, rolling her eyes. “She’s pretty tame considering what I wanted to put her in.” Mishca was not in a good mood, but Lauren had a pretty good idea as to why. Tonight was her bachelorette party. Despite her initial reservations, and outright denial that she would participate, Amber had convinced her that it was a right of passage—one that she refused to let Lauren miss. They had tried to go in secret, hoping to make a clean break, but Alex should have known that her brother knew what she had been planning before she had. He had promptly appeared at the door before they could leave.

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“There’s no reason for you to be jealous, Mish. Lauren should be the least of your worries.” That didn’t help make him feel better. He folded his arms across his chest, flickering his eyes from Alex to Lauren. “Luka goes.” “He can’t,” Lauren protested. “I don’t know how many times I have to remind you that he’s going to do something that will send people fleeing, or he’ll just go ahead and shoot them.” Alex was quick to agree, though for totally different reasons. “Luka can’t go, what if we want strippers?” If anything, that made Mishca angrier. “Luka goes and there will be no damn strippers. Eto moi prikaz—that is an order.” Alex and Amber laughed in the background, Lauren fighting her own smile as she narrowed her eyes on Mishca. “Did you just order me?”

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“Luka can be the stripper if that makes you feel any better,” Alex chimed in, winking at the enforcer who smiled at her in return. “Wipe that damn smirk off your face,” Mishca snapped, irritably. “And yes, that was an order.” “Don’t worry, babe. We’ll have a chaperone.” “We will?” Alex and Amber both echoed. “Oh, I forgot to mention that Natasha is coming.” Amber gave no reaction to the name, but Alex and Luka both looked startled by that. Lauren hadn’t been around her long, but she thought it would be fun for her to go as well. When she saw Mishca gradually calming, Alex grew upset. “How do you trust her more than me?” A knock at the door cut Mishca off before he could respond. Since Luka was closest, he pulled it open, Natasha standing on the other side.

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“I’m glad you could make it,” Lauren said warmly going over to hug her. “It’s good to see you, Lauren. I’m glad you are happy.” She smiled kindly at Mishca, nodding in his direction, but when she looked over at Luka, there was a fire in her eyes. “You wanna tell me what I’m missing?” Amber whispered to Lauren, gesturing with a tilt of her head at the way Alex was glaring at Natasha and Luka. “Those two have or had a thing, at least that’s what I think, and Alex might have a secret thing for Luka though she hasn’t admitted to that yet.” Amber nodded, looking to Luka. “I guess I could see the attraction. Great body, but he can be a bit…” She trailed off like she didn’t know how to describe him. “Strange?” Lauren supplied helpfully. “Don’t worry, you can say it.”

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Mishca might not have completely agreed with the plans for the night, but he did finally agree—though it took another fifteen minutes of convincing on her part. “You’ll be careful tonight,” Mishca said when they were walking out, ignoring his sister’s scoff. “And if you need me, no matter the time, I want you to call me.” “Absolutely. I promise not to do anything too crazy.”

The bar Amber insisted they go to was in the Village, a place she frequented when she had free time. It had a rustic sort of charm to it, aged wood a signature in the place. They all presented their IDs to the bartender when he appeared. Lauren didn’t even question how Alex had gotten ahold of a fake ID, knowing that she probably had just as many connections as Mishca did.

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“I have the first round,” Natasha announced, smiling flirtatiously at the man behind the counter. “ “What are we drinking?” Lauren asked, knowing that it was important to ask ahead of time before she was given a drink that was eighty-proof. “Not for you to know,” Amber chimed in. “Just know that you can trust us.” “Well I would hope we wouldn’t drug her. She’s not really my type,” said Alex, giving Natasha a side-eyed glare. “Tall and blonde is more your type, no?” Amber and Lauren looked between Alex and Natasha though they were sitting on two different ends of the bar. Even the bartender seemed to notice the tension between the pair, his smile growing like he expected a fight to break out at any moment.

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Before things could escalate any further, Amber ordered for them. “We’ll start with eight shots of tequila, salt, and limes please.” He wandered off to fill their order. “That seems to be your type too, right Nat? Or do you have a wide spectrum?” The retort was below the belt, but only Lauren and Natasha knew what she was referring to. While she might not have looked like it, Natasha worked as a prostitute for the Gilded Room, or at least that was what Lauren assumed from what she had been told. It could very well be that Natasha worked as a den mother or something over the other girls there, but that was just wishful thinking on her part. “So tonight is Lauren’s night,” Amber said pointedly. While she didn’t know what the animosity between the girls was about—besides the fact that Luka was somehow involved—she didn’t want that to get in the way of the reason why they were all out.

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“That means it is our job to make sure you have a good time tonight. First, we’re getting you drunk.” Lauren shook her head, her eyes going wide as the bartender dropped off their tray of shots. “Oh loosen up,” Alex added. “You’re only going to get married once.” “Fine, fine. Let’s drink then.” “Nope.” Amber slid the tray closer to Lauren. “These are all for you.” Before Lauren lifted the first drink, she knew that it was going to be an epic night, and once the sour, burning liquid slid down her throat, she was more than excited for it. The night had officially begun. Amber held firm to what she’d said, refusing to let Lauren be without a drink. Lauren had lost count of the number of shots she had taken and the various fruity drinks. Some time in the wee hours of the morning, she had drunk a bottle of water. It helped for

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a few minutes, but she was too inebriated to feel the effects. Others had soon joined their party of four, cheering along with them. They had been right, it was like a right of passage, and the other patrons were more than happy to celebrate along with them. Raising her current glass, some of the green liquid sloshing over the edges, Lauren laughed, her cheeks flushed as she climbed to her feet, announcing for all the world to hear, “I’m getting married!”

“We still doing this, Boss?” Luka asked excitedly, his gaze bouncing between Mishca and Vlad. Sometimes, Mishca didn’t understand how Luka could enjoy causing mayhem as much as he did, but considering they had gotten a tip that one of Jetmir’s enforcers was sniffing around Mishca’s territory,

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Mishca was willing to let Luka free for the night. There were only two days left before the wedding, and Mishca had tried his best to keep his business and the wedding separate, but for him to be able to do that, he also had to make sure Lauren was not in any danger. Tonight was the only night he would be able to take care of the enforcer, and he needed to get it done in the next couple of hours, hopefully before the end of Lauren’s ‘bachelorette’ party. If it had just been Lauren and Amber, he wouldn’t worry too much about what they might do, but with Alex tagging along, she had a knack for finding trouble, and there was no telling what she would get them involved in. Probably the damn strippers she was talking about. “Let’s move.” In the car, Luka was like a puppy hunting a squirrel, practically bouncing in his seat as

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he peered through the window, looking for any sign of the man they were looking for. It felt like they’d been circling for ages until Luka tapped the glass. “That’s our guy.” Vlad circled the block once more, letting Luka out around the corner. Mishca didn’t want the guy to get nervous and run off, not before he got the chance to question him. Plus, Luka liked to chase down his prey. Mishca’s phone pinged with a new message, Luka’s confirmation that he had him. Stepping out of the car, Mishca slipped on a pair of gloves, focusing on the present, pushing Lauren to the back of his mind. They entered the alley where Luka and the guy were waiting. Luka waved, his other hand forcing the man to remain on his knees, one of his fingers plugging a hole in the guy’s shoulder. “You had one job, Luka.”

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He rolled his eyes. “Then maybe you should have been more specific.” “Please,” the Albanian on the ground spoke up, looking to Mishca. “I’ll tell you whatever you want to know. Just don’t kill me.” “Don’t worry, he won’t move until I tell him. Now, where is Jetmir Besnik?” Now, it didn’t seem like the Albanian was willing to be all that helpful. He hesitated, long enough to tick Luka off enough to dig his finger deeper. Mishca didn’t mind it, it made his job easier. “You don’t know him,” he murmured, sniffing back tears. “I can’t.” Mishca rolled his eyes at the simpering man kneeling in front of him, used to the familiar pleas of a man that feared betraying his boss. Of course Mishca was partly to blame. He was now pressing the barrel of his gun to the man’s forehead, but he doubted it

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was the man’s first time in the situation…though it might be his last. “Where is he?” Mishca didn’t plan on asking a third time. “H-He left the country!” The man exclaimed. He believed that as long as he was talking, he would be spared. “Back to Albania?” “Yes.” That wasn’t enough. Since Jetmir had fallen off the map after Mishca’s men had left him in a field, Mishca knew that he would flee back to his home country. What he really needed to know was what Jetmir was planning. Once they had found Brahim’s body—no matter that it was Klaus’ doing—Lauren was ‘in-blood’ with the Albanians. Like the Russians had their code of ethics, the Albanians had their own. To be considered ‘in-blood’ with the Albanians meant that no matter how long it took, that person was a dead man walking.

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So long as Mishca breathed, he wouldn’t let them near her again, so if that meant killing them all one by one, he would gladly do it. “I need to get into contact with him. Call him.” “I don’t—I can’t. He has gone off grid, I swear it. No one can reach him now.” Sighing, Mishca shifted the aim of his gun until it was pointed at the ground, just to the left of his ear. He pulled the trigger. The loud bang made the man shout in pain, his ruptured eardrum causing blood to trickle out of his ear. He clasped his hand there, but that did nothing to lessen the pain. “One ear left,” Mishca said, tapping the gun against the man’s good ear. “I swear! He can’t be found!” “Then you are no longer use—” The loud chiming of a phone made Mishca lower his weapon. They all looked

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around, trying to find the source of the noise, until Mishca pulled out his own Blackberry. Lauren’s name appeared on the screen, a picture of her beaming face momentarily distracting him from his bleak surroundings. “Moya globushka,” he answered with a smile, pointing the gun back at the man’s head. “Mish!” He pulled the phone away from his ear, the blaring music and her exclamation nearly rupturing his eardrum. Luka mimicked a whip with his hand, even going so far as to make the sound effect too. “Mish, I need you to pick us up!” She was still yelling despite the music quieting down. Judging from the way she sounded, Lauren was well past her limit of drinks. “Is everything okay?” “Oh, yea, yea, yea. I just it was a good idea and—no don’t take my phone—Mish,

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what was I saying? Do you have any strippers?” “Tell me where you are and I’ll come.” “But what about the strippers?” Luka looked like he was dangerously close to laughing, even Vlad was trying not to smile. Still ignoring that, he said, “Give me the address.” She rattled it off to him, promising to call him back once she was done—though she never specified what she would be done with. Mishca shook his head as he pocketed his phone, returning his attention to the Albanian. “Hey.” He tapped his gun against the man’s cheek, forcing his gaze up. “What’s Jetmir planning?” “I don—” He never got to finish that statement before Mishca fired, plugging a bullet into the man’s skull.

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“That was a bit premature, no?” Luka asked, staring down at the body with a frown. “We could have at least tortured him a bit first.” “He doesn’t know anything. Find another one, and when we finally get to one that actually knows something, maybe he’ll live.”

It took no time at all for Mishca to get back to the city, parking his car a few blocks down from the bar Lauren had said they were in. As he walked, he double-checked his appearance, making sure there wasn’t anything on his clothing to make Lauren question where he’d been, not that she would be able to discern it in her intoxicated state. Actually, he was kind of looking forward to seeing her carefree, with her guard down. She had used to be like that, always so cheerful, but some days he felt like he sucked that joy out of her by showing her his world.

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In some ways, he felt like he had tainted her and he regretted that, but not enough to let her go. When this was all over, and every threat against them was squelched, he would make it his duty to put a smile back on her face. The bar wasn’t particularly crowded when Mishca entered, but his eyes had automatically went to Lauren where she was at the bar, throwing back another shot as Alex—as well as a group of people surrounding them—cheered her on. Amber was off to the side, speaking to a man that had his body angled away from Mishca, but judging from the expression on her face, she was enjoying his company. When he was halfway across the floor, Lauren looked up in his direction, her answering smile the brightest he had ever seen it. Clearly, she was a happy drunk.

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“My love,” she said in a soft voice, hopping down from the stool to wrap her arms around him. “I’m so happy you’re here.” The crowd began to disperse at Mishca’s appearance, Alex giggling into her fist at the sight Lauren was making. Of course this was the one night she had chosen not to get drunk. “I’m sober,” she said like she could read his thoughts. “I was going to drive, but she clearly wanted to see you.” Lauren was swaying on her feet, humming below her breath as she danced to a song only she could hear. “How much has she had to drink?” Alex shrugged like it was no big deal. “Maybe five shots.” “Then we had martinis—maybe a margarita thrown in there at some point. Oh! And this cool drink called an Aviator cocktail. Have no idea what’s in it, but it was awesome.”

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With Lauren rambling on, Mishca glared at his sister. “Don’t worry, Mish. She’ll be up bright and early tomorrow,” Amber chimed in walking back over, a small slip of paper in hand. “With a hangover, no doubt. I blame the two of you for this. You shouldn’t have let her drink so much.” “Don’t try to spoil my night,” Lauren drunkenly said, poking him in the chest with her finger. “Tonight was epic.” Trying not to laugh, he swept an arm behind her legs, picking her up. “Let’s go.” They brokered no argument as they followed him out to his car, climbing into the backseat. Mishca placed Lauren on the passenger side, maneuvering the seatbelt around her so she could lay down. To drive comfortably, he had to adjust the seat back, not wanting Lauren to have to move.

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As they started out onto the street, Mishca looked through the rearview mirror at the girls in the back. “Now I see why you had your little party two days before the wedding.” “Yeaaa, cause she’s definitely not walking down the aisle like that,” Alex said with a laugh. “I think our night was a success?” They fist bumped, leaving Mishca shaking his head. It didn’t take long getting back to the hotel, and while Luka escorted Amber and Alex to their rooms, Mishca carried Lauren to his room. Since they were already spending the day apart tomorrow, he wanted her next to him until then, even if she would be hardly aware of that fact. Lauren giggled as Mishca carried her into his suite, gently laying her back on the bed. She reached for him trying to get him to stay, but he easily slipped free, helping to remove her shoes.

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“I could do that,” Lauren said, clumsily reaching for the zipper at the front of her dress. Mishca was patient with her, moving her hands to the side so he could do it. He thought about trying to dress her as well, but he was just a man after all, and rather liked what she was wearing currently. When he got her comfortable, Mishca stripped out of his own clothes, pulling her into his side. “You have a beautiful smile, Mish,” Lauren said whimsically, her words making him smile wider. “I’m glad I get to keep you.” “The feeling is mutual.” She traced over one of his stars with her pinky, and while he was charmed by her affections, he knew she was going to have one hell of a morning.

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Lauren hadn’t understood before, why they wanted to have the bachelorette party two days before the actual wedding, but when she woke up to a headache that threatened to split her skull open, and nausea churning in her stomach, she understood very well. She also learned that she hated tequila, just a little bit. “Oh God,” Lauren muttered, yanking the cover over her head to block out the rays of sunlight streaming through the windows, the drapes pulled back. Wherever Mishca was, she was going to kill him for leaving them open. She specifically remembered them being closed the night before—at least she thought they had been closed. Were they closed? What the hell happened last night? “Are you awake under there?”

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She groaned, Mishca’s voice like nails on a chalkboard to her pounding head. “Please, not so loud.” He chuckled, his footsteps echoing on the hardwood as he came closer to her. He gently extracted the cover from her hands, pulling it back to present her with a glass full of a thick looking liquid. “Drink this.” He didn’t say what it was, and she didn’t ask, dutifully taking a large gulp, her entire face scrunching up as she fought the urge to spit it back out. She managed to swallow, cringing as the taste stuck at the back of her throat. “This is possibly the worst thing I have ever tasted in my life. What the hell is this?” She turned the glass over in her hands, squinting at the offending liquid. “The cure for a hangover. Make sure you drink all of it.”

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He looked far too amused by her current situation, but at least he had lowered his voice where it wasn’t making her headache worse. “Where’s Alex and Amber?” “In their consecutive rooms, looking about as bad as you feel. No worries, Luka is taking care of them.” She gave him a dry stare, dutifully taking another sip when he signaled at it. “Then I should be worried.” “No worries, love. Vlad is there as well.” She groaned, pulling the cover over her head. “Why are you up so early?” “It’s twelve-thirty.” “So early.” “I brought you something, hopefully it will help.” Lauren peeked out, curious as to what it was. If it was anything like that drink, he could keep it.

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It wasn’t. He held a folded print-out, a certificate she read when she opened it for a spa trip. She wanted to jump up and hug him, but she feared what the motion would do to her already pounding head, though she did have to admit that whatever he had given her was helping. “You’re the best fiancé a girl could ask for.” Laughing, he stood. “I’ll see you later for the rehearsal dinner. You probably should take a shower before you go. You kind of smell like a brewery.” The door was already slammed shut behind him by the time the pillow she threw made it to that side.

The spa was everything she had hoped it would be. By the end of the day, the raging headache she’d been fighting all morning had faded to nothing. Her nails and toes

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were done in a pale pink color, her hair washed and highlighted. Later that night, as she listened to the night outside, she couldn’t wipe the grin off her face if she tried. Tomorrow was the day everything would change. But first she had to make it through tonight.

It was the night before the wedding, and following Alex’s schedule, tonight was the rehearsal dinner. Half of the people here, Lauren didn’t recognize. She knew that Mishca’s side would outnumber hers, especially since she didn’t have much family in the first place, but she didn’t realize just how many people would come out to celebrate with them. The only time she had seen this

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many of Mishca’s family was during Christmas at the manor. She vaguely recognized a few of them and spoke accordingly, but when she felt Mishca tense next to her, she tuned out of the conversation she was having to see what was wrong. His gaze was directed towards a man walking through the doors, no older than Mishca. He had longish black hair and the coldest gray eyes Lauren had ever seen. His mouth was set in a mulish line, like he never smiled, and from the way he was carrying himself, Lauren had to wonder why he had come if he wasn’t happy to be there. While others made an attempt to speak to him, he never acknowledged them, his eyes sweeping over the room until they landed on Lauren and Mishca. He started in their direction, and with each step he took, the more Lauren became aware of the escalating

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tension. Whoever he was, it was clear he and Mishca didn’t get along. Almost imperceptibly, Mishca took a step forward, angling his body in front of Lauren’s. The action made the man’s mouth twitch, but otherwise, he continued forward, not heeding the warning Mishca was giving off. It was rare that Lauren ever saw anyone that was taller than Mishca, but whoever this man was, he had Mishca by a few inches. He could not have been much older, but it was hard to discern since the majority of the men Mishca associated with wore facial hair—with the exception of Luka. He didn’t hesitate to extend his hand to Lauren, ignoring Mishca altogether. “Roman Pavlov.” The name didn’t sound familiar to her, but she might have dismissed it just as soon as she had heard it. “It’s—”

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“Chto ty delayesh’ zdes’—What are you doing here?” Roman smirked, finally turning his attention to Mishca. “To celebrate.” Before Mishca could question him any further, Lauren asked, “Who are you?” With a completely serious face, he answered, “Viktor Volkov’s bastard son.” That explained the animosity…she thought, but it wasn’t like he sounded proud that he was Viktor’s son, only that he was the ‘bastard son’. “Right. So, are you here to kill me or Mish?” Both of them looked at her like she was speaking another language. “What? It’s a pretty reasonable question all things considered, but let’s just be honest here. I’m really not in the mood for violence tonight. If you do have a vendetta, could it wait a few hours? Besides, if Mishca doesn’t kill you first, Luka’s crazy ass will get you. Understood?”

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While his smile didn’t reach his eyes, his lips did turn up. Inclining his head, he said, “Completely,” then proceeded through the room towards a table away from the crowd. “You have a twin brother no one knows about, now you have a cousin that randomly shows up. Who’s next? An aunt that’s a long distant relative of Luka’s that’s the secret wife of Vlad?” Lauren asked dryly, grabbing a glass of wine from a passing waiter’s tray. While his attention was still focused on Roman, he did respond. “You met him at the manor actually.” “Did I?” She tried to think back to that night, but there was so much surrounding that memory that she couldn’t be sure of anything. “Any more surprises tonight?” “God, I hope not.” “How did he even know to come here?” Lauren asked. He shoved a hand through his hair, as he always did when he was frustrated—she was

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surprised he still had a full head of hair. “When my delightful sister sent out invitations, she sent them out to the entire family. And if he hadn’t received an invite, I’m sure someone told him of it.” “Does Alex know about him?” It seemed like an appropriate enough question when they didn’t share the same last name. “Yes, but she hasn’t brought him up and I don’t plan to.” It wasn’t too long ago that Alex had learned the truth of her parentage, and while Roman might have been her half-brother as compared to Mishca technically being her cousin, in Lauren’s eyes, she would never think to tell her Mishca wasn’t her brother. Not only wasn’t it her place, but that would be causing her more pain than she needed. If Mishca wasn’t bringing him up, Lauren wouldn’t either. Besides Roman, there was no one else of interest that arrived at the dinner. All of

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Mishca’s family and associates were polite, though reserved, and if they disapproved of what Mishca was doing, they didn’t speak it aloud. The table the immediate family would be sitting at reminded Lauren of the one at the manor, the length of it sitting everyone comfortably. Down one side was Susan and Ross, then Amber, Tristan, and Matt, with an empty seat for Lauren next to Susan, then Mishca’s seat, and next to him was Alex and Vlad. Luka decided to drag a chair up so he was sitting at the front of the room too. As Mishca and Lauren took their seats, the dinner show started. Waiters came in one after the other, silver domed trays precariously balanced on the tips of their fingers as they glided around the room, placing the dishes on the plates, unveiling the food beneath. Lauren would have been more than happy in an average run-of-the-mill restaurant, but since she had promised to let Alex be

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in charge, she accepted it, not that it was much of a hardship with what she was seeing now. Once people were eating, conversations began to pick up again. More surprisingly, Lauren’s friends looked like they were having a good time as they talked with Mishca’s younger relatives. Though she had never voiced the fear, Lauren had always wondered how her side and Mishca’s side would get along. Even Ross was having a polite, albeit short, conversation with an older gentleman and his wife. By the time dinner was midway through, Lauren couldn’t wipe the grin from her face if she tried. It wasn’t just that she was enjoying herself, it was also because Mishca’s enjoyment was infectious. She had never seen him so happy, so alive in that single moment compared to when he was constantly burdened by his obligations.

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“Want to try my duck?” Lauren asked, spearing a piece and holding it up to Mishca’s mouth. “I would like to try something else,” he said quietly, accepting the food she offered him. Her entire body flushed with what he was suggesting, the need for him only growing. He didn’t take his eyes from her, watching her reaction, that single dimple in his cheek showing as he smiled. “You’re insatiable,” she responded, her voice sounding breathless even to her. God, she thought he had exhausted her last night, but from the look in his eyes, there was a lot more in store for her when they got home. “Ahem, that must be some amazing duck,” Alex’s voice cut in, dripping with amusement as she cleared her throat dramatically.

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“You have no idea,” Lauren replied cutting another piece. While the Christmas dinner at the manor had been a stoic affair, Lauren was surprised at how easygoing most of Mishca’s family were. They spoke to her openly in broken English, ever patient as she tried to speak to them in Russian. It wasn’t until the newcomer arrived that conversations became stilted. The silence in the room was deafening as Mikhail walked into the private room. Lauren had wondered whether or not he would be a part of the wedding—she never thought he approved, and Mishca never mentioned it—but she was more worried about Ross’ reaction to him. He was being a good sport about it, keeping his opinion about Misha to himself most of the time, but Lauren knew there was only so much he could take. Then, there was also Susan.

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She and Lauren both knew that he was the one to have given Lauren’s father the loan for medical school, and he was the reason Cameron had ever been involved with the Volkovs. It was only a matter of time that they all cross paths. Wiping his mouth with the linen napkin, Mishca tossed it onto the table, climbing to his feet, ready to intercept Mikhail before he came any further, but the Mafia Boss waved his hand. “There is no need for such formalities, Mishca.” His voice sounding impossibly louder in the room. “I can seat myself.” Lauren could feel the anger coming off of Mishca as he, grudgingly, sank back down. Alex, whose easy smile was already falling, went stiff next to Mishca. While Lauren didn’t realize it, this was the first time since her revelation about Alex’s parents, that Mikhail and Alex had been in the same room

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together. It made sense, since Alex had been living in the city with Mishca, but it also made Lauren feel bad for how sad Alex now looked. Since they hadn’t planned on Mikhail’s attendance, that threw the seating off, since family was seated directly beside Mishca and Lauren. That would mean Alex would have to sit on the other side of Mikhail, and no one looked happy at that prospect. And from the way Mikhail determinedly walked towards what he assumed was his seat, Lauren thought of something fast. “Mish, why don’t you switch seats with Alex,” Lauren suggested quietly. “Lauren—” Alex protested looking pained. “No, it’s fine. It’s the rehearsal dinner.” With a grateful look from Mishca, he stepped to the side, giving Alex his chair as a waiter brought another one for Mikhail.

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Lauren glanced over at Susan, trying to read her. She forced a smile, patting Lauren’s hand where it rested on the arm of her chair. She leaned over to whisper, “Tonight is about you and Mishca. Don’t worry about me.” If Lauren had never told her how grateful she was that she had her, as soon as the dinner was over, she would. Oblivious to Mishca’s escalating rage, Mikhail sat, gazing out impassively at the others. It was like his presence alone had made them all shut down, sucking the life out of them. For the next fifteen minutes or so, they all ate in tense silence, just the sound of scraping utensils along plates heard throughout the room. Even Lauren’s friends recognized that something was off now that Mikhail was there. Lauren had only been to a couple of weddings in her lifetime, all of them when she was too young to remember many of the

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details, but she had never actually been to a rehearsal dinner before. She’d heard about them, of course, and knew that there would be toasts made, but she had thought that it would be the best man and the maid of honor…not the groom’s father. When Mikhail stood, tapping his glass to get everyone’s attention, Lauren got a sinking feeling in her gut. It was something about his demeanor that told her his toast wouldn’t be nearly as carefree as what Amber might have come up with. “I’d like to make a toast,” Luka said jumping to his feet before Mikhail could say a word of his ‘speech’, earning a groan from nearly every single person in the room. Lauren bit back a smile at his disgruntled look. She didn’t care whether he was going to say something off the wall, just glad that he spoke up before Mikhail could. She didn’t think she was ready to hear what Mikhail had to say.

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But Mikhail was not amused, his glower focused solely on Luka. “Sit down. Eto prikaz—That is an order!” Now, it wasn’t just an awkwardness filling the room, but a healthy dose of fear as well. Maybe not Lauren’s family and friends, but everyone else knew what those words meant. Beneath the table, Alex reached for her hand, threading their fingers together. In their world, blood hardly meant anything, and Lauren knew how abrasive Mikhail could be. She could only imagine how he’d been treating—if he even saw her—Alex since he found out about Viktor and Anya’s affair. Lauren squeezed back, wanting to offer her any comfort she could. She sought Mishca’s gaze, wanting to convey a message to him without having to speak aloud—she didn’t want to chance Mikhail’s anger turning on her, but he was looking up at Mikhail with so much hatred in his eyes that she had

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to wonder how he stopped himself from lashing out at his father. “It is not common for members of our family to marry outside of the accepted families, but my son has never been one to follow rules.” That was met with a few awkward laughs, but it was unclear whether Mikhail meant that statement as a compliment or an insult. And that was the problem with the entirety of his speech as he went on. Lauren didn’t know whether to be offended or…no, she was offended. “I met young Lauren some time ago, and I can tell you that she is not the same timid girl she used to be. Even my son has learned a thing or two from her, which was surprising enough since he is the elder of the two.” Lauren gulped, placing her glass on the table, not even pretending to enjoy his speech any longer. The only reason she was still sitting at the table was because she

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didn’t want t make a scene. She chanced a glance over at Ross, and it was clear that he was barely restraining himself from snapping at Mikhail, Susan having a whiteknuckled grip on his wrist. It was fear, Lauren knew, that kept anyone from speaking up, and she wouldn’t have asked any of them to go up against the Pakhan for her. Except, Mishca wasn’t anyone, and he wasn’t about to let it happen. Mishca was on his feet in the next second, his eyes furious, his mouth open to snap something at Mikhail, but a loud crash at the end of the table made everyone turn and look in Luka’s direction. His dishes and all of his food was on the floor, like he might have knocked it over by accident, but judging from the expression on his face, it hadn’t been an accident. “Oops. Great speech though, no?” His tone was challenging and Lauren didn’t

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doubt that if they weren’t in a room full of witnesses, Mikhail might have killed him on the spot. Mikhail turned to Mishca, who was still standing, and Lauren, his glass aloft. “Welcome to the family.” He drank first, then everyone else following suit…except for their table. Setting his empty glass on the table, Mikhail wiped his mouth, dropping his linen napkin on the table. “Before you go,” Alex said, her voice soft at first, then growing stronger. “You should at least stay for the next toast. It’s proper etiquette.” To be honest, Lauren didn’t care who else planned on giving one because anything would be better than what Mikhail had just said. “Finally,” Luka started, about to climb to his feet. “I’ve been waiting—”

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“Save your toast for the actual wedding,” Alex interrupted him as everyone laughed. Instead, she took over his toast. “I think it’s safe to say that I know Mishca better than anyone in this room—” She turned a smile on Lauren. “—Except for Lauren, of course. And in eighteen years, I have never seen him as happy as he is with her. I never thought I would see the day that Mish settled down with someone, especially someone as great as Lauren—I still don’t know what she’s thinking.” Lauren laughed, already in a better mood. This was what she had wanted, something light-hearted, and overall good vibes. “You’ve brought out the best in him, and I couldn’t be more honored to have you join the family, but not just you. Your family and friends are amazing as well, and while our side can be a bit off the wall—”

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“Hey!” Luka shouted from his end, indignantly. “We’re glad to have you. Cheers to you and Mish.” This time, the toast was far more relaxed, and everyone drank to that, but Mishca wasn’t appeased. Not by a long shot. He drained his glass and grabbed his jacket from the back of his chair, walking behind Lauren to kiss the top of her head. In her ear, he whispered, “I’m sorry.” Turning away, he shrugged on his jacket, growling something at Mikhail that she couldn’t hear. They all left—Mishca, Vlad, Luka, Mikhail, and his security. If it was not for Vlad and Luka going with him, Lauren would have been afraid of what mishca would do. Lauren was afraid to know what her side was thinking after this, but when she looked over at them, Tristan was shaking his head,

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his different colored eyes glinting with mischief. “You had to go marry into a crazy ass Russian family, didn’t you?” Even Alex laughed.

Mishca kept a straight face the entire way from the dining hall to just outside the restaurant. He had gotten better at that, learning how to control his appearance when he couldn’t control his temper, but once Mikhail was on the sidewalk with him, away from the eyes of everyone inside, Mishca didn’t hold back. He had just grabbed hold of the front of Mikhail’s shirt, ready to tear into him when he was hauled back by Vlad, Mikhail’s security quickly moving in as though they wanted to grab Mishca too. Luka, not caring that they were in public—despite the street being empty—pulled out two guns from behind his

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back, pointing one at each of their heads. The stopped immediately. It was no secret that he had a twitchy trigger finger. “What the fuck was that?” Mishca demanded. “Are you trying to go to war with me, potomu chto ya gotov dlya odnogo—because I’m ready for one.” Mishca had warned him what he would do if he came near Lauren again, and this stunt he pulled definitely counted in Mishca’s eyes. “You are a fool,” Mikhail said to him, fire in his eyes. “What do you really expect to come of this? Happiness? Fulfillment? I live for the day you regret this decision. I long for it. Then you will know that there is nothing more for you in this life besides those damned stars you were given.” “Have you gone soft in the head?” Mishca asked him seriously, struggling to reign in his temper. “Because you married a whore, the rest of us have to be miserable?”

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Mikhail laughed joyfully. “They are all whores, boy. You will learn.” Mishca pushed Vlad’s hands off of him as he boldly walked forward, not caring of Mikhail’s goons since Luka had them under control. “Call her that again and it will be the last thing you ever say.” The threat hung in the air between them, and maybe once, Mikhail might have called his bluff, but even if he didn’t want to admit it aloud, a part of him knew that Mishca was more than happy to deliver on it. When he just stood there, Mishca took a step back, smoothing a hand over the front of his jacket. “Don’t show up tomorrow. I don’t want to see your face.” He brushed by him, making sure that his shoulder brushed his as he walked back into the restaurant, hearing Luka and Vlad on his heels.

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“I didn’t even get to shoot anything,” Luka complained, holstering his weapons. Vlad shook his head. “You were not supposed to have weapons here. Luka smirked at him, patting him down, jumping back when Vlad made to grab him. “Don’t act like you don’t have anything on you, you big bastard.”

“Twelve hours,” Lauren said with a smile as they stood outside her hotel room after a long, but reasonably wonderful night. When Mishca and the others had come back in, sans Mikhail, things had returned to normal. Mishca had even made a point to pull Susan to the side to talk with her privately. Neither had been willing to share their conversation with Lauren and Ross, but Susan seemed to be in a better mood after. He reached for her hand, tracing her knuckles. “Took long enough.”

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“Nobody to blame but yourself, Mish. Don’t forget, you were with Rebecca when we first met.” Mishca laughed, rubbing his eyes. “Don’t remind me. I can still remember the look on your face when she spilled her food on you.” “It wasn’t my fault,” she said, joining in his laughter. “You’re the one who decided to tell her you were interested in me. I mean, great date night conversation, Mish. I’m surprised I didn’t take a drink to the face too.” “That wasn’t how the conversation went, but that’s besides the point. I believe that everything that happened, happened for a reason.” “Yea.” She wrapped her arms around him, resting her head on his chest. “It was what brought us here, I think.” “Of course.” She arched up to kiss his cheek. “We really should get to bed. We have an early morning tomorrow.”

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He smiled brilliantly. “I’ll see you at the end?” “Nowhere else I’d rather be.”

Today was the day, and the butterflies in Lauren’s stomach had her antsy. Since the moment Susan had woken her up at six in the morning, she and Amber had been running around, trying to get everything together as Lauren moved around like she was walking on a cloud. It didn’t feel real, but she was there, in the room getting ready for what was to be the

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best day to her life, and everything around her was complete chaos. Alex, trying to stay in charge of the dozens of people in attendance, was practically running from room to room, making sure that everything was according to plan and that nobody was running behind. One of the directors at the hotel was more than willing to provide her services, but she was acting more as an assistant to Alex than anything else. Lauren was currently sitting in a chair, her hair clipped in pin curls around her head as Amber worked her magic on her face. “With the way you keep bouncing your leg, you’re making me nervous,” Amber said, holding the powder brush aloft as she waited for Lauren to mellow out. “Do you need a drink?” Her stomach turned at the prospect. “I think I drunk enough for a lifetime the other

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night. Besides, I’m totally cool.” Though she was freaking out a bit. “It’s okay if you are. I don’t think I know anyone that was one-hundred percent sure the morning of.” “No, this is what I want.” “Good, because it took a long time for me to finish this makeup, and I don’t want all this to work to go to waste.” Alex reentered the room, dropping her clipboard onto the bed, carrying a package beneath her arm. “Oh good, we’re almost done. I have a surprise for you.” “The last time you had a surprise for me, I didn’t like it that much.” Ignoring that, Alex began unwrapping the box, carefully extracting the bundle inside. She held it up with both hands, grinning proudly. “No.” “Definitely yes.”

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“I’m not putting that on.” Alex pouted, looking down at the corset in her hands. “Why not? It even has blue in it.” “Because I would like to be able to breathe while I’m standing at the altar.” Narrowing her eyes, Alex wasn’t giving up that easily. “You promised you would do what I say. If you don’t put this on, I will give you hell.” “You can’t possi—Fine.” She could only imagine what Alex would do to her, but she would rather go along with it now. After Amber finished the last of her makeup, Lauren stood, taking the corset from Alex, pulling it on over her head. “You might want to hold onto something,” Alex suggested as she started tugging on the ribbons along the back of it. She didn’t think it could be that bad as Alex started, but the tighter she gripped it,

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the more Lauren realized why she knew she would hate this idea. “Oh God, this is hell,” Lauren groaned as she gripped the bedpost, squeezing her eyes shut as Alex stood behind her, murmuring words in French as she tightened the corset. “Why do you insist I wear this?” “Stop complaining. I wore one of these for a banquet I attended and I wasn’t crying about it.” “How do you expect me to get out of this later?” “Tell your husband to untie you,” Alex said, amused. Lauren didn’t even want to ask what she was thinking. “I’m almost done. Deep breath in…” As Lauren breathed in deeply, she grimaced as Alex finally finished tying it, finishing the bow at the bottom. Susan came out of the bathroom with the gown, steam billowing out behind her. They

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helped her into the gown, painstakingly buttoning each of the little pearls along the back of the delicate lace. Lauren focused on the mirror standing in front of her. Everyone was moving around her, laughing, talking, excitement charging the air. She was trying not to hyperventilate. There was so much happening that she couldn’t focus on any single thing. She needed to talk to Mishca, just to hear his voice. “Can I use my phone?” Lauren asked, thanking Alex as she dropped it into her hands. Five little words was all she sent. I need to see you. She had no idea if he would even get the message with everything going on around them—and the fact that Alex threatened to hurt him if he used it at all today.

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“There, all done,” Susan announced proudly as she took a step back. “Now we just need to get the veil.” Before she could, a heavy knock at the door froze them all. Exasperated at the lack of help, Alex mumbled, she went to open the door, using her body as a shield to prevent whoever was on the other side from looking in. It did’t help that it was Mishca, and he was nearly a foot taller than her. “You can’t see her!” Alex yelled in a shrill voice, holding her hands above her head to keep Mishca from seeing inside. “It’s okay, Alex. I asked him—” “No!” Every woman in the room said looking back at Lauren. “Perhaps I can talk to her through the door?” Mishca suggested. That was enough for them to get their privacy, but Alex made sure to warn her

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brother that if he even dared trying to sneak of peek, she would make him pay. “Trying to make sure I didn’t run away?” Mishca asked softly when it was just the two of them, him on the other side of the door. “This is, everything is, overwhelming and I just wanted to hear your voice,” She said, wishing she could see through the door to read his expression. Even if he was upset by that, she knew he would never tell her. She was partially to blame for why he might feel that way, especially with everything they had been through together. But in just a short while, all of those doubts would be put to rest. “I’m not going anywhere, Lauren, you should know this first. But there is no need for panic, everything is fine.” She wanted to believe that, but fear of the unknown was crippling. “In just a few hours, this will be over, and tomorrow we’ll be off on our honeymoon.

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Three weeks of absolutely nothing but the two of us, yes?” She smiled. “Yes.” He reached around the door, the familiar sight of his hand easing some of her fear. She laced her fingers with his, just long enough for that residual panic to fade. “Finish getting ready and come marry me. I’m getting restless.”

“Jesus, mom. You’re going to make me start crying again.” For once, Lauren couldn’t fault Susan for it. This day and everything it stood for was a lot to take in, and while neither of them could have imagined who she would have pledged her life to, she could not regret a single thing that had brought Mishca into her life. “I’m fine,” Susan said sniffling, always the eye for detail as she swept a loose curl

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behind Lauren’s ear. “You just look so beautiful.” And just like that, Lauren’s eyes welled up again. She tried to wipe at her eyes before the tears fell, but it was no use, one still slipped past her fingers. “What are the two of you crying about?” Ross asked as he slipped into the room looking concerned. “It’s not her fault. I’m being emotional.” Chuckling knowingly, Ross kissed her briefly. “I think it’s your turn to get out there.” Composing herself as best she could, Susan gave Lauren a thumbs up, promising to see her shortly. Lauren picked up her bridal bouquet, turning the roses around in her hands. “I’m the lucky one,” Ross said as she took his arm, allowing him to lead the way. “You make me look good.

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Laughing softly, she shook her head. “I’m the lucky one. I don’t know if I’ve told you, but I’m glad you’re here walking me down the aisle.” “My job is to support you, no matter what. That doesn’t mean I’m not going to remind you every now and then the type of man you’re tying yourself to.” “I wouldn’t have it any other way.” They weren’t far from where they would be walking out into the courtyard, and as they stopped in front of the doors waiting for her cue, Lauren could just see them through the glass, everyone seated staring ahead as the bridesmaids and groomsmen went down the aisle. Luka was with Alex and despite his pension for jeans and a tee, he looked good in his black tuxedo, his hair slicked back. He was like the light version to Mishca’s dark. Amber and Tristan were already waiting at the front too.

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“There’s still time,” Ross whispered, glancing down at her out the corner of his eye. Squeezing his arm, she shook her head. “Not a chance.” “Can’t blame a man for trying. Come on then, it’s time.” As the bridal song began playing and the audience stood, two attendants pulled the doors open, the glow of the sun beaming too brightly for a second until her eyes adjusted. Lauren could feel everyone’s eyes on her as she and Ross started down the aisle, the train of her dress sweeping over the rose petals on the runner, but she didn’t care. The only thing she saw in those precious moments before she made it to the front was Mishca’s smile. He had been nervous at first, fidgeting with his bow-tie, but as soon as he saw her coming towards him, his arms dropped to his side, his eyes lighting up, and she knew without a doubt, she was the luckiest girl in the world.

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He turned his entire body towards her, extending his hand when Lauren and Ross stopped. Ross kept his glare strong even as he placed Lauren’s hand in Mishca’s. He leaned forward to whisper in Mishca’s ear and as Mishca grimaced briefly, Ross stepped back with a smug grin, moving back to his seat. As they turned to face the preacher, Lauren whispered, “What did he say to you?” “If I hurt you, he’ll remove my balls.” Glancing over at Lauren, his mouth twitching, Mishca said, “I believe him.” They quieted as the officiator began. “We are gathered here today for the union of Mishca Mikhailovich Volkov and Lauren Delilah Thompson.” Lauren tried to focus on his voice, but Mishca was distracting her, rubbing circles along the back of her hand with his thumb. He wasn’t even looking at her, bright blue

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eyes focused in front of him, but she knew all too well that he could probably still see her. Either the officiator had given the shortest speech ever, or she had been too caught up in Mishca to notice how much time had passed. “And now, for the vows.” Mishca turned to her, twining their hands together. She could tell, just from the look in his eyes, that by the time he was finished, she would be sobbing. “From the first day you spilled coffee on me, I knew that I wanted you in my life.” She laughed—as well as most of the others—eyes watering already. She didn’t think she had ever cried this much in her life. “It was your smile, the way you laughed, how despite a less than…ideal start, you were willing to take a chance on me and even after, when you had every reason to walk away, here you stand. I promised you once that I would protect you and I meant every word of that, but more than that, more than

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my…obligations, I promise to love you, to show you everyday what you mean to me.” Her bottom lip was trembling, the tears she’d ben trying to vain to hold back, freely falling. She could only imagine what she looked like, but with the adoration she saw in Mishca’s eyes, she doubted he cared about her running mascara. He brought her hand up, splaying it over his heart, near one of the stars that he had bled to get. “Ne do kontsa vremeni—Until the end of time.” He whispered, only for her to hear. How could he expect her to speak after that? She had memorized her vows, days before because she didn’t want to embarrass herself in front of so many people, but those carefully written words fled her mind now that she was facing Mishca. Opening her mouth, she expected to stumble over her words, but she chose to

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speak from her heart. “You were different from everyone I had ever known. You saw me alone, not the tragedy that happened in my past. I can’t pinpoint the exact moment I fell in love with you—” A wistful smile spread across her lips as she looked at him, her future. “—It feels like I always have. While I can’t promise to obey your orders—” “Tell me about it.” “But,” she went on, talking over him, “I know I will love you, until the end.” There was so much more she wanted to say, to express to him, but she didn’t how how to form it into words, but Mishca knew her, inside and out. He kissed her, slowly, pulling away to say, “I know.” The officiator cleared his throat, making them both look at him. Luka chuckled. “Jumping the gun there, Boss.” The rings came next.

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Amber handed Lauren Mishca’s. She turned the band over in her fingers, reaching for Mishca’s hand as she pledged her life to him, promising to love and respect and honor him in all ways, flushing when she saw a smile light up his face as she slid the band into place. Vlad didn’t look as gruff as he normally did when it was his turn to pass Lauren’s ring to Mishca. In fact, he was actually smiling. Hers was a more feminine version of Mishca’s, one that suited the older style ring she was already wearing. She heard the click of camera shutters going off as Mishca slid it onto her finger, saying words similar to her own, though he added a promise to protect her at all costs. Then, as he had done so many times in the past, he picked up her hand and kissed her knuckles.

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“I now pronounce you husband and wife,” the officiator said proudly. “You may now kiss the bride.” Mishca came to her, his thumb sweeping over her cheek before he tilted her face up, slanting his mouth over hers. At first it was rather docile, just a gentle press against her own lips, but it didn’t matter that they had an audience, Mishca deepened it. Mishca didn’t release her until catcalls started his soft laughter vibrating in his chest. They turned to face their families, hand in hand. A glowing spot on the building just across the street had Lauren narrowing her eyes on it, but it vanished in the next instant. Putting it out of her mind, Lauren smiled, squeezing Mishca’s hand as everyone cheered. They started down the dais and she was blissfully happy, doubting that anything could ruin this day. Until everything went to hell.

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She heard the shouts of surprise as people dove to the ground, the brigadiers immediately going for their guns, but the only thing Lauren could see was Mishca as his hand was snatched from her as he flew backwards, landing on his back. The blood rushing in her ears drowned out everything else as she rushed towards him, tripping over her skirts as she fell to her knees beside him. “Mish, what—no, no, no.” A dark saturation began to bloom in the center of his chest, extending up to the white of his shirt, the startling shade of red making her suck in a breath. In the next moment, she was screaming for someone, anyone to help as she placed her hands on top of the wound, applying pressure. His mouth opened and closed futilely, as though he wanted to say something, but she shook her head softly, her throat closing up as tears welled in her eyes. “You’re going to be fine, I promise. You can’t die,” she said to

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him, her voice catching when she saw a tear roll down the side of his face. People were shouting in Russian, scrambling around. She knew a few were already running out the building, splitting up to go hunt for the gunman in the adjacent buildings. Lauren didn’t move from her spot next to Mishca, not even when the EMTs arrived. Someone had to grab her from behind, drawing her away to let the paramedics do their job. They moved lightning quick, picking him up to place him on the stretcher, placing an oxygen mask over his face. His eyes were still on her as they began wheeling him out of the room. She never bothered to look back at who was holding her, just lurched free of his hold, holding the front of her skirts to hurry after them. By the time she got inside, the elevator doors were closing. Cutting to the right, she wrenched the door to the stairs open, kicking off her

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heels on the way down. She didn’t care that she was nine floors up, she was determined to get down there. By the time she got outside, the ambulance was just pulling off. Luka was hurrying over to her, stowing his gun at his back. The valet was standing there looking shellshocked. “I don’t have my ticket,” Lauren said in a rush. “We had the black Mercedes.” He just stood there gawking at her, specifically at the blood covering her hands and dress where she had grabbed the material.. Luka fisted the front of the man’s shirt, his eyes narrowed into tiny slits as he yanked him forward, getting so close to the man’s face that their noses nearly touched. “Move!” He shoved him away, not caring that he was attracting more attention. For once, Lauren was glad that Luka was around. When the valet pulled around in the car—much faster than they would have

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without Luka—he was preparing to pass the keys to Lauren when Luka snatched them out of his hand, climbing into the driver’s seat. Lauren couldn’t argue as she got in the car, Luka pulling off before the door was closed. Her hands were shaking so badly that she could barely get her seatbelt buckled. The ambulance wasn’t too far ahead, but because its sirens were on, it was able to glide through traffic with ease. As the cars began to realign, Lauren was afraid they would lose the ambulance, but she had underestimated Luka’s determination to keep up with it. He floored the gas pedal, sending them both back against their seats, the car jolting forward. Angry drivers honked, swerving out of the way to avoid getting hit. They were almost to the hospital when a different kind of siren blared behind them, flashing blue lights reflecting in the rearview

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mirror. Lauren turned around in her seat, peering first at the police car trying to catch up with them, then over at Luka. “Don’t worry about them. I’ll handle it. Just get in there.” Jerking the wheel to the right, Luka nearly drove up on the curb, startling the people walking. Lauren hopped out of the car in a flurry of motion, slamming it shut behind her as she rushed into the hospital. Looking back, she saw the police finally arriving behind Luka. They withdrew their sidearms, ordering him to get out of the car. With his customary smirk, Luka climbed out, his hands over his head as they rushed over to put handcuffs on him. When he noticed her still watching them, he jerked his head, a silent message for her to get going. Spinning on her heel, Lauren hurried through the sliding doors, right up to the front desk. The woman seated there looked like she had been on duty all night and into

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the morning, the fatigue clear on her face, but when she saw Lauren in her wedding dress, blood staining her hands and the fabric, she perked right up. “I’m looking for someone they just brought in,” Lauren said in a rush. “He was, bullet and—” She wasn’t making any sense, she could tell from the look on the woman’s face as well as the other nurses that were gathering nearby. “I’ve got this, Irene,” a female doctor said hurrying over, her light blue scrubs covered in blood. “Where is he?” Lauren demanded as the doctor pulled her to the side. “First, I need to know who you are.” Lauren knew that the woman was legally bound to ask her that, protecting patient’s privacy and all, but she was dangerously close to losing it, and asking her stupid

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questions was going to make her go over the edge. “I’m his w-wife.” There it was, the first time she was able to say the words. Sadly, it also had to be on the day that Mishca’s life was in jeopardy. “Okay Your husband is in surgery right now, Doctor Clarke is the head surgeon who will—” “How is he though, when you saw him? He’ll be okay, right?” The doctor smiled gently. “We won’t know for sure until he comes out of surgery.” “But how long will that take,” Lauren insisted. “I’m sorry, but at this time, there’s nothing more I can tell you. When Doctor Clarke is done in surgery, he’ll come and find you himself.” There was nothing more Lauren could do but watch as the doctor walked away, leaving her standing in silence as people walked by,

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trying to conceal their pity at her bloody wedding dress. She dropped down into one of the uncomfortable waiting room chairs, feeling like the weight of the world was on her shoulders now. Sometimes, when faced with a horrendous situation, it didn’t feel real and the extremity of it would be forced to the back of the conscious, but Lauren didn’t have that. For the first time all day, everything felt too real. She could still hear the screams as people ducked and shouted, the feel of Mishca being knocked backwards with the force of the bullet. The fear in his eyes because he knew he was dying… Lauren squeezed her eyes shut, trying to block it all out, but this time, there was nowhere for her to escape to. Minutes later, everyone else started to arrive. It wasn’t hard to spot her—the lone

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female wearing a wedding gown. Susan and Ross were first, both wearing different expressions of anxiety. Lauren looked away from Ross, not wanting to see the judgment in his eyes. Without a word, Susan gathered her into her arms, shushing her as soon as she started to cry.

As more people arrive, Lauren didn’t bother acknowledging any of them. She was still sitting in one of the waiting chairs, far off to the side, but no one was going to approach her, not when she was wearing a bloody dress. “Sweetie.” Amber spoke carefully, like she was afraid to frighten her. “I brought you some clothes so you could change.” Lauren heard her, even saw the small bag that had her clothes in it, but she wasn’t ready to get up. Not yet.

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“I’ll stay right outside the door,” Amber amended, noticing Lauren’s hesitation. “If they call for you, or if I see any doctor talking about Mish, I’ll come in and get you. Promise.” Thanking her, Lauren took the bag, heading off to the restrooms. It was vacant, and in the lengthy mirror that spanned a wall, Lauren saw her reflection for the first time. Blood shot eyes, mascara tracks beneath them, and Mishca’s blood was everywhere she must have touched. For a moment, she wanted to break down again, the sheer severity of the situation almost too much, but she held the tears back, and turned on the taps to one of the sinks. She had to disconnect from what she was doing as she washed the blood clean from her hands, taking wads of paper towels to clean her face. When she was finished, she went over to the door, pulling it open to see

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Amber standing exactly where she said she would be. “Could you unzip me?” She turned, waiting patiently as Amber undid each of the buttons, then pulled the zipper down. Lauren was trying not to get frustrated as she reached for the ties of the corset, but when she couldn’t make any progress, Amber produced some scissors and just cut her out of it. With that done, Lauren changed and stuffed her dress into the bag, tossing the ruined corset in the trash, rejoining Amber out in the lobby. Ross and Susan stood as they came back into the waiting room, and everything Lauren was feeling was reflected on Susan’s face. Lauren was too afraid to even look at Ross, afraid of what she might see there. And really, she was too tired to deal with his judgment. “What have they told you?” Susan asked gently.

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It didn’t take long for Lauren to disclose that information, especially since there wasn’t that much to begin with. Alex and Luka walked up together in the middle of her brief description. It was different having Alex there. They all cared for Mishca in their own way, but Lauren doubted anyone cared for him as much as she and Alex did. But Alex was handling this rather well, at least from what Lauren could tell. Maybe that in part because of the man standing next to her… Detectives arrived at the hospital later, ready to question everyone in attendance. Lauren was patient, answering every question as best she could, though taking silent cues from Luka as to how much she could reveal, not that she really knew much. She did, however, know that despite the NYPD promising to launch an investigation into the shooting, more than likely it would be the

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Bratva that found the shooter before they even had a suspect. It seemed, after the detectives had come and gone, that was the last straw Ross could take, refusing to stay silent any longer. At first, Lauren easily ignored his grumblings, but when she caught sight of Mikhail just out of sight talking to a man in scrubs, she had another excuse to get away. Her plan was to excuse herself and see what they were talking about—she wouldn’t put it past Mikhail to keep her out of the conversation—but Ross wasn’t ready to finish disclosing his feelings on the entire matter. Except, Lauren was too wound up to care what he would say. “This is—” Lauren whirled around so fast, Ross nearly stumbled trying not to step on her heels. “Don’t. Whatever you’re about to say, just don’t.”

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She didn’t mean to raise her voice, she hadn’t even planned to continue on in the conversation, but it was like an uncontrollable anger had taken her over. Susan and Alex spared each other a glance then hurried over, wanting to prevent the situation from escalating. “Mish is in there somewhere and I have no idea how he is. So, whatever you’re about to say about his profession or about him, save it. I don’t need this on my wedding day, and especially when I don’t know whether my husband will live or die.” Ross was a proud man, and was unrelenting when it came to the set of principles he followed, but seeing the hurt and fear in Lauren’s eyes, he put aside what he felt for Mishca and gave her the support she wanted. “Once I know he’s going to recover, then you can yell at me.” Lauren would apologize to him later, but right then, she needed to know what the

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doctor was telling Mikhail. He had made his position on their tying the knot pretty clear at the rehearsal dinner, and judging from the tension whenever his name was brought up around Mishca, she didn’t doubt for a second that he would keep something vital from her. What did surprise her some was how negative he seemed to become in the recent months. While he hadn’t seemed particularly fond of her when they first met, she had thought he’d warmed up to her, but now she didn’t know what to think. The doctor was just turning to leave when Lauren called out to him. “Excuse me, are you Mishca Volkov’s doctor?” The confusion was clear on his face as he shot a look at Mikhail, then peered at her. “I’m sorry, I can’t discuss a patient with—” “I’m his wife.” Now surprise colored his expression, but only for a second. “I didn’t realize…well as I

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was explaining to Mr. Volkov, on the ride over here, Mishca went into cardiac arrest.” Mishca’s heart had stopped. That was the only thing she could think about as his expression went from neutral to sympathetic. Blood was rushing in her ears, her hands were growing sweaty. She didn’t think she could bear hearing what he said next, but his words pierced her sub-conscious despite her efforts to block it out, and they were almost enough to make her collapse.

For on its wing was dark alloy, And as it flutter’d—fell An essence—powerful to destroy A soul that knew it well. -The Happiest Day, the Happiest Hour

“The damage was so severe, we were afraid we had lost him, but we were able to get his heart beating again. He’ll be fine, but it will take a few months—or even longer—before he’s back to how he used to be. Due to his injuries, we did have to heavily medicate him, so he’ll be out for a while.” That was all Lauren needed to hear, even if his answer hadn’t been exactly what she’d

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hoped for. Mishca was alive, and for now, that was enough. “When will I be able to see him?” “He should be heading into recovery now. I’ll send one of the nurses when he’s ready.” Smiling gratefully, Lauren shook his hand. “Thank you, doctor.” As he walked away, she watched him until he rounded a corner, then turned her gaze on Mikhail. She had never thought a day would come when she would have to face off with the Russian mob boss again, but she wasn’t about to back down now. “Is there a reason you didn’t think to include me in this conversation?” “I do not answer to you, girl.” Lauren grappled for patience, knowing that she couldn’t talk to him like he was just a normal person. He was used to being shown respect at every turn, without anyone questioning him. While she planned to do

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the latter, she needed to keep her own anger under control. “This has nothing to do with the Bratva. The only thing I care about right now is Mishca.” “Your father—” Rolling her eyes, Lauren folded her arms across her chest, boldly staring up at him. “I think that has lost its effect. Pick another bad memory.” “Watch how you—” “No, watch how you speak to me. I’m not a child, and despite how bold you think you are, you won’t move against Mishca. Otherwise, I wouldn’t be here right now. Yes, he’s your son and I’m sure you love him in your own way, but nothing you do will keep me out of his life.” She felt a presence at her back, and was almost afraid to see who it was, but when a tattooed hand rested on her shoulder, she relaxed.

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“Anything I can do, Boss?” The question was asked innocently enough, but with the way his body was angled, Lauren didn’t know whether Luka was talking to her or Mikhail, and it seemed that Mikhail didn’t miss it either. Mikhail responded in Russian, the words clipped and angry before he turned his back and left the same way he came. “I don’t want you to get in trouble, Luka,” Lauren said as they went back to the waiting room. “Mish is too busy being dead to hurt me at the moment, so I think I’m good.” Lauren punched him in the chest, but did smile, if only because she had just gotten the good news from Mishca’s doctor. “I think that’s the first time I’ve ever heard you call him Mish.” Luka stopped in the middle of the floor, his frown becoming more apparent as he spun on his heel and walked away, never

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saying another word. Maybe she shouldn’t have mentioned his slip? Lauren updated everyone on what the doctor had said, leaving out her conversation with Mikhail—there was no reason for them to know that. As the hours passed, everyone began leaving one by one. It was well beyond visiting hours, and Lauren was more than ready to beg the nurses to let her stay just a little while longer, but whatever Luka had done—considering one of them was blushing red and was wearing a huge grin—she was never even approached. In fact, at about two in the morning, a nurse came to Lauren with a chart in her hands, ready to take her to Mishca’s room. Fear kept ahold of her heart as she was led to a private room. She didn’t know what to expect, especially when she didn’t know the kind of damage Mishca had taken because of it. She knew bullet wounds were tricky, and while it might not have appeared

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bad, the inside of the body could have sustained far more damage than what was visible. Outside the door, the nurse gave her a kind smile, briefly touching her shoulder. “I’ll give you a minute. Just press the button if you need anything.” Lauren stood alone, her heart hammering as she tried to mentally prepare herself for what she might see once she walked in. She was imagining him with a tube down his throat, breathing for him, but when she finally got the courage to walk in, the reality was far different. He was just so…still. She couldn’t take her eyes off him as she walked around his bedside, dropping down into the empty chair. If she hadn’t been there herself, she wouldn’t have realized what had happened to him. If anything, he just looked tired, with bags beneath his eyes, and his pallor paler than usual.

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But besides this, he was as she remembered. Her hand trembled as she reached for his, ghosting her fingertips over his knuckles before sliding her hand beneath his to hold. She was so used to him reacting when she did that this tears formed in her eyes. The only thing that kept her from breaking down entirely was the steady rise and fall of his chest. He didn’t move in any other way, but this, this was enough.

Four hours. That was how long it took for Lauren to gather the courage to call Luka, asking him to meet her in Mishca’s room. The hospital was relatively quiet, just the occasional nurse doing their rounds. She had always heard that fear made people do crazy things, and in that moment, Lauren agreed completely.

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Vlad had been her first choice, but Lauren knew that what she would ask of him would be too much, and he would more than likely try to talk her out of it, but she needed this done. She didn’t want to live in fear. Luka stepped into the doorway, a bag of grapes in his hand. “What can I do for you?” She knew what she was about to ask would not go over well with him, especially with the person it was dealing with. “I need you to find Klaus.”Just as she had thought, he didn’t look happy about the idea, but she needed him to understand her reason. “Mishca said that Klaus was one of the best—if not the best—snipers in the world. So either he was the one that shot him, or he knows who did. Either way, we need to bring him in.” Luka rubbed his jaw, his expression closed off. “Nyet. Not a good idea.”

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“It’s what you do though,” Lauren argued. “You’re an enforcer. You find people, beat the shit out of them, or bring them in. I want him brought in, and if it makes you feel better, you can hit him in the face for what he did to you.” “Tempting, yes, but Cap would have my balls if I even bothered bringing someone like him to you. Especially with him out of commission,” he said with a jerk of his head towards Mishca. “What did Mishca tell you to do exactly?” Lauren asked, refusing to back down from what she wanted. “Look after you…” But he trailed off, and she knew that he knew exactly what she was referring to. “And what else?” Rolling his eyes, he scratched his head. “Give you whatever you ask for.” “And I need Klaus here.”

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“Fine.” He threw his hands up in the air. “But you don’t move from that spot until I get back. And if I can’t get him, you leave it alone, yes? I don’t need you fucking shit up.” “Vlad can even keep me company,” she said light-heartedly, looking to the stoic man that had just entered the room. He looked between the two of them, curious about what they’d been talking about, but he didn’t ask. Luka was gone after a private conversation with Vlad. With just the two of them in the room, Vlad came over, pulling a chair around until he was sitting next to her. He reached over, patting her shoulder. She knew how much Mishca meant to him, even if he never spoke the words aloud. Mishca always spoke positively about him, and before Luka, there was and would always be Vlad.

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“Do you think he’ll ever wake up? He’s been asleep for a long time.” She asked softly, that question plaguing her mind. She had never had the courage to voice it to anyone else, afraid of what they might say. Susan and Ross would have sugarcoated it, doubting she would want to know what they truly thought. Ross might have wanted to, but Susan would have stopped him, especially after the way Lauren had snapped at him before. “He’s too stubborn to die,” he answered after some time. And that was all she could hope for.

One day passed, another, and Mishca still hadn’t woken up. Alex had come by, Amber and the others, even Susan and Ross. Luka had yet to come back, and he hadn’t called either, but Lauren wanted to wait just a little while longer before sending Vlad after him.

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She had become a regular fixture at the hospital, the nurses with Mishca on their rounds greeting her by name. It wasn’t until later in the day did she get the answers she needed. Lauren had left Mishca’s side for a couple of minutes at most, but when she came back and reclaimed her seat, she felt his presence without seeing him. She didn’t have time to wonder how he had gotten past the nurses, or even Vlad who had dozed off in the lobby, she was just glad he was there. “I didn’t think you would actually show up,” she whispered, not bothering to look away from Mishca as he slept on. Klaus made a sound as he walked out from the shadows, his gaze skirting from her to Mishca, lingering for a moment before returning to her. She had hoped to see something, some flicker of emotion in his eyes to show that he cared about what

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happened to Mishca, but there was nothing, like he wasn’t even human. “You sent for me, here I am. What do you want?” The first time Lauren had met Klaus, she was too shocked by the fact that Mishca had a twin to really notice the discrepancies between them, but now that she was looking at him, they did have subtle differences between them. Klaus didn’t wear facial hair—at least during the times they crossed paths—and he wore his hair significantly shorter, it barely fell below his ears. And there was so much anger in his face. He also didn’t have the accent. In fact, there were no inflections at all in his voice to discern a geographical background. “I need your help.” “Nothing I can do for the Russian,” he said, tucking his hands in his pockets as he stood next to the window, his back against

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the wall. “And who’s to say I didn’t put that bullet in him?” “You wouldn’t have shown up if you did, and if you had, you wouldn’t be talking to me. Plus, too many witnesses” He smirked like he found her amusing. “I could snap your neck before you uttered a sound. I would tell you to ask your Russian, but—” He shrugged like he hadn’t a care in the world, “—he can’t answer anything at the moment.” He was baiting her, much like Luka did on a day-to-day basis, but unlike him, Klaus wasn’t doing it to make her laugh. “Mishca said you were the best sniper he knew, which tells me that if you were the one to shoot him, you wouldn’t have missed his heart.” “True enough, but I still fail to see why I’m here.” “I want you to find the person who did this.”

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“Not my problem.” Lauren frowned, squeezing her hands together as she tore her eyes from Mishca to look over at him. “Whatever happened between the two of you, he’s still your brother.” Rolling his eyes, he bit out, “If you think to appeal to me that way, you clearly don’t know shit. Word of advice, walk away before you’re in a bed next to him.” She was shaking her head before he even finished. “I can’t do that.” “Then you’re far more stupid than I thought. We done here?” With long strides, he was nearly out the door, but she jumped to her feet, quickly making him an offer before he could take another step. “I’ll pay you! Just name your price.” She didn’t know much about mercenaries, or how they worked, but if they were anything like she thought, he would be

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willing to trade his services for currency, no matter if he hated the person he was working for. He turned back, blatantly laughing at her. “You couldn’t afford me.” Steeling her resolve, she tilted her chin up a fraction, staring at him daringly. “Name your price.” “Half a million.” He didn’t look like he expected her to agree to that amount—it was far more than he charged normally for a similar job—but he failed to remember that fear made people desperate. “Done.” Klaus studied her for several moments before shaking his head, seeming baffled by her answer. “What are you going to do next time?” Klaus asked her as he crossed to her side, making her crane her neck to look at his face.

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“You have to know this won’t be the only attempt on his life. “ “I’ll do what I have to,” she said with conviction. “How easily you’re willing to take out someone else to save your precious lover. And if the person you’re hunting is a father, with a wife and child, still want me to take the shot?” His words had the desired effect, making her flinch, losing some of her bravado. “You’re no better than them, are you?” This time, Lauren didn’t try to stop him as he walked out the room. Turning, she went back to sit at Mishca’s side, trying to put out of her mind what Klaus had just said. Because a part of her feared it was true.

Some hours later, Lauren blinked her eyes open, not really sure what woke— “Luka, what the hell?”

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He was crouched in front of her, his face just inches from hers, slowly chewing on a slice of orange, a smile stretching his lips when he finally noticed she was finally awake. Since he was in such a good mood—considering it was him—she doubted he knew about Klaus’ appearance the night before. She decided it could wait until later. She shoved him back half-heartedly, sitting up so she could look around, then to Mishca. Everything was how it had been. “What do you want? And where have you been? I was going to send out a search party.” “I do my job, except I couldn’t find him. But enough about me, you’ve been here for three days and you kind of reek—” “I showered yesterday, and considering you just woke me up, I have a valid excuse.” He just went on like she hadn’t spoken. “—And it might be good for you to get prepared for when the Cap comes home.”

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Lauren sat up straighter, looking over to where Mishca was still sleeping undisturbed. “Was there news? What did the doctors say, and why didn’t you wake me up?” “I convinced a nurse to tell me. She was surprisingly flexible considering—” “Luka!” “Well you’re no fun. The swelling went down and they stopped the blah so he’ll be waking up and blah blah blah, good news. Plus, some other shit that I thought was boring.” Lauren touched his shoulder, making him stop in the middle of his rambling. “Luka, please. What did they say?” And surprisingly, he quoted whoever he talked to back to her, verbatim, even using the medical terminology that was a little lost on her. When he finished, and she could do no more but stare at him in amazement, he gave her a rather sad smile that made her wonder what was wrong.

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“I never forget anything.” But just as quickly as that sudden sadness came over him, he snapped right out of it. “Ready to go?” Deciding it was best not to argue with him, she gathered her stuff, and after giving Mishca a kiss, she left with him. Since the shooting, she hadn’t been back to the new place, instead spending all of her time at the hospital, not that anyone seemed to mind. And it made it easier for her babysitter to watch after her, or at least that was Luka’s excuse though Lauren doubted that. Luka obeyed the speed limit on the way there, already having one ticket to deal with. By the time they got there and boarded the elevator, Lauren was counting down from twenty, trying not to think about everything she would have to do once she got inside. She was surprised at the sight that greeted her. Presents were stacked all over

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the living room, varying in colors and sizes, a reminder of what was supposed to be the best day of her life. Her footsteps were painfully loud as she moved further inside, Luka at her back. She thought about retreating back to the hospital, but she needed to deal with this first. And if—when Mishca was coming home, she wanted to make it as easy for him as possible. Dropping her keys and bag on the table, she ignored the presents for the time being, heading into their bedroom. The sheets were still rumpled from their last night together, another painful reminder. Shutting the door—leaving Luka to his own devices—she stripped out of her clothes, going into the bathroom to cut on the shower. In there, she let the water wash away her misery, knowing that she needed to be strong, if only for Mishca. She had to believe that he would be the same once he woke up,

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give her that reassuring smile, and even if she didn’t ask, promise he wouldn’t get shot again, even if he couldn’t control something like that. Lauren stayed beneath the spray of water until it ran cold, grabbing a towel from the bar. She wrapped it around her torso, grabbing another to towel off her hair. She had plenty of clothes to choose from, but instead, she chose one of Mishca’s shirts and a pair of his sweatpants, rolling the waist a couple of times to keep them in place. Back in the living room, she saw Luka sitting at the bar, a strange piece of food in his hand, one that she had never seen before, but undoubtedly, it was fruit. He rarely seemed to eat anything else. “Do you miss the brothel?” She asked, walking around him to grab a bottle of water from the fridge. “Such an ugly name, no? I like to think of it as my happy place.”

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“How’s Natasha?” Lauren had only been around her twice, one of them at the safe house, the other at the wedding, but she did wonder about her. “She doesn’t like to share me.” “What do you mean?” He blinked. Waiting a beat, she asked, “Are you going to answer?” He smiled. Clearly, wasn’t going to explain that. “What are you eating?” She asked pointing to the odd fruit that Luka was still eating. He gazed down at it like he had never seen it before. Holding it up, he narrowed his eyes on it, turning it in every direction before he finally took a giant bite. “Called dragon fruit,” he said with his mouth full, making it hard for her to understand him. “It’s alright.” “You know, I’ve never seen you eat anything but fruit. Is there a reason for that?”

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“Do you need help unpacking any of this stuff?” He asked, and for the first time since she met him, his tone made her do a doubletake. Personal questions were clearly off limits. Whatever his reason for his choice in food was clearly not up for discussion. “No, I can do it alone.” “Hungry?” Truthfully, she couldn’t remember the last time she ate anything substantial. She had been surviving purely on vending machine chips and gatorade. It wouldn’t hurt to eat something. “Is there a certain place you want to order from?” Luka scoffed, tossing the peel of his fruit in the trash as he rounded the island, opening the refrigerator. “I don’t eat fast food.” Frowning, she asked, “What do you eat?” “I cook.”

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He began pulling out various foods from the shelves, then went hunting through the drawers for cutlery. She hadn’t even realized there was food in there since she and Mishca rarely ate at home. “I didn’t know you could cook, Luka.” She watched, amazed as he turned a rather large knife over in his hands, pulling out another tool to sharpen it. He moved at lightning speed, completely at ease with what he was doing. “That’s why you’re alway eating fruit, isn’t it? Because you don’t eat fast food.” He nodded, cutting up a bell pepper and onion. “You got it. So, leave me to my work, go find something to do.” With very little choice, Lauren turned back to the dozens of boxes, carrying them back to one of the spare bedrooms where she wouldn’t have to see them. It didn’t feel right opening them without Mishca, and until he was better, they could wait.

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Next, she stripped the bedding, replacing it with clean linen, going over the bathroom next. By the time she finished, she really was hungry. Luka was still at the range-top stove, turning off the fire as he pulled two dishes from the top cabinet, setting them side by side. Barely noticing her presence, he went about plating his creation. He looked animated as he worked, the usual tightness in his body gone as he expertly spooned portions onto the plates. He even went as far as to garnish the plates, wiping off any excess with the edge of a towel thrown over his shoulder. Nodding for her to sit, he pushed a plate towards her, as well as a knife and fork, smiling broadly. “Bon appétit.” “What is it?” Since he had gone through the trouble, she thought it would be nice to ask though she knew what half of it was.

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He shrugged, and began speaking in flawless French, gesturing to each thing on the plate, nodding at her like she knew what he was saying. Clearly, she would need to learn more than Russian if she was going to stay around them. “I didn’t know you spoke French.” She was learning more about Luka tonight than she had in the months she had known him. “I’m learning.” “How long have you been studying it?” “About a week.” Lauren looked up at him with wide eyes, cutting into one of the biggest pork chops she had ever seen. “I thought you were going to say a couple of months.” He watched her, seemingly anticipating the moment she finally took a bite. “I’m a fast learner.” Finally putting him out of his misery, she took a bite, more than ready to school her features so she wouldn’t hurt his feelings,

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but there was no need, not with the way he cooked. “If you ever give up the life,” said Lauren as she scooped up some potatoes, “you could definitely be a chef.” If Luka were capable of it, she might have thought he would blush at that moment. He placed a hand over his heart, bowing slightly. “I humbly thank you.” “Any particular reason you chose to study French?” Lauren asked innocently, trying not to smile when Luka’s lips twitched. “None of your damn business.”

Darkness. It was all Mishca could see, all he could feel as he was lost in his own mind. There were brief flashes of images, but nothing that made sense to him, at least not until the pain returned. When it came, he felt the burning, ripping sensation of his flesh shredding as the bullet pierced him, nearly taking his breath

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away as he fought the agony. He wanted to latch onto something, anything besides the unimaginable pain that flooded his chest. Mish, don’t die. Those words were like an anchor to him, drawing him away from the abyss, back to the surface. They were the last words he remembered, and with them came her smile, her face. He had to wake up, if only because she asked it of him. He— Mishca took a jagged breath, his eyes opening for the first time, his eyelids feeling like he was ripping them apart, his hand immediately going to his chest where he felt the ghost of the bullet that went through him. While having been shot at, Mishca had never felt the tearing of a bullet through his body, especially not with that caliber. Trying to sit up, he stilled when he heard the unmistakable sound of a throat clearing to his right.

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“Wouldn’t try that if I were you,” Klaus said, lacking any real emotion in his voice. “Might tear your stitches...or maybe you should. Whatever.” Mishca took a look around, trying to get his bearings before addressing his brother. He should have known this was his work. He knew better than anyone that Klaus would never want him to be happy. “Are you here to finish it?” “Sadly, that wasn’t me on that rooftop, otherwise we wouldn’t be having this conversation. Your wife seems to know me better than you. I’ve never missed a mark.” Mishca couldn’t help but think back to the last time he had seen Klaus before he had reappeared in his life. Mishca stood outside the closed door, not knowing what to feel, how to act, or even what to do. On the other side was his twin, one that he hadn’t known existed until twenty minutes prior. In that short span of

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time, everything he had thought he knew about his mother felt like a lie…but in a way, it also made sense. When she was alive, and during those times when she thought he wasn’t listening, he remembered often hearing her talking to herself about the sacrifices she had made, but he had never for a second thought that a baby had been that sacrifice. And Mishca didn’t even know his name. Jetmir Besnik was standing before him, discussing business with Mikhail as though he hadn’t just spent days torturing someone he had assumed to be a captain in the Volkov Bratva. It sure as hell didn’t sit well with Mishca, and if he were in charge, Mishca would have happily killed them all for the discretion. It was for that reason Mikhail headed this impromptu meeting. He was nothing if not a businessman. He didn’t think about the fact that their plan was to

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torture Mishca, only what he would gain from it. “Are we in accord?” Mishca heard as he tuned back into the conversation. Whatever the Albanians had offered him, it would never be enough for Mishca. Jetmir stuck out his hand. Mikhail shook it, as well as the hands of a few others that Jetmir had brought with him. “Mishca?” He kept his face blank, but Mishca was burning with anger on the inside when Mikhail called his name. Mishca knew what the look Mikhail was giving him meant. As was their way, Mishca was required to shake with them as well, no matter how much it grated on him. But he wasn’t in any position to argue. Grudgingly, Mishca accepted Jetmir’s hand, meeting the man’s eyes. Whether Mikhail saw it, or just plain ignored it, Mishca could easily read Jetmir’s

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expression. He thought he had won this, and in a way, he had. When they were all gone, some time later, Mishca turned back to the room, surprised to find the door being snatched open, his twin limping out of the room, looking broken. “You’re just going to let them leave?” He asked, the words sounding strained since half his face was still swollen. “It is of none of your concern,” Mishca said, too angry to discuss it any further. “But they tortured me, and Sarah.” Tears were welling in his eyes, the sight of them making Mishca frown. It was too much like seeing himself cry, and that was something he never did, not since his mother died. “Yes, she’s dead. You should move on from it, learn from it. There’s nothing that can be done about it now.”

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He looked like Mishca had struck him, and seeing him so weak made him irrationally angry. “Why did you come here? What was your purpose?” He was taken aback by Mishca’s rage, trying to mumble out an answer, but it only infuriated him more. “Never mind. Go back to your room. There’s nothing more for us to discuss.” “What if he killed someone you loved?” He went on desperately. “Would you just let him get away with it? I—” He wouldn’t feel guilty. “I wouldn’t have let her die. Don’t blame your weakness on me.” Looking even more broken than before, he retreated back to that room, slamming the door shut with a resounding click. At that time, Mishca hadn’t been who he was today. His hatred was like a festering wound, and he unintentionally took it out on Klaus when he had needed him most. By the

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time the maid had come to him to say Klaus had escaped from the room the next morning, it was too late. He had already become a ghost. Since no one knew about Klaus’ existence—a stipulation that Jetmir had surprisingly followed—it made tracking him down even harder, but eventually, Mishca had found him. And he couldn’t say he liked the results of it. Mishca had regretted that day for years. In part, he was the reason Klaus had turned into a mercenary. “What are you doing here if not to kill me?” Mishca asked as he focused back on the present. “The missus has offered me payment to track down whoever put you here. Tell me, does she really know the baggage you come with? She seems terribly fucking naïve.” Mishca stared at him, baffled by his statement. “What are you talking about?”

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Klaus tossed the magazine he’d been holding onto the floor, jumping to his feet, stretching his arms above his head. The bottom of his shirt rose up, showing jagged scar tissue across his abdomen. He came around Mishca’s bedside, reading the label on one of the bags that was connected to an IV in Mishca’s arm. “Morphine. No wonder you’re asking dumb ass questions. Lauren, the girl that was stupid enough to marry you, hired me to do a job. Keep up, Russian.” Sometimes his guilt made him forget how much Klaus annoyed him. “How did she find you?” “Sent your pet dog on a hunt. A friend of a friend of an enemy got in touch.” Mishca shook his head. “Deny the assignment.” “No can do. Already took payment.”

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Meaning he had to go through with whatever she asked of him. It was the way they worked, the code he lived by. “She doesn’t understand what she’s asking you to do. I can’t—” “Oh, I think she does. Don’t forget, she came to me. How long did it take before she was climbing back in your bed after she found out about her father? A week? Two?” Mishca made a move to grab him, hissing in pain when the needle in the back of his hand pulled. Klaus just laughed, the infuriating bastard. “Whatever your issue with me, leave her out of it.” “And deny myself this entertainment? Doesn’t matter, until I find our sniper, she and I are going to get close. I mean, I could fuck her if I wanted, she wouldn’t know the difference.” This time, Mishca didn’t give a damn about the IV. He ripped it free himself. The

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machine monitoring his heart rate beeped frantically, the nurses probably on their way. Klaus held his hands up, still laughing though that humor didn’t reach his eyes. “See you soon, Russian.” He was out the door moments before two nurses came racing in, urging Mishca back in the bed. It took a bit of convincing, but they finally left him after reattaching his IV and telling him the doctor would be in shortly. Already, everything had gone to shit.

“What was it like?” Luka asked. If it were anyone else, Mishca might’ve thought they genuinely wanted to know, but Luka…no, he would want to get shot just so he could experience the pain. “Do you need to see someone?” Mishca asked catching the shirt Luka tossed at him. “There are a few shrinks that I have on call.”

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“I had one, but apparently I was a ‘conflict of interest,’” he said the last part in an unusually high voice. “It wasn’t like I forced her to suck my dick. She volunteered.” Shaking his head, Mishca didn’t know why he even bothered. “Did you do what I asked?” “Boss-Boss is handling business across town, Vlad is chilling in the car, Alex is at school or wherever the fuck, and Lauren should be on her way up since I called her ten minutes ago.” Mishca spun around. “I specifically told you not to.” “She watched you die,” he said, oddly serious, “there was nothing I could have said that would have kept her from this room.” Lauren was adamant that way. It wasn’t that Mishca didn’t want to see her, he just didn’t want her to see him like this. All of his promises about keeping her safe, and on the one day she trusted him the

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most, he had failed her. A part of him was afraid that when she came, before he’d gotten a chance to figure out what to say to her, she would run from him again. Shrugging on the shirt, threatening to cut off Luka’s hands when he offered to button up his shirt, Mishca reached for his phone, quickly scanning through local articles about the shooting. Despite what Luka had told him, coverage was minimum, though there was still a few more mentions of it than Mishca would have preferred. There wasn’t much Mishca could do about his physical appearance—getting shot had that affect—but he could hide the sutured wound on his chest so Lauren wouldn’t have to see. The events of that day were murky at best, but he remembered Lauren being with him, so he didn’t want to make it any worse for her. Voices in the hallway carried into the room. Lauren and his doctor, Mishca

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thought. He only had a second to send Luka a look, letting the enforcer know not to try anything stupid—though he would more than likely do it anyway. The doctor entered first, smiling proudly as though he had single-handedly brought Mishca back from the brink of death. He probably had, but Mishca was too focused on Lauren to hear anything the man had to say. She hovered at the door, almost like she was afraid to come near him. He didn’t want that. He hated seeing that fear in her eyes. Stepping around the doctor, cutting him off mid-sentence, Mishca met her at the door, pulling her into his arms even as she protested. Her arms were loose around him, like she was afraid she would hurt him further if she held tighter. What little he did remember of their wedding day was mostly of her, her tears, her voice. Even though they had an audience of two, Mishca wanted to calm her, reassure her that

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everything was fine, even if he wasn’t sure of that. “I’m okay, Lauren,” he whispered in her ear, pressing a gentle kiss to her temple. “Look at me.” Hesitantly, she did as he said, golden eyes searching his face. For what, he wasn’t sure, but he could imagine what she was seeing as she looked at him. Her expression mirrored the one he’d had the day he watched his mother slip away. “I won’t leave you,” he promised. She smiled sadly. “You can’t promise me that, Mish.” “No, I can’t, but I can damn well try.” He thought about Klaus’ spontaneous visit the night before, about what Lauren had asked of him, but he had time to talk to her about that later. Right now, he was more than ready to get out of the hospital. Mishca turned back to the doctor, though he kept hold of Lauren’s hand. He listened

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patiently as the doctor went on about what he would need to do to keep the wound clean, and that he would need to return to the hospital in a few weeks time to get the stitches removed. When he was finally finished—not that Mishca would have listened to any more—Mishca filled out his discharge forms, ready to get out of there. “Your chariot awaits,” Luka announced grandly, reappearing with the wheelchair he’d just brought in, the manic grin on his face making Lauren giggle. If not for her reaction, Mishca might have strangled him. “I can walk.” Instead of addressing him, the bastard, he turned to Lauren. “He really should use this. Doctor’s orders.” Looking unsure, Lauren looked at him. “Mish—” “Lauren, I’m fine.”

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“Please.” Sighing in defeat—knowing there was no way he would be getting out of that room until he complied—Mishca reluctantly sat in the chair, gritting his teeth when Luka began whistling a jaunty tune as he backed him out of the room. When he got his enforcer alone, he would make him pay for this. It took far longer than Mishca would have liked to get outside and to his Range Rover, thanks in part to Luka rolling him through every part of the hospital like he was a damn exhibit. But Mishca’s last straw came when Luka opened the rear door, then crouched down like he was about to lift Mishca from the wheelchair. Shoving him away, Mishca climbed to his feet. “Don’t make me shoot you.”

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He cursed when he heard Lauren’s sharp intake, regretting his choice of words when he saw the look on her face. Luka frowned. “Too soon.” God, he would kill him. Luka drove like the speed limit was only twenty miles an hour and it took them far longer to get to the penthouse than Mishca would have liked, but he didn’t complain, not with the way Lauren clung to his hand, staring apprehensively out the window. Her eyes skirted over the towering buildings, like she thought she would be able to see any other threat against him. He pulled her closer to his side, wanting to take her mind off it. Outside their building, there was far more security than Mishca would have liked, but he understood the caution all the same. Instead of going through the front, they pulled around to the rear, entering in through the service elevator that was being

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manned by five of Mikhail’s men. That annoyed Mishca. Mikhail couldn’t be there himself, but he sent some of his men? It wasn’t like he really cared, not anymore. When they were finally inside the apartment, Mishca collapsed down onto the sofa, sighing in relief. He never had liked hospitals. Now that he was back, Mishca needed to plan his next move. First thing first, he needed to hold a meeting, but his attention was snared by Lauren as she answered her phone, her expression growing pensive as she excused herself. “Who was calling?” Mishca asked as she came back out into the living room a few minutes later. She tried to hide her feelings from him, wanting not to worry him with trivial things when they were dealing with something much more important.

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“Wasn’t anybody special,” she said with a wave of her hand, hoping he would go back to the conversation he’d been having with Vlad and Luka. But he wasn’t ready to give in. “Lauren, tell me.” “The hotel in Hawaii called.” She didn’t have to explain further. He looked surprised, much like she felt, though granted, she had thought very little about their honeymoon over the past couple of weeks. Seeing the expression on his face, she tried for a smile, wanting to wipe the worry away. “It’s fine, Mish. We can reschedule.” He still didn’t look convinced. “Besides, I doubt you can go skinny-dipping with me so soon.” That cleared it right up, at least until Luka added his two cents. “Can I—” “Finish that statement and die.” “Christ, Boss, you’re no fun.”

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Amber dropped by some days later, pretending not to notice the heavily armed men that were hovering around the apartment. She was carrying something rather large covered in newspaper, refusing to let anyone touch it. “What the hell do you think I’m smuggling in here anyway?” She asked Turner when he made a move to grab it. “If I wanted to hurt Mishca, I’d stick a paintbrush up his ass.” Luka, who had been drinking soda, spat it out, all over one of the guards who was standing next to him, less than amused. “Can we keep her?” “Just ignore them,” Lauren said, hugging her closest friend. “I do.” “And how are you, Mish? You look pretty spry.”

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If Luka would have said something like that, Mishca would have glared at the man, but since it was Amber, and she was only trying to make him feel better, he smiled. “Do you want a tour of the place?” Lauren asked. “Sure, but I want to give you two your wedding present first.” Amber handed over the wrapped package with a proud smile, waving her hands impatiently for them to open it. It only took a few seconds of ripping paper to unveil the canvas beneath, and the portrait on the front took Lauren’s breath away. She vaguely remembered Amber taking pictures during the wedding, but she had thought it was more for her than what it turned out to be. The portrait wasn’t just a blown up image that she had taken, rather an intricate recreation that Amber had painted. It was done in black and white, and if Lauren hadn’t known

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Amber better, she would have never believed that it was hand-crafted. Down in the right hand corner, in the smallest of scripts, was Amber’s signature. “Amber, it’s beautiful.” “Luchshe, chem ya mog sebe predstavit’—Better than I could have imagined,” Mishca added. “Oh stop,” Amber admonished though she did look pleased at the praise. They sat and talked together for a while longer until Amber had gone and Mishca was alone in his office, staring at the bottle of amber liquid he had been forbidden to drink. Never in his life had he wanted a drink more. Later that night, Mishca reclined back against the headboard, listening to Lauren move around in the bathroom. The shooting hung over them in different ways. She worried for him while he worried for her. That was what love was.

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The door creaked open, the light turning off as Lauren came out. Her eyes were downcast as she crossed to the bed, making him wish he knew what she was thinking. She was better at hiding from him than he originally thought. As she lay beside him, curling into his side, the overwhelming relief she felt at having him beside her made her close her eyes. It didn’t matter that it had been almost a week since he came home. It all still felt new. She had never been more thankful for anything in her life. She gently rested her hand in the center of his chest, right over the wound. With her, he didn’t feel any pain. When she finally drifted off, he relaxed, but his mind was far from eased.

Klaus kept his hood up as he entered the warehouse in the heart of Brooklyn, heading towards the service elevator in the rear. Stepping inside, he found the black call box against the wall, punching a series of keys before dropping his hand when the gate slammed shut, the lift slowly descending. The farther down it went, the more noise began to filter through the walls, the

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shouting nearly masking the sound of the bell dinging as he stepped off. Two floors beneath the surface of the warehouse was a place called Valhalla, an underground fighting ring that cared less about rules and more about profit. It was named from the Norse mythological land where slain soldiers were brought, hoping for endless meals and barmaids, but most of the people that came here were just hoping to make it out and live another day. The giant room was composed of mostly concrete, stained with years worth of old blood and bodily fluids. There was no place to land comfortably if a fighter lost their footing…and even worse, if their opponent just wanted to slam their head against the ground. Currently, two half-naked men were in the center of the makeshift ring, both bruised and sweaty, blood caked on their faces as well as their limbs. They circled each other,

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both looking for weaknesses, though it was glaringly obvious that neither of them knew what they were doing for real. No, Klaus was wrong. There was one rule in Valhalla: no man could leave the floor until their opponent was either knocked out or dead. Sometimes, fights went on for hours until both sides were too exhausted to move. Only then could they leave, except both would lose whatever money they bet, and then they were beaten within an inch of their lives until they swore never to return. It was the price of doing business down here. Off to the side, sitting on top of an old rusted refrigerator overlooking the fight was a guy Klaus knew from his contract days. The closest thing someone like him had to a friend. He was one of the few people Klaus worked with that had actually seen him without his mask.

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Klaus dodged wild spectators as he drew closer to the man, dropping his hood along the way. Mercenaries were a notoriously paranoid group, their jobs placing targets on their backs. Neither Klaus nor the man he approached had any reason to fear retaliation however, not with the way they meticulously covered their tracks, but one could never be too careful in their line of work. The mercenary might have had a beer in one hand, cheering as loudly as the others, but Klaus didn’t doubt for a moment he had already been spotted as soon as he stepped out of the elevator. When he was almost upon him, the mercenary jumped down from his perch, brushing off his jeans as he gave Klaus a wide grin. “Been a while, Red.” When Klaus was brought in, his identity was scrubbed, essentially wiping his entire existence off the face of the earth.

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Afterwards, his handler gave him a new name—as he’d done all the others he brought in. Klaus was Red after the Roman god of war, apropos after seeing his work. The man in front of him was called Celt, for reasons Klaus could only guess at. Personal questions weren’t approved of in their world. What little Klaus knew about him was what he could discern from his time in Celt’s company. Celt was from Ireland, and had been a mercenary for at least two years before Klaus joined their particular organization. In fact, Celt had been there the day Klaus handed his life over… Unlike Klaus, whose scars stayed hidden, Celt had no choice but to wear his for everyone to see. He had what was known as the ‘Glasgow Smile,’ brutal scars that made him look like he was always smiling, a fact not nearly as pleasant as it sounded.

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He was as tall as Klaus, same lean muscle tone, with dark brown hair he kept cut low on the sides. Unlike Klaus, Celt wore a full beard, a deep auburn color that contrasted with his darker hair. He didn’t doubt that it was because he was trying to hide the marks. “What brings you to my neck of the woods?” Despite their training, Celt refused to give up his accent. Klaus had often wondered if they had beat the shit out of him for that. “I need a favor.” Celt’s eyebrows rose as he regarded him. Never in the five years they’d known each other had Klaus ever asked him for anything. He didn’t like the idea of owing someone, no matter who it was, but at the moment, his search would go by a lot faster if he had help. “Name it.” “Spread the word that Mishca Volkov is alive. See who bites.”

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His eyes narrowed briefly, like he was trying to place the name. “Anything else?” That was what Klaus liked most about him. Celt didn’t ask questions. The fact that Klaus would owe him one in return was left unspoken. Saluting him, Celt climbed back onto the fridge. “Will do. Wanna go a round in the ring?” He asked with a shameless grin. “I could use the cash.” Klaus looked around at the competition in the room, weighing the odds in his head. With a shrug, he pulled off his hoodie, Celt’s excited laughter echoing in his ears.

Donna’s Bakery. 1 pm. Leave the Russian. She knew it was from Klaus—only he called Mishca ‘the Russian’—but she wasn’t sure it was a good idea to meet with him, not with the way he had responded to her request at the hospital. He had made his thoughts on the subject clear, so why he was

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contacting her now made her wonder what he had found out. Her curiosity alone made her want to go see what he knew, but how would she get past Mishca, especially when he had Luka still following her around everywhere? Deciding the element of surprise was on her side, Lauren quickly got dressed, grabbing the keys to her own car—Mishca’s were rigged with GPS devices and she didn’t want to chance it—she was heading out the door when she caught sight of Mishca in the living room, talking away on his phone. Luckily, however, she didn’t see Luka anywhere. Mishca looked up at her, his brow furrowing, probably wondering what she was doing. Promising that she wasn’t going to be gone for longer than an hour, she kissed his cheek, hoping to leave it at that, but he caught her before she had a chance to back away.

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He placed the phone to his shoulder to muffle their conversation. “Take Luka.” She sighed. “But I don’t need him for what I’m doing.” Lauren didn’t know how else to convince him to let her go alone…unless she did the one thing she swore never to do. She had to lie. “Luka would make a scene in the pharmacy while I’m trying to make a purchase. And don’t try to deny it, you know how he is.” He grimaced, clearly understanding Lauren’s point, but he wasn’t ready to concede. “Then he’ll tail you.” “Mish—” “Not a request, Lauren.” “Fine, fine.” She was already running late and she didn’t need to waste any more time arguing with him. “Where is Luka anyway?” “Should be down in the lobby. I’ll call to tell him you’re heading down.”

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She stopped him quickly. “I’m heading down there anyway. I’ve got it.” Though he looked like he wanted to protest, he let her leave. As the door closed behind her, instead of taking the elevator down to the entrance—since she knew Luka would more than likely be stalking the lobby—she took the service elevator down. While she walked like Mishca’s soldiers were hiding behind every corner, she was able to speed away from the building without any hassle. Klaus’ meeting place was only about a fifteen minute drive from where she was and if she were lucky, she could make the meeting only about twenty-five minutes late. By the time she got there and found a parking spot, Lauren feared that Klaus wasn’t going to be at the bakery. She didn’t even see him through the large windows. For a second, she thought he had stood her up,

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until a large hand clamped around her arm, dragging her away from the display. “Could you be any more obvious?” Klaus asked her as he walked them across the street. “You’re the one that said the bakery,” Lauren argued, though it didn’t seem like he was paying much attention to what she was saying. “Is there like a code name I’m supposed to call you?” While to all the world they might have appeared to be a couple, Klaus quickly lost that fake smile of his, scowling down at her. “Are you done?” They finally stopped at a relatively secluded spot. Klaus dropped down on the ground, stretching out his long legs in front of him, crossing them at the ankles, stacking his hands beneath his head as he stretched out.

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It no longer felt like she was on a covert op, more like she was meeting an old friend—less friend, more hired gun. He was now lying on his back, beanie in place, sunglasses obscuring his eyes, the dressed down version of Mishca. When she sat beside him, he even gave her a brilliantly, blinding smile that had her blinking in surprise. “Relax,” he said, not particularly unkindly. “I’d never hurt my employer.” She couldn’t tell whether he was always this gruff, or if it was just because of who she was. “You never said you would do it,” Lauren said in confusion, carefully looking around to see how far they were from everyone else. “Stop looking around.” “Kinda hard not to do when it’s you.” She could practically feel his glare as he turned his head in her direction, but he ignored her last statement.

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“I had a meeting with one of my contacts, should hear back from him later today.” “Okay, but why can’t I tell Mishca that I’m meeting with you. He has a right to know.” “Did you tell the Russian where you were going?” Frowning she said, “You told me not to…” “Right, cause that’s such a good idea. Word of advice—” “How about,” Lauren cut him off, already irritated, “next time you say what you mean and stop playing games. I don’t have time for this.” He was silent, but a corner of his mouth kicked up. “Touché.” “Why did you want to meet?” “I talked to a contact of mine, have a meeting tonight.” She plucked at a few pieces of grass, thinking this through. “What do you need from me?”

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“Nothing at the moment,” Klaus said sitting up, brushing off his shirt. “Stay by the phone.” “I don’t understand.” She watched him stand up, pulling his hood up. “Couldn’t you have sent this through a text message?” “One thing you should learn about me, I thrive on pissing your Russian off.” His satisfied smirk irked her more. “You should get going, he’s waiting.” Sure enough, across the park, idling on the street was Mishca’s Mercedes. She couldn’t really blame Klaus—though every part of her burned to hit his ass—and now she would have to confess the truth to Mishca, even if she had wanted to keep all of this from him. She didn’t bother seeing which way Klaus was going, her attention on the opening car door as Luka stepped out. When even Luka didn’t crack a joke when she reached his side, she knew that Mishca was really upset. Clearing her throat

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awkwardly, she climbed into the car on the opposite side of Mishca, fiddling her thumbs when Luka slammed the door shut, jogging over to her car to take back home. The muscle in his jaw was working as he ground his teeth, clearly holding back from laying in on her, but she wasn’t afraid of his temper. “What are you doing here?” “Luka called me as soon as you left.” And she was so sure that she had given him the slip earlier. Reading her expression, he gave her a humorless smile. She was ready to explain it all to him, but paused when she realized that he didn’t seem to be upset that she was meeting with Klaus, only that she hadn’t told him about it. “You knew I was meeting him?” “We had words a few days ago.” Brow furrowed, she asked, “Why didn’t you tell me?”

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He merely arched a brow at her. Granted, she hadn’t told him about Klaus up until this point, but she really hadn’t thought much about him until he’d contacted her today…and it was also because she knew Mishca would be upset if he knew. “You shouldn’t have contacted him.” “Well technically—” “If you finish that statement…” “Okay, okay.” Clearly he wasn’t in a joking mood. “I didn’t know what else to do. He was my best option.” “So your idea was to go to the one person that wants me dead?” He asked dryly. She didn’t really have any other choice, at least she didn’t think so at the time. “You’re the one that said he was the best shot in the world. If he wanted you dead, you wouldn’t have woken up,” she said remembering what Klaus had said. “That’s besides the point, Lauren. He wants me dead. Period.”

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In a quiet voice, she said, “You would have done the same for me.” He pulled her into his side with an arm around her waist, the anger in him draining away. “Difference is, I have experience in this world. I have contacts. If you wanted to do this—even if I don’t agree—why didn’t you ask Luka?” “I don’t know. Normally, snipers know other snipers.” He seemed baffled by her reasoning. “What? That’s what usually happens in the show.” Shoving a hand through his hair, he tried desperately to keep the smile off his face. “How have you lived so long on your own?” She shrugged. “I would say that I’ll stop meeting with Klaus, but we both know that would be a lie. The bottom line is, someone tried to kill you, and if you had been able to at the time, you would have made the same call, but since you weren’t I made an

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executive decision. I will tell you about any further correspondence from now on. Deal?” Extending her hand, she looked to him, fully expecting him to comply, but for a while he just watched her, a dazed look in his eye. “Who are you and what have you done with my wife?” She smiled, leaning over to kiss him lightly on the mouth. “You protect me, and I’ll protect you.”

Later that night, across the city in Hell’s Kitchen, Klaus entered a diner on the corner of Lex and 12th, oblivious to the clanging bell as he entered through the front doors. It was one of those places that was hard on the eyes, but had some of the best food money could buy. Klaus hadn’t chosen this place for the meet up just because of the great cuisine, but

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because he was hoping to see the one person that had been on his mind for the last two years. With only a first name and the place she worked, Klaus had hoped she would still be around despite not knowing anything else about her. It was wishful thinking, sure, but he figured it wouldn’t hurt to check. Celt was waiting for him at an empty table, a cup of tea resting on the table in front of him. Though he was opening dozens of packets of sugar to dump into his cup, his focus solely on his task, Klaus was sure he had already clocked him walking through the door. Turning the chair around, he straddled it, smirking as Celt reached for more sugar. “Got enough there?” “Mind your own, Red,” he grumbled, gulping down half of it. Chuckling, Klaus asked, “What do you have for me?”

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“No one bit on the Russian.” Klaus frowned, rubbing his jaw. He didn’t doubt Celt’s words, not for a moment, but he was sure the sniper had to be one of their own. He needed to go back and check out that rooftop. The police report hadn’t yielded anything useful, and he doubted there was anyone out there that could provide any useful information. “You wanna tell me what you got yourself involved in?” Celt asked, signaling to the waitress that he wanted a refill. “Bit of side work while I’m free. I thought you were picking up another contract after your last one ended?” Klaus asked changing the subject. Celt took a moment, flirting with the waitress when she came over with a fresh cup. She merely smiled at his antics before turning to Klaus to ask for his order.

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“Nothing for me, thanks.” She was preparing to walk away when Klaus called out to her. “You know if Reagan is working today?” She eyed him curiously, looking him up and down before shaking her head. “Not today, no.” He didn’t know whether or not that was true—especially judging from the way she was eyeing him—but he could always check for her another time. After he nodded, she was gone. Celt looked from him to the retreating waitress, and back again. “Right, then. I have no idea if this has anything to do with what you’ve got working here, but I hear Rayne is in town.” Klaus immediately started rubbing his forehead, a migraine ready to make itself known. There were very few people in the world that Klaus made a point to avoid. Rayne was at the top of that list.

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Her codename name was Blood Rayne, not just because she was pale as a vampire with ruby-red lips, but because she had a knack for slicing the throats of her victims with a special gold ’S’ shaped blade. He didn’t know whether she was any good with a rifle—they all had their specialties—so he doubted she had anything to do with the shooting, but if she was in on the hunt, that made his job just a little bit harder. The last time they crossed paths, they didn’t exactly leave on good terms. “She tried to cut your balls off, I believe,” Celt said with an annoying smirk, remembering the day. All because Klaus hadn’t been in the mood to fuck her. Women were damn strange. “What are you going to do?” Celt asked. “Avoid her ass if I can, at least until I finish this job.”

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“Need help with that?” His eyes scanning over the diner, Klaus only hesitated a second before nodding. “Keep your phone on. I might actually need you for a change.” “Might? I don’t remember you spouting that shite in Budapest.” Laughing, Klaus said, “I hated Budapest.” “Right, then. Give me a ring when you get wind.” Rapping the table with his fist twice—the paranoid bastard—Celt got to his feet and went out the front door. Klaus stayed where he was, going over what little he knew about the shooting. Without checking out the rooftop—and only going off of what Lauren had told him—he had assumed that Mishca was the primary target, but if no one reacted to the news that he was still breathing, that would have to mean there was more to it than he realized. Though he secretly loved when cases weren’t

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all black and white, this one was one he wanted to get over as quick as possible. He still didn’t know why he accepted the job. Or at least he didn’t want to admit to himself that seeing the Russian’s female tearing up when he was refusing to help her reminded him of Sarah. Not in the fact that they looked alike, her and Lauren were vastly different, but Sarah would always expect the best in people, and if she wasn’t getting her way, she could make tears bloom in her eyes until the person she was trying to convince had no choice but to give in. It was why he had always tried to keep her happy. Klaus rubbed his chest, a habit he’d picked up whenever he thought of her. Beneath his palm, and the layer of cotton covering it, there was a crescent shaped scar that one of Jetmir’s men had put there, while

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another had been busy butchering Sarah right in front of him. Clearing his thoughts before he went down that road again, Klaus waited around for a little while longer, hoping that he might catch Reagan if she came in during the night shift, but when she didn’t show after a couple of hours, he dropped a twenty on the table and left.

While he might not have been as forgiving of Lauren’s secret meeting with Klaus a couple of days ago as she had hoped, Lauren had gradually smoothed things over with Mishca, but he hadn’t lost his brusque attitude, especially not when she got another call from Klaus. This time, however, she demanded that he meet her at her place rather than an undisclosed location. By the time Klaus got

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there, Lauren was studying Mishca, already seeing him on edge. One of Mishca’s men had already called to let Mishca know that Klaus was on the elevator heading up. Vlad was off to the side, looking just as imposing as he always did, but Luka was out of sight, a first since the Albanians had gone. With the way everyone were acting, it was like public enemy number one had arrived. Klaus, on the other hand, didn’t seem bothered in the slightest that he was being watched by every single person in the room. He casually strolled over to the empty chair across from Lauren, withdrawing a blade from his jacket, a silent message that was quickly received as the others reached for their weapons. For once, Mishca didn’t bother calling them off. “What did you want?” Mishca asked without preamble.

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Klaus turned the knife over in his hands, his eyes going over every line and contour of the jagged edges of the imperfections in the blade. He didn’t seem to care that Mishca was speaking to him, and didn’t even bother acknowledging him at all. Clearing her throat—earning a glare from Mishca—Lauren spoke up. “Do you know something, Klaus?” “Heard back from my guy, and surprisingly, no one is looking to kill off the Russian.” “That doesn’t make any sense, he—” “How do you know you can trust them?” Mishca interrupted, the muscle in his jaw working when Klaus continued to ignore him. Lauren knew that he was used to a certain level of respect, partly due to his position, but they both knew Klaus could care less about that.

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One thing she was really beginning to see for herself was how much satisfaction Klaus was getting out of irritating him. But on this, Klaus had a response. “More than I trust any of your lot, Russian.” “Does anyone actually call you by your name?” Lauren asked aloud. “Then what do you know?” Mishca asked, ignoring Lauren’s question. Sighing, Klaus leaned his head back, seeming to grow bored with the entire conversation. “If I knew anything useful, I wouldn’t be here. But, I will need to borrow your female for a few hours.” “For what?” It was the wrong question, even Lauren knew that as soon as the words fell past Mishca’s lips, but once they were said, Klaus ran with them. He smiled, one that she was used to seeing from Mishca. “Why do you think? I thought we already had this conversation.”

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Whatever Klaus meant went right over Lauren’s head, but it got a rise out of Mishca. Before he could make a move against him, Lauren jumped to her feet, blocking Mishca’s path to him. “Could you two stop for two minutes? Klaus, I hired you for a job, so do it. Mishca, stop acting like an ass.” That made the mercenary scoff, pocketing his knife. “Whatever. If you want me to do my job, then I don’t need the Russian interfering.” Mishca made to interject, but this time, Lauren cut him off. “Fine. What do you need?” “I need to take a look at that rooftop.” His eyes searched her face, his expression unreadable. “Can you handle that?” Lauren didn’t know what she would feel when she went up there. The rational side of her knew that the blood and whatnot would have been cleaned up by now, restoring the

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place to what it once was, but the other side feared what she might see. “Yes,” she said, hoping that if she voiced the affirmative, it would help. “Just give me a moment.” With a shrug, Klaus took his exit, but she doubted he went far. When the elevator doors closed behind him, Mishca didn’t waste any time voicing his opinion on the matter. “No.” “No?” “Hell no. You’re not going.” While she respected Mishca’s opinion on this, that didn’t mean she was going to heed it, not on this. “You’re overreacting…again. You’re not worried about him trying to hurt me, this is about some weird rivalry thing you have going on with Klaus.” “Lauren—” “I need you to trust me, Mish,” she said.

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He finally, reluctantly, let her leave, making her promise to keep her phone on her at all times. Klaus was waiting for her at the curb, spinning a set of keys in his hand. With only a tilt of his head, he barely acknowledged her presence, gesturing for her to follow him to a car that had the sleek design of a race car. It was big and black, with white stripes going from the hood to the trunk. The windows were tinted just to the brink of legality, and from the way Klaus was admiring it, she doubted he had stolen it. He unlocked the door for her, slamming it shut once she was inside, a gesture she hadn’t expected from him. Even the interior was decked out with racing gear, including the bucket seats and the harnesses for seat belts. She had to admit, his car was pretty badass.

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Everything was the same, at least that was what troubled Lauren as they stepped out onto the rooftop where her wedding had taken place. Cherry blossoms still in bloom, every chair in place, not a stone overturned. It was like that day had never happened though it was seared into her memory. Klaus had no sympathy for her however, continuing to walk down the makeshift aisle towards the front. “Show me where you were.” Taking a calming breath, Lauren hurried behind him, stopping at the spot where she and Mishca had taken their vows. Without him asking, she pulled him to her side, positioning him where she thought Mishca had been standing. “We were about here.” “Run me through it.”

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She went through the day in her head. “We said our vows, exchanged rings, kissed—” He smirked, cocking an eyebrow. “Want to demonstrate?” Rolling her eyes, she said, “Mish wouldn’t be too happy about that. Besides, without him here, you wouldn’t get any enjoyment out of it.” “Carry on then.” “We turned, everyone was cheering, the sun was in my eye for a moment, then—” She remembered the smile on her face, the cheering of the guests… “—it was a soft noise, the sound the bullet made when it hit hit Mishca, then he fell back a-and—“ “Hey!” He snapped his fingers in her face, making her blink up at him. “Keep it together, yea? Now, what time would you say you got to the part where you saw the sun in your face?”

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“I don’t know. Maybe…twelve? Twelvethirty? Why?” “Point in the direction where you saw it.” He moved to stand behind her, looking to where she pointed. “But I don’t understand how this is relevant.” His eyes were focused across the street at the rooftop of another building. “You weren’t seeing the sun, that was probably the light reflecting off the scope of the rifle. We need to look over there.” Not having much time to question his logic—not that she doubted him—Lauren followed Klaus to the other building, taking the elevator up to the top floor and exiting out onto the roof through the access door. Up here, there was a clear view of the hotel. Klaus was scanning the ground, searching for something. Lauren tried to help—though she had no idea what he was looking for—but came up with nothing.

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After a few seconds of just standing there, Klaus canted his head to the side, his gaze focused on something near the edge of the wall. He strode towards it, reaching out to touch a slight scuff on the concrete. Without him having to say it, this was where the sniper had been. He dropped down to one knee, cocking one arm back, extending the other as he mimicked holding a rifle. Lauren looked from him to the roof, remembering the way Mishca flew back. It was— “Why did he miss?” Klaus’ words drew Lauren from her thoughts. She crossed to his side, trying to see what he saw when he looked across the street. “What do you mean? He shot him in the chest.” “Right, but he’s not dead.” At the confused look on Lauren’s face, he explained, “Look at the angle. The shot was clean, very

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little interference and he would have accounted for wind speed before he got up here.” “Okay…what are you saying?” “Something’s not right.” “So he wasn’t trying to kill Mishca? He missed on purpose?” “Looks that way.” “But what was the point?” Klaus got a curious gleam in his eye, one that Lauren didn’t particularly like, but before she could call him on it, he was rushing her out the building and to his car. “This,” he said as he pulled them out onto the street, “just got a lot more interesting.”

“Bullshit.” Mishca wasn’t taking what Klaus had to say very well. Since they returned, Lauren had been trying to keep their arguing to a minimum, but they were like fire and ice,

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and there was nothing she could do to break them apart. “Oh right,” Klaus retorted, eyeing Mishca like he was the bane of his existence. “Because you’re such an expert on fucking rifles. Tell me your qualifications again?” “Doesn’t matter. You can’t know that for sure.” “Again. How would you know anything, you entitled little shit?” “Fine!” Mishca barked, taking a seat across from. “Enlighten me.” “They only missed your heart by an inch at the most. The shot was clean, hardly any wind that day, and zero obstruction from the other rooftop. Therefore, you lived, only because you weren’t the target.” “But that doesn’t make Lauren the target.” “According to my contact, she is.” Lauren and Mishca both looked at Klaus expectantly, waiting for him to continue. She

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did remember him on his phone when they arrived back, but since he was texting, she had no idea who he was talking to. And this was the reason they had been arguing. Once Klaus suggested that there might have been more to it than just wounding Mishca, then outright saying that they were probably after Lauren and were trying to get Mishca out of the way to make it easier, Mishca didn’t like the sound of that. “But even if that’s right,” Lauren said, “why would they shoot Mishca? It wasn’t like I was going to leave Mishca in the hospital by himself.” “They assumed Mishca would have sent you away—you’d be safer without him. Probably didn’t think you would hover over him every second of the day. With him out of the picture, you’d be easy enough to deal with, even with the mediocre help the Russian has watching you. I mean, that’s what I would have done.”

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“Never mind that,” Mishca chimed in. “What are you going to do about it?” “We use her as bait,” Klaus said. “Are you deliberately trying to fuck with me?” Mishca asked, a warning in his eyes. Lauren prepared to jump in, thinking to give her input of what they should do, but there was no use trying to jump in between an argument between two brothers…not when there was unaddressed animosity between them. “Do you really want me to answer that?” Mishca narrowed his eyes on him, the look he had promising pain. “Nyet. I’m not allowing her to go in there alone.” “Ooh, hard no. I’m fucking shitting myself cause of your grammar. Calm your shit, I’ll be there.” That didn’t seem to make Mishca feel any better. Rolling his eyes, Klaus collapsed back on the couch, propping his booted foot up on

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the table. Any time Mishca knocked it down, he just put it back up. At this point, he didn’t even try anymore. “She’s my employer, what does that tell you? I won’t let her get hurt.” “You can’t guarantee that.” “Then what the fuck do you suggest?” Klaus asked dryly. “Wait for the merc to knock on the front door? I’ve actually done that once or twice, but as much as I like to test my abilities, it’s not as easy as it sounds. Either way, if you want this to go away, you’ll do it.” “I still don’t like it.” But Mishca sounded less sure now. “You don’t have to like it, but you know I’m right.”

“God,” Klaus muttered, loosening the tie Lauren had just straightened, “how does he wear these monkey suits?” Lauren laughed, noticing just how awkwardly Klaus was standing as he fidgeted with his clothes. He actually looked uncomfortable and the sight of his distress made her wonder if he ever wore a suit.

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“I always think he looks nice,” she replied good-naturedly, batting his hands away as she straightened the tie again. He rolled his eyes but stood still. “Of course you do. Maybe he needs to take that stick out his ass.” “I assume there’s no point in arguing on that with you. Anyway, I think this look suits you, not just because you look like Mish.” “He only resembles me in appearance,” Mishca said entering the room, his eyes hard as he looked over at his brother. “No one would believe he was me for an instant if he opens his mouth.” Smiling menacingly, Klaus shot him a bird. “Didn’t seem to matter before, did it Russian?” “First, you’re Russian too. Second, will you always bring that up the moment I’m in your presence?” “As I live and fucking breathe.”

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At this point, Lauren didn’t need to worry whether or not Klaus would grow infuriated enough to kill Mishca whenever he came around. It seemed like they enjoyed arguing with each other more than anything else, not that she hadn’t noticed the changes between them since their first meeting at the building. Lauren didn’t know what had happened with them between then and now, but whatever it was, she was grateful for it. Maybe, if she were lucky, they would quell whatever disagreement that brought such turmoil between them, but she doubted it would be anytime soon. As Klaus was readying another threat, Lauren cut them off. “If the two of you are done…we have an opening to get to.” Nodding, Klaus headed towards the door, but not before making a point to slam his shoulder into Mishca’s, knocking him back a few steps. Mishca was grappling for patience, not just because of Klaus’ childish behavior,

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but because he hated that Klaus was able to do that to him. If he’d been fully healed, a brawl might have broken out. Before he could retaliate, Lauren moved over to Mishca’s side, staring up into concerned blue eyes. “It’ll be fine, Mish.” “I would still feel better if I were there to make sure of that.” “Luka will be there, and Klaus, and somebody that Klaus said he would need. I doubt whoever is coming will get anywhere near me with the three of them around.” Sighing, Mishca lifted her hand to his lips, pressing a hard kiss to her knuckles. “Stick by them, for me. I know you. You’ll go off half-cocked and—” She cut him off with a kiss of her own, feeling his lips turn up beneath hers. “I promise.” “I mean it, Lauren,” he said earnestly. “Come back to me.”

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“For fuck’s sake,” Klaus said poking his head back in. “Come on.” If looks could kill, Klaus might have died in seconds from the look Mishca sent him. Ignoring Klaus, Lauren turned Mishca’s face back towards her, going up to the tips of her toes to press a lingering kiss against his lips. When his arms wrapped tightly around her, Klaus groaned, throwing his hands up in exasperation as he went to take a seat, drumming his fingers on the arm of the chair. “Whenever you’re ready. For fuck’s safe, I have shit to do.”

Outside ‘L’, Lauren felt a bit like a celebrity, not that she had much of a choice since her wedding to Mishca had actually hit the papers—thanks in part to the shooting that had taken place. Before they got out of the town car, Klaus passed her a tiny earbud as he placed an

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identical one in his own ear. “In case you need me,” he explained, motioning for her to take it. She fitted the electronic device into her ear, her hair covering it. She waited a few seconds, expecting something to happen, but when it didn’t, she looked to Klaus. “It starts transmitting when we speak,” he said aloud, even as she heard him in her head. “I can hear everything you say and everything going on around you, same on your end.” “What if it malfunctions?” She yelled the last part, wincing when she saw him snatch the little device from his ear, glaring at her. She hadn’t meant to yell. “Trust me, it won’t. And for future reference, no need to yell. I can hear you clearly.” “Okay.” She touched the door handle, preparing to get out, but he placed a gentle hand on her arm, halting her mid-pull.

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“Are you sure you can handle this?” She nodded. “I never backed down from you.” He didn’t laugh at her attempt at humor. “Difference was, I never had any intention of killing you. The merc? He does.” “I get it, Klaus. I do.” Whatever he saw in her expression had him nodding. “Chin up then. He’s watching.” With only that warning, he exited the car, coming around to her side to open her door. He was smiling now, extending his hand for her to take. To anyone else, he was Mishca. He really did look the part, but only she would notice the difference between them tonight. They each only had one dimple, but they were on different cheeks; Mishca’s on the left, Klaus’ on the right. As they quickly entered the club, consumed by the mass of bodies inside, Lauren

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took a deep breath, forcing the tension from her body. It was time. Thankfully, there was no one there that Lauren knew since she had warned them all not to drop by the club, knowing that tonight might turn into something that she wasn’t prepared for. Klaus led her to the bar, making a point to mingle along the way, just as Mishca had done so many times in the past. When they were finally there, Klaus pressed against her back, she could almost believe that it was him. She didn’t think much of it, not until he placed his hand on her hip, leaning down to whisper in her ear. “Relax.” To all the world, they might have appeared to be sharing an intimate moment, instead of a mercenary and his accomplice awaiting a killer. She smiled up at him, going up on her tip-toes to kiss his cheek. His body

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went ramrod stiff for a moment before he took his own advice. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the flash of a camera. “Mish isn’t going to be happy about that,” she said to him as he signaled for the bartender. “I’d pay to see his reaction.” Shaking her head, even as a smile threatened, she tucked her hair behind her ear. “Where’s your friend?” “He can hear you.” Her eyes widened. “Can he really?” “Aye.” Lauren nearly jumped at the new voice in her head, but kept her cool, trying to discretely look around her to see if he was near—not that she knew what he looked like. “No point in that,” Klaus said passing her a glass with an umbrella and a pineapple slice inside it. “You’ll never see him, but he sees us.”

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“Good to know, but what if he comes up to me? How will I know if he’s with you or…well you know who?” “Besides that unbearable accent? Look for that awful facial hair.” “Bastard. You’re lucky you earned me two-thousand pounds or I’d leave your arse here.” Lauren couldn’t tell for sure, but he sounded Irish, maybe? “Does he have a name?” “We call him Celt.” Definitely Irish. “Good to know.” “Now, like I said. You’re covered, but just don’t do anything reckless.” Rolling her eyes, Lauren nodded. “I won’t do anything stupid.”

Over the course of the night, Lauren’s feigned ease became more sincere as she mingled with people, sipping on her second

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cocktail. Since the bachelorette party, it had become her favorite drink. She’d begun to think that the mercenary wouldn’t show, or at least whoever it was was waiting until she was away from Klaus to make a move. It would make sense since he was hovering over her, much like Mishca would if he had been there. Klaus had already wandered off, promising to be back shortly after ordering her to stay near the bar, but Lauren had grown tired of just standing there. She figured she would be just as safe in the privacy of Mishca’s as she was in the middle of the crowd. “I’m going to the office,” Lauren said into the earpiece. “Stop touching your damn ear.” Klaus’ reply came in loud and clear, and she had to resist the urge to flip him off, just to see if he would see that just as clearly.

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Lauren made her way through the crowd and back into the office. This one didn’t have the frosted glass like his other—probably because of the shooting—and was far more remote. It wasn’t completely set up yet, boxes stacked in corners, a lone butter colored sofa against a wall. She was more than happy to sit for a while to rest her aching feet, but more than that, she wanted to call Mishca just to hear his voice and let him know she was okay. At least she was going to until a girl stumbled in, wobbling on her heels as she giggled uncontrollably, barely holding onto the sparkling clutch in her hands. Her hair was up in an elaborate top knot, pinned in place by two lengthy pins. It was pretty clear that she was intoxicated—Lauren could almost smell the alcohol on her even at her distance—so Lauren relaxed her guard. “Can I help you?”

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“I’ve been looking for the restroom for like an hour.” “Oh, I can show you,” Lauren offered, standing. The girl stepped to the side, gesturing for Lauren to go ahead of her. That made her hesitate, only for a beat. Call her paranoid, but it didn’t make sense for her to need to go first when the girl was already at the door. Where the hell was Klaus? They hadn’t even come up with a code just in case something like this happened. Lauren decided to play it safe and stay where she was. “If you go out this room and to your left, you should see a sign that’ll point you in the right direction. Or just look for the sign Red.” Of course the girl had no idea what Lauren meant by that, but she hoped Klaus caught her meaning. He had only ever told her his codename once, and she hoped that that would be enough.

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“I don’t see it,” she said looking out the door though she was now standing on steady feet. She wasn’t dumb, and now that she knew Lauren wasn’t coming any closer, she had stopped feigning intoxication. Klaus didn’t respond, and neither did Celt. Since her phone was tucked away, Lauren tried to deftly pull it out, dialing the number Mishca had given her to contact Klaus. “Oh no, there’s no need for that.” Clearly, the girl had dropped the act, and at least now Lauren’s suspicions were confirmed. She was the mercenary. Women were just as capable as men when it came to killing things, but it had never crossed Lauren’s mind that the person coming after her would be female. In her head, she expected someone much like Klaus. But that was what she was, just not with the same equipment.

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She wasn’t holding a gun, she hadn’t threatened Lauren in any way, but Lauren didn’t doubt that she had weapons within easy reach. “It took a while, but you finally managed to go off alone. I’m surprised the Bratva Captain left you alone.” So she really had no idea that Klaus was pretending to be Mishca? Lauren knew that they were twins, but how could she not know about him unless it was true what Klaus had said about always wearing a mask. Lauren wasn’t about to give up his secret though. “Who are you?” “Who I am is inconsequential. Besides, you’re going to die soon.” “You shot my husband.” The mercenary shrugged, dropping her bag at her feet. “Guilty.” “Why?” She already knew why, she just needed to stall for some time. Surely if she

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didn’t check in with Klaus, he would come looking for her. “Nothing personal,” she said as she pulled the pins from her hair, though they looked less like accessories and more like sharpened blades. “You’re just a job. Besides, I needed the practice. No worries though dear, I’ll make it quick for you.” “Come on Rayne, can’t let you do that.” While she was glad Klaus had finally made his appearance, Lauren didn’t breathe a sigh of relief at the sight of him. Instead, she stayed perfectly still. There was no guarantee that anything she did would help the situation, especially in a room full of trained killers. The mercenary, Rayne, tilted her head in a way so that she could both see Klaus and Lauren. Clearly Klaus had forgotten to mention some pretty important details, like the fact that he actually knew the mercenary

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they were looking for, but she looked just as surprised to see him. “I don’t know what you expect to accomplish here, Vor, but you should leave while you still have your life.” “No choice. I live the trade of dead men, don’t I?” Something passed between them, an unspoken message, but it was clearly enough for Rayne to get what he was saying to her. She turned away from Lauren, facing Klaus head on. Lauren was clearly no longer a threat in her eyes, at least not until Rayne dealt with Klaus. Trying not to be a distraction to Klaus, Lauren took slow steps in the opposite direction, backing into a corner, out of the way. “You’re not the Russian despite the nearly flawless accent. Who are you?” Klaus shrugged, unperturbed by her demanding tone, dropping the fake accent. “I’m no one.”

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“Is that why you never showed your face?” Rayne asked, palming one of her blades with an absent smile. “You’re smart, Red.” “Take off, Rayne,” he said, straightening his stance. “Whoever hired you will die anyway, your contract will be void. While I’ve always respected our relationship, she’s my job, and I don’t want to kill you.” “As if you could.” With two fingers pointed in her direction, he waved her on. In movies, they always ran at each other in a flurry of motion, but neither Klaus nor Rayne moved, still watching each other…at least until Lauren bumped into the edge of the desk, knocking a container full of pens to the floor. For just a fraction of a second, Klaus’ gaze flickered to her, and then Rayne attacked. He reared back, just as the sharpened blade barely missed his jugular.

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He swung, she parried. She kicked him in the gut, but he recovered quickly enough, grabbing hold of her foot and yanking her forward. They went back and forth, the bass of the music covering up the sound of glass breaking. Lauren didn’t think Rayne could make a mistake, that she and Klaus were evenly matched, but one mistake changed what was an equal battle. When she struck at him with one of her blades, he jerked back at the last second, spinning to move behind her. Faster than either of them could process, he snapped her neck. She didn’t make a sound as she slumped forward, her head twisted at an awkward angle. It didn’t matter that it was not Lauren’s first dead body, she was still hyperventilating as the mercenary’s eyes stayed fixed on her. She breathed deeply through her nose and out through her mouth, trying to calm

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her racing heart, but it didn’t seem to be working. “She’s not going to freak out on us, is she?” Celt asking entering the room, barely giving the dead mercenary a glance before grinning at Klaus. “If she does, throw something at her.” “Hey you.” Klaus snapped in her face a couple of times, forcing her attention on him. “Don’t freak out, yea? Don’t need your damn Russian to make an ass out of himself because of it.” Lauren nodded, but she didn’t really hear him. Clearing her throat, she focused on anything other than the body. “What are you going to do about her?” There was nothing they could do until after the club closed and every last person had left. In that time, Lauren had stayed in the office with Celt, staying on the phone with Mishca until Luka arrived. Celt had

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been kind enough to stand in front of her, blocking the sight of the body. Klaus came back in, pacing the floor, looking apprehensive. When he saw Lauren on the phone, he took the phone, putting it up to his ear. “You’ll see her within the hour, fuck off.” Then, proceeded to turn it off. “Do you need to piss him off every time you talk to him?” “I have family issues,” he said dryly. “Clearly.” Luka finally walked in, completely ignoring Klaus altogether. They seemed to avoid each other whenever they were in the same room together, probably because of their first meeting together. “Why do I alway have to take care of the bodies?” Luka complained as he shrugged off his jacket. “Does no one care that the bitch’ll probably smell? I just bought these damn jeans!”

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“How on earth do you put up with him?” Celt asked looking baffled, scratching at his beard. “I don’t. Come on, princess. Time to go home.”

When they were back, and Klaus was forced to watch as Lauren ran to Mishca and he swept her off her feet, Klaus felt that old ache enter his chest, because the way Mishca looked at her was the way Klaus used to look at Sarah, at least until he met Reagan. She had been the only beacon of light in years of darkness, but he’d had to let her go too after he signed another contract. Sometimes, he still felt guilty about the way he left. Maybe, before he left New York again, he would pay her a visit. Turning his back, Klaus entered the spare bedroom, hunting through various places in

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the room where he had stashed some of his weapons—just in case someone tried to pay him a visit while he slept. He might have agreed to help the Russian, but that didn’t mean he trusted him. Reaching under the bed, he grabbed his duffel, unzipping it, and tossing it on the bed. It didn’t take long to pack, it wasn’t like he had brought much with him here, but he would have to head back to his hotel room to get the rest of his clothes. If he were lucky, he could get out of the city by nightfall. He slung the duffle over his shoulder, ready to get out of there, but it seemed the Russian wasn’t ready for him to leave yet. He came into the room, shutting the door behind him. “She doesn’t know you didn’t accept payment, does she?” Mishca asked, folding his arms across his chest, looking entirely too smug for Klaus’ taste.

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He thought about saying something rash, just to get under the Russian’s skin, but after the few weeks he had spent in his company, Klaus had begrudgingly grew to find him okay. Of course, that would never repair everything that had happened between them, and one day he would get retribution for it, but for the time being, he was giving him a pass. “No need to get sentimental, yea? Leave it.” “That your plan the entire time? Try to stay disconnected?”Mishca went on as though he didn’t hear the warning in Klaus’ voice. And now he remembered why he disliked him so much. The Russian never knew when to stop. “Poshyl ty—Fuck off.” “What’ll be your penance?” Mishca asked, wisely changing the subject. While Mishca thought he was stubborn, he didn’t know Klaus. He happily stood

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there, refusing to speak at all, and after once spending three days in solitary confinement, he could stand there far longer than the Russian could. “Ignore me if you like, but I’m not leaving until you answer me.” Annoying asshole. “What happens to me is none of your concern,” Klaus finally replied. “You got what you needed, right? So go on back to your lady.” “Even in your world, there are rules,” Mishca went on, not caring even a little that he was starting to get on Klaus’ nerves. “Unless sanctioned, you can’t take the life of another mercenary. Not without consequences.” Klaus laughed without any real humor behind it. “An eye for an eye.” “Is there any way out of it? If I told your employer that I hired you?” “Catch-22,” he said simply.

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He didn’t want to feel anything for the Russian, but he had to admit that a part of him was surprised that Mishca wanted to at least try and help him…but that could also be because of his disaster of a fuck up years ago. “You’re not under contract at the moment. Why don’t you work for me?” “Not just no,” Klaus said dropping his bag, turning to face off with Mishca, “but fuck no. You think just because I offered my services to her that you and I are square? Kiss my ass, Russian. If I did work for you, you wouldn’t have to fear whether someone outside of your little army was trying to kill you, it’d be me.” “There is only one left you hate more than me, no? Over the last five years you’ve killed every last one of them, even the workers that you happily left on that rooftop for me to find. But you left Jetmir for last.” “What’s your point?”

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“Jetmir will be gunning for me because he believed I killed Brahim.” Klaus waved him on. “And?” “And if you want him, it might be in your best interest to stick around.” Now, despite his efforts, he was intrigued. “How exactly do you plan on luring him out?” “Stay and find out.” Klaus ruffled his hair, freeing it from the fixed style he’d been wearing for that last few hours. “You actually trust me to do this, don’t you? You’re not stupid, Russian. You’re suicidal.” “I don’t need to trust you, Klaus. I trust your rage.” They faced off, brother to brother, enemy to enemy. Then, Klaus dropped back on the bed, folding his hands behind his head. “Don’t be so fucking melodramatic, Russian. I think I’m beginning to like this place.”

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Lauren rested back against the tub, breathing a sigh of relief as steam billowed out from the water, causing a light sheen of sweat to coat her skin. She had felt like she’d been walking on eggshells for weeks since her wedding day, and now the only thing she wanted to do was relax. Mishca getting shot, convincing Klaus to help, then trying to find a contract killer that was gunning for her…this was the least she could do to get her mind off of it all. When she heard footsteps echoing on the tiles, she peeked open an eye to make sure it was Mishca. Luka meant well, but he had a habit of just barging into rooms without knocking. “Is Klaus gone?” He grabbed a foot stool, dragging it over to sit near her. It took him a while, trying to disperse the bubbles that shielded her nudity

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with his will alone, before he finally met her gaze. Mishca looked better, like all the stress he had been under was finally lifted from his shoulders, but they both knew that their troubles weren’t over, not with Jetmir still out there. But at least for the night, they could let their guards down. “He’ll be sticking around for a while.” “Oh?” Lauren sat up a little straighter, nearly laughing when Mishca’s gaze dropped to her chest that was still moderately covered. “How did you convince him to do that?” With a shrug, he reached for her, running the pad of his finger along her collarbone where stubborn bubbles still clung. “Made him an offer he couldn’t refuse. How are you though?” He asked changing the subject. “Tired. Fighting off mercenaries is much harder than it seems in the movies.”

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He laughed. “Undoubtedly, but I’m glad it was handled.” “How are you?” She lifted her hand from the water, meaning to touch his chest, but pulled back at the last moment, not wanting to get his shirt wet—not that he seemed to care as he touched her wrist to press her hand against his sternum. It was a habit that they’d been beginning to develop. Whenever she felt apprehensive, or worried about him, she would rest her palm in that same spot, feeling his heart beat beneath her touch. It especially helped on the days she remembered trying to staunch the flow of blood. “I told you, I’m fine.” He kept one hand holding hers, the other going to her breasts, slowly drawing the suds away with a sweep of his hand. “You worry too much.”

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“No, it’s weird that you don’t worry about all of this,” she replied. “Are you forgetting that I watched you get shot?” “It was bound to happen.” “Mish!” He shrugged. “It’s the truth. Besides, we have more important things to worry about at the moment.” She moved to her knees in the water though her lower half stayed submerged beneath the surface. Soap suds and water slowly drifted down the front of her body, revealing more of what he had been longing to see. His eyes drank her in, his tongue sweeping out to slide along his lower lip. The temperature in the already warm bathroom skyrocketed. “Like what?” He visibly swallowed as he reached out, tracing his fingers from one hip, along her lower stomach, to the other hip and back again.

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“I promised him,” he said absently, his gaze rapt on what he was doing to her, and her reaction to him, “that if you had so much as a bruise, I would make him pay.” Her laugh was cut short when his hand drifted lower, his blue gaze immediately lifting to her face. He always wanted to watch her respond to him, easily reading even the slightest expression on her face. She was lucky to have him as her first, and more than glad that he would be her last. “And what do you think now?” She asked breathlessly, shivering as his fingers moved up her inner thigh. “As beautiful as you were.” “I don’t think you’re allowed yet,” Lauren said breathlessly, sighing from his touch. He didn’t give a response besides dipping his hand beneath the surface of the water, then back up, brushing the back of his fingers along her throat, down to the center of her chest. She more than willingly spread her

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thighs for him, knowing that despite her protests, she wanted this just as badly as he did. But just as quickly as she’d acquired it, her control slipped away, and now he possessed the power. He was still sitting some distance away, but without him having to ask, she moved as close as she could, practically leaning over the edge of the tub, wrapping her fingers around the edge to keep her balance. Lauren could barely think straight as his fingers pushed in and out of her, let alone kiss him back, but he didn’t seem to mind, murmuring words in Russian against her lips, his other hand keeping hold of her hair, holding her where he wanted. He didn’t stop, not when she was crying his name, panting softly as she came down, but it wasn’t enough. Not nearly enough. She saw the fire in his eyes, the passion he only let her see. Unbidden, a smile broke

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out on her face as he easily swept her out of the tub and towards their bedroom. “I don’t think your doctor would approve, Mish,” she said with a giggle though she wasn’t helping matters much as she tightened her legs around his waist, loving the way he groaned as he squeezed her thigh. “Have I ever cared?” He asked making quick work of his clothes after dropping her on the bed. Mishca stood in front of her, proud, his need for her evident in the tautness of every one of his muscles. “No,” she replied reaching for him. “No, you haven’t.”

Now that the threat of the mercenary was no longer hanging over them, Mishca was back at his office, doing what he did best. He hadn’t even made a big fuss about Klaus being there alone with her. The door was slightly cracked when Lauren approached it, open wide enough for her to see inside. Her fist was raised, and she had every intention of knocking, but when

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she caught sight of Klaus on the other side, she froze. She was used to seeing Mishca without clothes on, but at the sight of Klaus’ bare chest, she felt ill. There were scars everywhere. She was baffled, seeing the stars that were so proudly done on his chest because she knew they weren’t meant to be there, but more importantly, they appeared to have been mutilated, like someone sliced through them multiple times and on different occasions. If it were Mishca, she might have wondered who had done it to him, but with Klaus, she wondered if he had done it to himself. Klaus looked up, as though sensing her presence, meeting her eyes for half a second before giving her his back, grabbing his shirt from the bed. In the brief time it took for him to don the garment, she tried counting

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the long, jagged scars across his back. Now those, he couldn’t have done those to himself. What the hell had he been through? After his shirt was on, he pulled on a beanie, covering his hair—a habit Lauren noticed after the few times she’d been in his presence. He seemed to have a thing about letting his hair hang. More noticeably, however, there was a brand on the nape of his neck, that of a triangle with a line going through it. Lauren wanted to ask what it meant, but she doubted he would be willing to tell her. “Something I can do for you?” He asked, grabbing a bottle from his duffle, walking towards her “Oh,” Lauren said shrugging, stepping back out of his way. “Just checking on you.” His brow lifted as he moved past her, pulling the door shut behind him. She couldn’t get upset, especially when it did

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appear as though she were spying on him. It was clear that Klaus valued his privacy. While they weren’t necessarily friendly, Klaus was nice enough when they were alone on the rare occasion. It didn’t surprise her that she still didn’t know much about him—he hardly ever talked about himself—but that didn’t stop her from being curious about him, and the anger he felt towards Mishca. She’d head Mishca’s side, what little of it he shared, and since heh ad said that it wasn’t his story to tell, the best person to ask was right in front of her. “Can I ask you a question without you getting angry?” She called, trailing behind him. He smiled sarcastically, waving her on. “I’m always angry, ask anyway.” “Who is Sarah? You mentioned her at the hospital…” He stopped moving altogether as he looked at her, but there wasn’t anger like she

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was used to, there was…nothing. It was like he had shut down every emotion, his face carefully blank. “Worried your Russian had a thing for her? Ease your mind, he didn’t.” “But you did,” Lauren stated, drawing her legs up in the chair, wrapping her arms around them. “You said you weren’t angry with Mishca because of what happened to you, but because of what happened to her?” “And did you ever think that it wasn’t any of your business?” He asked evenly. “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.” “Like that’ll make you back off,” he muttered looking out at the night through the windows behind him. In that moment, he looked tired, that carefully placed mask of bitterness and contempt gone. He ran his fingers through his hair, glaring at nothing as he pulled that beanie away. She had noticed that since he

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was letting his hair grow out, he grew more agitated with it. “She was my girlfriend. Sarah Moore. I’d known her all my life and we’d been together in high school.” He smiled, just a brief lift of his mouth before it faded. “For graduation, I wanted to take her to New York—it was all she ever talked about at the time.” He looked back at Lauren. “I didn’t come from a rich family. I worked my ass off for a year to afford that trip, but it was worth it, just seeing the smile on her face when I showed her the tickets. I didn’t understand it at the time, but my mom didn’t want me to go, never gave me an explanation…just, ‘don’t go.’ What did I do? I went anyway. “There we were, acting like fucking tourists in the middle of the city, not a care in the world because we had each other.” His expression changed then, vulnerable to closed off in a heartbeat. “We got lost over in Hell’s Kitchen. It was late, no damn taxis

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anywhere. Then, out of the blue, a dark van skids to a stop beside us, three guys in ski masks jumping out.” Lauren didn’t have to visualize what he was saying, she had experienced it. She also didn’t miss that all throughout his story, Klaus always referred to Sarah in the past tense. “I tried to fight them off, but they fucking tasered me, throwing us both in the back. When I finally came round, we were tied up in that building.” He laughed, shaking his head though she doubted he found any of it funny. “I stupidly thought they wanted money, probably thought we were a couple of rich brats. I begged and pleaded with them to let us go, that we didn’t have anything. Do you know what they said?” Lauren shook her head. “They didn’t say anything. Jetmir—you remember him?—he punched me in the face. That was what he did any time I tried to

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speak that first night, but I kept talking because as long as they were hitting me, they would leave Sarah alone. Hours passed before they even told me why we were there. They wanted to know where the Bratva was storing their weapons.” “Jetmir mistook you for Mishca,” Lauren said, remembering what Mishca had told her. “I didn’t even know what a Bratva was, but they didn’t believe me. So every day, for five days, they tortured me, and when that didn’t work, they hit Sarah. I would have told them anything they wanted to know, but I had no clue. Then, on the last day, they were tired of my games. They wanted to teach me the errors of my ways by lying to them…so they killed Sarah, right in front of me.” Klaus was repeatedly flexing his hand, the tendons across the back of it standing out. “But they didn’t have to do that. They didn’t have to kill her if they would have just

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taken my shirt off. They waited until after Sarah was murdered to look for the most obvious answer.” He fisted the bottom of his shirt, dragging it up. Up close, the scars looked far worse. Some looked like bite marks, others were long slashes like old knife wounds. More importantly, he was showing her his stars. Looking at them, Lauren could feel the phantom pain of the needle digging into her skin when she got her own. “I didn’t have the fucking stars. Oh, I have them now,” he said when he noticed Lauren looking at them. “I got them as a reminder to who I was. I wanted to look at them for the rest of my life” Swallowing, Lauren looked away. “What did they do once they figured it out?” “It was too late by then, they were going to kill me anyway, but before we even got to that point, I begged them to kill me, to end my suffering because in my mind, I was

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weak. The love of my life was dead across from me and I did nothing to save her.” “It wasn’t your fault, Klaus,” Lauren said quietly. “You were a victim too.” “A victim, right. Well after that night, I promised myself I would never be a victim again. Your precious Russian showed up after they had left for a few hours, cut me free. Imagine my fucking shock when I saw his pale ass staring back at me.” “They’re why you became a mercenary?” He opened his mouth, ready to answer, but his phone chimed, cutting him off. Looking at the screen, he climbed to his feet. “Story time will have to wait.” “Wait, where are you going?” He wrenched the door open. “Some of us actually work for a living.” “You know,” Lauren called after him. “If you gave half as much effort in being nice as you put into being an ass, I think you would be a pretty cool guy.”

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“And where’s the fun in that?”

Klaus, Mishca, and Lauren were all sitting in a room together, discussing the night with the mercenary when Klaus’ phone chimed. Silence fell over them as they all just looked at the phone, though Lauren’s gaze often flickered to Mishca. It was the phone call they had been waiting for from Klaus contact, Celt. Mishca had automatically assumed it was Jetmir wanting

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revenge or Brahim, and that theory was plausible, but Lauren doubted it. She felt as though Jetmir would have wanted to do it up close and personal as opposed to contracting it out. But for this reason, she was also afraid to know who had actually paid for the job. Either way, it was someone close to Mishca, and that was only going to piss him off more. With a shrug, Klaus finally answered, and during his rather brief conversation, his face never gave anything away, Lauren worried what he was being told. When he hung up, he stared at the phone for a while, tapping his finger against it. At first, Lauren didn’t understand why he was hesitating, he had always been so blunt in the past, no matter what it was about. “Celt was able to track the account where the payment came from…” He trailed off, scratching at his facial hair. “Did you get a name?” Mishca asked. “Your sister.”

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There was that split moment of utter disbelief hanging between them, but Lauren couldn’t—or wouldn’t—believe for a second that Alex would do something like that. Even Klaus was a bit reluctant to jump to conclusions. “Information could’ve been fixed.” “And your contact wouldn’t have found that?” Mishca went on, his tone dangerously calm. It didn’t help that at that moment, they heard Alex’s voice in the living room, raised as she was yelling something at Luka. “I think you should calm down,” Lauren said as she reached for Mishca’s hand. But Mishca was already out of his seat, pulling the door open so hard it cracked against the wall, effectively claiming the attention of everyone in their living room. Lauren hurried out after him—Klaus staying exactly where he was—she hoped to calm

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him before he did something he would later regret. Alex had a smile on her face at first, one that seemed permanently placed there since she and Lauren had come to terms with what happened before. Slowly, as Mishca stormed towards her, that smile fell. “What happened when I took you to see Anya?” Mishca asked and Lauren could see the fear in his eyes that no one else could. She didn’t know much about the politics of the Bratva, but she could take a stab in the dark as to what it would mean if Alex was behind the mercenary that was hired. Viktor was a testament to that fact. Mishca wasn’t like Mikhail, he wasn’t as cold-hearted as he pretended to be, but when it came to Lauren, sometimes he failed to see reason. Sometimes, Lauren loved that about him—like when he was going up against the Albanians—but not when it meant he would have to hurt his sister.

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Slowly, it would eat at him until there was nothing left. No matter what Alex said, no matter her reasons, Lauren wouldn’t let anything happen to her, not just because she wanted to save her, but because she needed to save Mishca as well. “What the hell are you talking about?” Alex asked, immediately going on the defensive. Like Lauren, she wasn’t effected by Mishca’s anger, and would happily snap back at him, but this was not a good time for her to challenge him “What did she tell you to do?” Mishca asked again, his tone shifting from concerned older brother to pissed off Bratva Captain. When she still refused to answer him, he began speaking in rapid French so only she could understand him, and whatever he snapped at her seemed to work.

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The sarcasm bled out of Alex as she faced her brother, and for the first time in a long time, Alex looked her age. She’d grown up around the Vory v Zakone and knew their rules and how they treated anyone they thought disrespected them. She had no choice in the matter, she had to tell the truth. “Mish, it’s not what you think.” His eyes were cold, burning with fury. “Then explain.” “Mum didn’t mean—” Grabbing the closest thing to him—which happened to be a vase full of flowers—Mishca hurled it across the room, making Alex yelp in fright and Luka and Lauren move closer to them. Except, Lauren was going towards Mishca while it looked like Luka was more concerned with Alex. “Anya told me to kill her,” Alex said in a low voice.

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Lauren blinked in surprise, but still grabbed Mishca’s arm in case he made a move towards her. Whatever his reasons, he allowed it. Despite what Klaus had said, Lauren still had her doubts about Alex’s involvement. Even now, even after what she had just heard, she refused to believe it. “And you didn’t think to tell me about this?” Mishca asked. “Is that what bothered you after you left?” “It wasn’t like she could do anything,” Alex rushed to explain. “Hell, she was exiled with Mikhail’s guards on her all day.” “And did you help her escape?” Before she could answer, Lauren spoke up. “What are you talking about?” They both ignored her, too focused on each other to pay attention to anyone else. “Is that the only reason?” Mishca questioned. “Your feelings towards Lauren were quite clear at the time.”

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“I wouldn’t do that!” Alex shouted sounding like a frightened little girl as she turned pleading eyes to Lauren, hoping that she would understand. “Mishca, stop,” Lauren said forcing him to look at her. He was out of control and she didn’t like it. The words were softly spoken, meant only for him to hear. It didn’t matter how Alex had acted in the past, Lauren could see it in her face that she hadn’t planned this. But it didn’t matter what Lauren was saying now, Alex’s gaze was back on Mishca, that fear that had been present in her eyes slowly disappearing as anger took its place. “Don’t make me force you out of here,” Mishca warned, the threat clear in his eyes. He turned away, effectively dismissing her for the time being. Whether she was tired of being blamed, or felt offended that Mishca had thought it was her in the first place, she began laying

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into him. “Yea, I was pissed at the time, but guess what, I told her no. Not just because I didn’t want Lauren to die, but because I knew what it would do to you! You think I would do that to you of all people?” Sadly, Lauren understood both sides. She knew Mishca didn’t want to believe that Alex had anything to do with it, but with the world they lived in, not everyone could be trusted, and with the treachery in their family, Mishca didn’t know what to believe. “You kept it from me,” Mishca said through gritted teeth, staring his sister down. “What the hell am I supposed to think?” “That I wouldn’t betray you, you selfish ass!” “Okay, let’s all calm down,” Lauren spoke up again, trying to be the voice of reason. When Mishca looked back, she gave him a pointed stare. “I’ll talk to Alex, you figure

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something out. And don’t give me that look. I trust Alex. You should too.” “Lauren—” “When I told Mikhail about Anya and Viktor, I didn’t think about what that would do to Alex in the process. Of course I didn’t know her that well, ad she’s not nearly as close to me as she is to you, don’t ruin that when you don’t have all the facts…okay?” He pulled her to him by the nape of her neck, kissing her forehead. “You’re right.” “Don’t tell me. Tell her.” When he moved past her to Alex, Lauren exhaled, glad that she could do something to help diffuse the tension, even if it racketed right back up seconds later. Klaus was watching her, and she thought she saw a glimmer of respect in his eyes as he pointed to his phone, then the back room. Alex was crying soundlessly, but she accepted Mishca’s hug, nodding at whatever he was whispering to her. She went to stand on

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the other side of the room as Mishca came back to speak to Luka. He was significantly calmer, and seemed to be thinking clearly. “Anya couldn’t have pulled this off on her own, even with her contacts.” Now that he was a fraction calmer, Mishca moved on from assuming it was Alex, despite what he knew about her, Alex didn’t have the resources for this. “What are you thinking?” Luka asked folding his arms across his chest, the warped rabbit tattooed on his forearm pulling taut. “Jetmir?” “It’s crossed my mind.” “Want me to see what I can find out?” Mishca was hesitant to give his consent, not because he didn’t want answers, but because he had no idea how this would affect Luka. It was no secret that Luka hated the Albanians…probably more than Klaus and Mishca combined. It was, however, a secret as to why he hated them so much.

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“Are you sure you can do this with minimum bloodshed?” “I don’t have much of a choice, do I?” “You always have a choice, brother.” When Mishca looked away from him, Luka’s gaze sought out Alex where she sat across the room. “Not in this.” But those words never reached Mishca’s ears.

Some minds couldn’t handle torture, it broke them. Luka Sergeyev was a product of that kind of torture. His life was a mystery to those that knew him, even to his bosses. He had always been good at hiding the truth. That was one of the reasons why he was glad to be working under Mishca. The

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Bratva Captain didn’t pry, not even when he’d entrusted Lauren’s livelihood with him. Luka had never thought much about rising in the ranks of the Vory v Zakone, only caring that he be respected…and feared—he would much rather be feared than loved. Not since he was a boy did Luka ever care about making friends, but that innocence was stolen from him. He hadn’t even been granted a reprieve from those horrific sights, because those men had wanted him to remember every hour of every day what he had caused so many years ago. The memories didn’t dwindle away as time went on. No, they stayed in the forefront of his mind, constantly plaguing his thoughts. It was why Luka never got close to anyone, putting up a wall to keep himself from forming attachments. Some thought he was crazy, not just because of the things he said at any given time—he’d actually always been strange that way—but because of his

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presumed lack of empathy. Most killers in his line of work had training, were taught not to feel anything for the people they slaughtered. Except, Luka’s ‘training’ was of the unconventional variety—and it hadn’t worked well enough. On the outside, it looked like Luka slept well at night, the crimes of his past not weighing on his subconscious, but in reality, the demons he lived with haunted every moment of his existence. No one understood that agony. But he was okay with that. So long as he had his job, and women willing to share his bed, he had no complaints. It didn’t matter to him that it was Lauren’s life hanging in the balance and not Mishca’s, they were both the same to him. Luka saw the way Mishca looked at her in those few unguarded moments when he thought no one was paying attention. While he might not have ever experienced the emotion himself, Luka knew true love when he saw it.

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It was why he needed to get this done. Taking out a cigarette, Luka entered the run-down bar, dropping his gaze as he walked to the other end of the room, plopping down on the barstool with a loud sigh, quickly grabbing the man’s attention beside him. It was a renowned Albanian Mob spot, one that Luka frequently visited. Luka had similar markings as the men that came to this place, because at one point in his life, he’d been one of them. It was nearly impossible, but Luka forced himself to relax, rolling his shoulders as he snuck a peek at the man seated near him, making sure he didn’t stare too long lest the man remember him. Though it was burned into Luka’s mind, he doubted the Albanian remembered the last time they had run into each other. “You new here?” the Albanian, Bastian, asked.

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From what he understood, he was Jetmir’s right hand now, a far cry from where he had been when Luka was around. Because he knew names and faces, Luka knew he was the only person that could find out this information. “Yes, Naz sent me over.” Bastian grunted, tossing back his shot before ordering another. It was a habit of his when it came to Naz. The pair hated each other more than Luka hated all of the Albanians. Over the course of the night, Luka needed to get him drunk enough that he let his guard down, spilling secrets that he would normally keep close to his chest. It didn’t take long, just a casual mention here, an offer to buy him a drink there. By the time Bastian had consumed his tenth shot of jager, Luka was still nursing a glass of water. Leaning against the bar top, Luka lowered his voice so only Bastian could hear

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him. “I heard what the Russians did to Brahim.” “Fucking bastards, all of them. Just wait, we’ll kill them all and fuck that bitch of his.” Luka’s hand twitched on his glass, but otherwise, he gave no reaction to his words. “And the Russian woman with the Boss? How does she play into it?” Luka hadn’t meant to come right out with the question—any rational person would find that suspicious—but Bastian was too far gone to notice. “Using the money from that bastard daughter of hers. She’s so hard up to take them down, she’ll do anything.” So just as they’d thought, Anya was behind the hit, not Alex. One problem solved. “When is Jetmir planning to strike?” Bastian shook his head, looking at Luka intently. “You sure I don’t know you from somewhere?” “I have a very familiar face.”

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It was time for him to get out of there. He didn’t want to be stuck in enemy territory if Bastian did remember how they knew each other, and he definitely didn’t want him yelling it out. Luka glanced down at his watch, pretending to check the time. “Shit, I have a run for Naz.” “Wait,” Bastian called as Luka stood, heading towards the back exit without a glance back. He’d gotten what he came for, now he just needed to report back so they could strategize. In the back alley, Luka heard Bastian trying to stay silent as he snuck up on him, but even if he hadn’t trained himself to listen to even the softest of steps—hating anyone at his back—Luka would have been able to hear what sounded like a dump truck behind him. Anxiety shot through him, that age old fear

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trying to take him over, but he couldn’t fuck this up, not with what was at stake. He kept walking. Bastian blitzed him, using his weight to shove Luka against the brick wall, one hand fisted in his hair as he kept his cheek pressed against it. Luka breathed deeply through his nose, trying to remain calm. He swore to himself that he wasn’t going to kill him, despite all he had done to Luka in the past. “You think I wouldn’t remember you,” Bastian grunted, his sour breath fanning over Luka’s face. At his words, the tension in Luka’s body shot up as he went on the defensive. “I’d remember you anywhere.” It didn’t matter anymore. Luka wasn’t the same little helpless boy he had been back in those days, but Bastian was still the same sick fuck. He had the information he needed from him, and Luka knew that the next morning,

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when they found Bastian’s body, it wouldn’t be reported. At that moment, he cleared his mind, blocking everything out as he shifted his stance slightly, throwing his elbow back into the man’s gut, breaking free with ridiculous ease. Bastian looked surprise for all of a second before he tried to throw himself at Luka, making him laugh as he dodged his futile punches. It amazed him how different Bastian appeared now that Luka had the power. Striking out, Luka hit him in the trachea—as Klaus had done to him—cutting off his cry of alarm. With a single kick, Luka broke his leg. Bastian fell to the ground, wheezing as he tried in vain to call for help, but there was no one that could help him now. “Are you afraid?” Luka asked as he crouched down beside him, his lips turning up at the corners as he reached for the

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butterfly knife in his pocket. “Shh, it won’t hurt for long.” The words were like second nature to him as he saw the familiar fear finally enter his eyes. They had been spoken to him often enough that he could perfectly match the tone and pitch of Bastian’s voice. It was a heady feeling, having this kind of control over another’s life. It wasn’t something Luka took for granted. “If it makes it any easier, I’ll go slow.” And that was what he did. First, he took the man’s tongue, then cut off each one of his fingers until both hands were just bloody stumps. Lastly, he slit the man’s throat from ear to ear. The act didn’t necessarily make Luka feel any better, despite what he had initially believed, but there was a blessed numbness that crept through him, putting his thoughts at ease. It wouldn’t last long, probably until he finished cutting through the man’s body,

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but he would enjoy that peace of mind for as long as it would last.

Luka was glad Mishca had moved to a more secure location, one that was run by men on their payroll. It wasn’t that he disliked the last apartment, but he couldn’t stand outside smoking a cigarette, covered in blood at that one. The nicotine heated his lungs as he drew in, slowly exhaling as he chased the calm he’d felt earlier. That was how it had always been. Once he took a life, he idly stood by listening to their screaming pleas in his head, and smoked until he could no longer hear them. They wondered why he spouted nonsense, but he found peace in constant

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conversation, laughter…anything but the silence. He hated silence. “Shit, what happened to you?” Luka turned, spying Alex walking up to him, her eyes trailing over him slowly. They’d never been around each other much, in part because she’d been in France for years, but also because Mishca preferred none of them go near her. Not that Luka ever would despite his predilection for pissing Mishca off. Some things he knew were off limits. But he loved testing those boundaries…and his own. “Pigeons,” he answered, taking another drag of his cigarette. “They’re blood thirsty little beasts.” He expected her to roll her eyes, call him crazy, and walk off, but she did none of that, propping her hip against the brick wall beside her instead. It wasn’t that Luka was

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trying to notice—he was actually making a conscious effort not to—but she made it hard for him…ever since he brought her to the safe house months ago. He had never told Mishca how he had found her, valuing his face too much to have that conversation, but the image was seared into his brain, and he doubted he would be forgetting it anytime soon. “Right. Is there something I can do? Towel, maybe?” He smirked, amused by her question though inside he was a bit shocked by her offer. His family in the Bratva didn’t particularly care what happened to him after the job was done, not that he could really blame any of them since he made a habit of fucking with them when he wasn’t needed. “Nyet—No.” What he really wanted was to be alone, calm his chaotic thoughts on his own, but a smaller part of him was glad she was there.

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No…he needed to be glad someone was there, not just because it was Alex. “What are you doing out here?” She was dressed in one of those dresses of hers, though as of late, they were all starting to get shorter. He would have liked to think he didn’t notice, but he did, and he wasn’t ashamed of it. “Waiting for you.” She gave him a small smile, making his eyebrow arch up as he took a long drag from his cigarette. “Yea?” With a hitch of her shoulder, she came forward, close enough that he could smell the warm scent of whatever perfume she was wearing, but not enough that she was actually touching him. Plucking the cigarette from his mouth, she put it between her lips, not looking away from him as she took a drag, uncaring that blood stained the filter. Yep, they were all fucking insane.

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“Since you’re not doing your I’m-aboutto-do-murder face, I assume you found out what I’d already told you.” He nodded once. “I did.” “Then I’ll make myself scarce for a while. I’m sure you have to plot the downfall of my mother.” She waved her hand as though that meant little to her, but Luka knew differently. She dropped her gaze from his, looking just past him to the nearly empty street, save a few pedestrians walking by. “She is going to die regardless,” Luka said honestly, even as she flinched at his cold words. “Anya may not know it, but Jetmir thinks only of himself, and when his back is against the wall, he would sacrifice anyone to stay alive.” Alex dropped the cigarette, grinding it out with the toe of her heel. “Seems counterintuitive, don’t you think? I mean, Mish

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thinks he’s ready to go to war for his brother.” “Because he wasn’t the one to do it—and of course the whole twin thing.” “So you do think the Albanians are planning something?” “I know.” “Fucking great.” Luka tried not to be amused as Alex muttered about ‘needing a drink.’ “You should get going.” “Oh?” She canted her head to the side, a dangerous light entering her eyes. “Not gonna carry me back inside? Since, you know, you’re good at that.” He was tempted. “Not tonight.” “Are you sure?” She reached for him with dainty fingers, trailing them over his bicep, down to his forearm where she followed the veins that stood out in his skin. “That wasn’t what you said last time.”

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He smiled down at her, trying to remember why this was a bad idea, that promise he had made to her, but when he readied to answer her, Luka heard the slightest movement in the alley that made him go on alert. He knew who it was, had been waiting for him to approach since Lauren had asked him for help. “You should get going,” Luka said. Whether she heard the warning in his voice, or was just done playing with him, Alex left him there, but not before she stretched up to kiss his cheek. At another time, he might have stopped her from leaving, but his attention was focused on the mercenary lurking in the darkness. Luka already knew what this was about. Besides the others, Luka was the only one that hadn’t been surprised that Mishca had a brother. They had already met.

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“Imagine my surprise finding you here,” Klaus said walking forward, his arms folded across his chest as he stared Luka down. There was no smartass remark Luka could come up with, not when facing off with Klaus. He had every reason to hate the Albanians, even more than Mishca did, but what Mishca didn’t know was that Luka had been directly involved with what the Albanians had done to Klaus. “I heard you were taken prisoner by Syrians in eastern Egypt,” said Luka. “Just a rumor.” Luka tried to take inventory of the number of weapons Klaus carried. There was the 9mm at the small of his back, knives strapped to his arms, but it was the weapons that Luka couldn’t see that worried him. “Why are you really here?” He asked Klaus. “You’re a shitty tracker. Word got back to me that the Russians were hunting me,

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so,”—he shrugged one massive shoulder—“I tracked you. Does he know about you?” Before Luka could utter a word, Klaus had his hand wrapped around his throat, thrusting him back until he was pressed against the brick wall. “Does he know you tortured me?” “Vse my raby nashikh masterov, net?—We are all slaves to our masters, no?” “I’ve spent years putting each and every one of you in the ground.” And now would be the perfect time, Luka thought. It wasn’t like Alex had actually seen Klaus, Mishca would assume the Albanians had done it. “One thing before you kill me,” Luka said holding up a finger. Obliging him, Klaus actually stepped back a few inches, giving Luka room to do whatever he intended. Begrudgingly, Luka had to admire the confidence in which Klaus

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moved about, like he had no reason to fear what Luka might do. But he did see Klaus’ finger twitch when he went for the edge of his shirt, drawing it up, then tugging on the edge of his jeans, making sure Klaus could see the full extent of the tattoo on his hip. After staring at Luka in bemusement for several moments, Klaus’ gaze slowly lowered, taking in the sight of the rather feminine tattoo there. He didn’t have to explain what it meant, Klaus had spent enough time studying them to know what it stood for. “Who?” Klaus said. “Bastian.” Luka half expected him to demand he turn around to see if the scars were there, evidence of his claims, but from the way Klaus’ eyes clouded with fury, Luka knew that he was remembering the exact pattern in his own back. The one’s that Luka had put there.

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“And the Russian doesn’t know this?” No, he didn’t and Luka wanted to keep it that way. It was left unspoken, but they both knew Mishca would see Luka killed than standing at his side. “You suicidal?” Klaus asked the most obvious question. Most would come up with that conclusion if they knew Luka had willingly walked into this den of wolves, knowing what he had done. “I like to think I’m a masochist,” Luka said with a shrug. “This isn’t over between us, but I’ll not tell your little secret to your Captain,” Klaus said, “but you’re in debt to me.” “And when will it come due?” “Whenever I call for you.” Luka agreed, not that he had any other choice. He already considered killing him, but he doubted that it would be easy, and it would damn well be bloody.

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“You might wanna go ahead and give me your number since, ya know,”—Luka took out his phone, looking at Klaus’ expectedly—“you’re going to be calling me.” Klaus’ mouth twitched but he refused to smile. “Are you really as mad as they say?” Luka looked around, a smile on his face as he gestured to their surroundings with his arms. “We’re all mad here.” Shaking his head, Klaus turned his back—arrogant bastard—jerking his thumb back at Luka. “You might want to get up there soon, I told the Russian you were back.” So he hadn’t planned on killing Luka. He watched after him, seeing the familiarity between Mishca and Klaus. They both were arrogant and thought themselves at the top of the food chain, but they could never rule together. Especially not when they couldn’t be in a room together longer than a

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few minutes without going for each other’s throats. Luka took a breath, shoving his hands in his pockets as he boarded the elevator, ignoring the way Turner eyed the blood on his clothes. Not much he could have really done to help that. And as he readied to enter the apartment, Luka let his mind drift back to the past, where he had been the victim, begging for a life he wasn’t really sure he wanted. There, the chaotic rhythm of jumbled pieces of images flashed in his mind, the torture, the training, the fear. Then his mind finally calmed to a blank space.

Alex didn’t need any confirmation from Luka to affirm what she already knew. It was blatantly obvious that Anya was setting her up. Alex was sure Anya had been counting on Mishca’s love for Lauren to set him off prematurely, but had she really thought Mishca would have killed her outright?

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He could be temperamental sometimes, sure, but he had never in his life raised a hand to her. Even now as they argued back and forth, oblivious to the storm that was raging inside of her, Mishca was trying to refrain from saying outright what she already knew was going to happen. Anya was going to die. Since she had come back to the penthouse, a while after Luka had already come up and announced what he had already told her, she had only caught the tail end of the argument. Anya had been given a chance once already. While her living arrangements hadn’t been ideal for a person like her, Alex had always thought that living would have been enough. The crazy thing was, she hadn’t thought about her visit with Anya since she left her place that day. A few days after, she hadn’t been able to find her wallet, but she had chalked it up to her own habit of losing

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things. Even weeks later, when Mikhail had informed Mishca—he still didn’t talk to Alex—that Anya had disappeared, Alex had been worried, but she figured either Anya had escaped, or Mikhail had something with her. Now, she was almost one-hundred percent sure it wasn’t Mikhail. A she gazed around the room, at the only people she truly cared about, she only had one real option to end this. She knew Mishca would feel guilty, not because Anya would be dead, but because of what it would do to her. And a part of her wanted to be the one to take care of this, and that part was destructive. Because of her life, it was imperative that she was careful with how she acted no matter where she was. She had never really been able to have a normal life, going out with friends, drinking to excess, so for years that

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free spirit of hers was tempered, but not in a good way. While she wouldn’t admit it, there was something dark in her, very much like her mother. For years, Mishca thought he had been shielding her from the life, while in fact, he had taught her everything she knew. And to move this along without bringing suspicion on herself, she needed to get out of there and make a phone call. She slipped out easy enough since Mishca was too busy arguing with Klaus, and Lauren was trying to be the median between them. For reasons Alex didn’t care to contemplate, Vlad was acting strange, distancing himself rather than his usual hovering. As she walked around the corner and down the hallway, she went over what she was going to say in her head, trying to think of the best strategy to work against her own mother. No one knew her the way Alex did, including the way her mind worked.

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“What are you doing?” Alex was so used to Mishca sneaking around that she wasn’t startled by Luka’s sudden appearance behind her. She was careful though, keeping her phone out of sight as she kept her arm behind her back, turning to face him. Luka didn’t care much for personal space, and it was more than hard for her just being in his presence alone. Forcing a smile, she shrugged, blinking up at him. “Minding my own. What about you?” “You look like you’re planning something stupid.” Luka was always so careful and guarded when he was around her that she couldn’t be sure whether or not he was acting so concerned because it was his job, or because he thought of her like a sister, or…something different. She had never hid her feelings from him, even if they were unrequited, but until

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recently, nothing she had ever done had ever gotten him to even take a second glance at her. Now? She couldn’t get rid of him and she had no idea how she had snared his attention, though she didn’t regret that she had. “You worry too much about me,” she said flippantly, hoping he would leave it at that. For a second, if it could even be considered that, she thought she saw him smile, not one of the fake, sarcastic smiles that she was used to, but one that was genuine and made her heart flutter. “Someone has to.” He said it so casually as he leaned against the doorframe that she didn’t doubt his words. “And you? Who worries about you?” “I worry about myself.” “Is that enough though?” She asked, truly curious. “Doesn’t that ever get lonely?” He shrugged, looking just past her.

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But that didn’t stop her from saying, “I care about you, Luka.” He canted his head to the side, reaching up with those scarred, tattooed fingers to brush her hair behind her ear. His hand lingered there, barely touching her, but it was enough for her to feel the heat of his palm. If possible, the space between them grew smaller as he stood straight though it didn’t appear he had moved at all. “You know nothing about me.” “Tell me.” It was almost a plea…almost. “Something, anything. I don’t care.” “Don’t do anything stupid, Alex,” he commanded, effectively changing the subject. “Boss wouldn’t want you doing anything reckless.” And just like that, he pulled away from her, closing himself of to her, just as she closed herself off to him. He turned to walk back down the hall to the living room where

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everyone was still talking, but before he could go far, she called out after him. “Do you even care, Luka?” He spun on his heel, still walking backwards though he was now facing her. He drew an X over his heart, then placed the flat of his palm against the spot. She couldn’t say what that meant, could only hope that he might feel for her what she felt for him, but knew that the possibility of that was far more complicated than she really wanted to think about right now. He thought he knew her, but he should have known that just because he told her not to do something, didn’t mean she wasn’t going to do it. She still had to make that call. Anya was too arrogant to believe she could ever make a mistake—even with the catastrophe with Lauren and her family—and for that reason, Alex knew Anya would still be carrying the phone Alex had stashed in the gift basket she’d brought for her.

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Knowing she didn’t have much time until Luka came back when she didn’t follow him, Alex punched in the number, bringing the phone up to her ear, her heart thumping rapidly in her chest as the ringing started. It rang once, twice, before the call was forwarded to voicemail. She was right. Despite the fact that Anya couldn’t see her, Alex held her head high, needing the sense of bravado it brought her. If she wanted this to work, she had to make it sound believable. When it was time to leave a message, Alex spoke clearly, and precisely into the phone. “I know where you are and who you’re with. I also know about the assassin you hired. I know the truth, but if you want me to keep your secret, you will meet with me with two-hundred thousand dollars, cash. If you don’t have it, ask the Albanian you’re

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fucking. When you call, and you will, I’ll give you a time and location.” Ending the call, Alex dropped the phone back into her pure, clearing her expression before she could reenter the room. Hopefully, time was on her side. If Anya didn’t know that the assassin had failed, then she would be more willing to bargain, especially since she had set Alex up to take the fall for it. Now, all she had to do was wait.

Anya hadn’t disappointed. About a week after Alex left the message, Anya contacted her wanting to negotiate. For all intents and purposes, she had no reason to worry about what Alex might do because she still believed her plan was still in affect. Anya clearly didn’t know what she was doing if she hadn’t realized that the mercenary had

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botched it long ago, but Klaus was their ace in the hole. In the time between her call with Anya and the date they’d set to meet, Alex had gotten everything she needed for it. First, she paid a visit to one of her friends out in Brighton Beach, the same one she had been visiting when she’d needed a ride. Truthfully, she had been glad Mishca had sent Lauren and Luka instead of coming himself. He practically knew every corner of Brighton Beach and could have guessed where she had been, but it was easy enough to distract them before they could question her about what she was doing there. The drug she had bought hadn’t come cheap, Clint nearly charging her a pound of flesh to get it for her. For a dealer, he was a scary bastard, more afraid of jail time than actually moving his product.

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She knew how to use it effectively though, and for that, she was thankful she had her own connections within the Bratva. Everything was set before Anya stepped into the apartment that evening. It wasn’t that Alex had been planning for the events that would take place, but she knew she needed to be prepared nonetheless. Anya entered the apartment with a large, silver briefcase, dressed as she used to before Mikhail had sent her away. This was the woman Alex remembered, and for a split moment, when she didn’t see the cold fury in Anya’s eyes, Alex could imagine that this was just another day of them spending time together before one of them had to go off. “Please, have a seat,” Alex offered, taking her own as she folded her hands in her lap, never once looking away from her mother. “Can I get you something to drink?”

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Narrowing her eyes, Anya looked around at the apartment, jealousy in her eyes. “You are his daughter, yet only I suffer for it.” Her heart was thumping loudly in her chest, but Alex was the picture of calm as she crossed her legs, tapping her fingers against her knee. “Did you bring the money?” “And what makes you think I just won’t kill you?” “Because you know as well as I do that if I die, Mishca will know it was you, and he won’t stop until you’re dead.” “Possibly, but there’s no guarantee that there will be any body left for him to discover.” Alex watched silently as Anya reached for the sealed water bottle on the table, inspecting to see if it had been tampered with before she unscrewed the cap, drinking deeply. There was a stab of guilt in her chest as Alex watched her, and she once again wished that she had come from a normal family

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without all the betrayals, the deaths, the fights, but she knew wishing wouldn’t change a thing, and it was far too late now to turn back. She had about seven minutes before the drug kicked in and did its damage, and before that could happen, she wanted to say her piece. “I’ve always had your back, in everything. Why would you do this to me? If you wanted your revenge, why did you have to bring me in it? I’ve done nothing wrong.” “You’ve taken everything from me!” Anya accused, venom dripping from her voice. “I did nothing wrong,” Alex shouted back. “You were born!” This much anger and hostility coming from her, Alex realized that despite what she thought was a brilliant, flawless plan, she might not have been the only one trying to get one over.

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“You never intended to pay me, did you?” Alex asked softly, a hint of vulnerability in her voice as Anya placed the bottle back on the table, her eyes going to the briefcase that was still resting at her feet. With a rather joyful expression, Anya picked it up, opening it to show Alex the empty interior. Shaking her head, Alex said, “You set me up.” “And I would do it again in a heartbeat.” Anya’s brow furrowed for a moment as she blinked rapidly, clearing her throat repeatedly, but she couldn’t know that she was slowly dying from a drug that was both odorless and tasteless that wouldn’t show up on a normal tox screen. Even if they ran one, Alex had been told, it would be out of her system within twenty-four hours. “It doesn’t matter anymore,” Alex whispered. “It’s already done.”

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Alex wasn’t smiling. She wasn’t gloating at what she had been able to accomplish. She felt absolutely nothing. “What does that mean?” Anya turned her head to look back at the water she had drunk, turning accusing eyes on Alex. “What have you given me?” “I’m sorry, but you didn’t leave me a choice.” Seven and a half minutes. That was all it took before Anya’s eyes fluttered, her body going lax as she stumbled back into the couch, her eyes slowly losing their focus. “Your loyalty,” Anya gasped out on failing breaths. “Your l-loyalty was to me.” Alex could hardly speak as she heard Anya’s last words, her throat so tight from the unshed tears that she could do no more but watch as Anya took her last breath. Even in her last moments, Anya couldn’t take any of the blame.

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Anya was right about one thing, loyalty meant everything in their world, but she had lost sight of who was loyal to who. Alex was loyal to those who were loyal to her. Mishca would not have been as merciful, nor would any other member of the Volkov Bratva. That was why Alex knew she had to be the one to do the job. It was the last gift she could give her mother. It was the only mercy she would ever get. Once it was done, she knew that she would have to call them, knowing Mishca had people to clean this up, or fix it to look however they wanted. She hesitated as she typed in Mishca’s number, wondering whether he was still with Lauren and the long lost bother she knew fuck-all about. More importantly, she wondered if Luka would come. Everyday it felt like she lost another piece of Mishca, and soon she feared that she

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wouldn’t have him at all, especially now that he was married. Once she made the call, hearing the irateness in Mishca’s voice, she focused only on Anya. Despite her family, Alex had never seen a dead body before, not for the lack of killings that she knew Mishca and the others had committed. For a while, she could only stare at Anya’s body for the longest time. It had been over quickly, and if Alex hadn’t witnessed it herself, she would think Anya was sleeping. Before long, she heard them outside, using the key to let themselves in. Alex only saw Mishca and Luka enter first before she dropped her gaze again, but she knew Vlad wasn’t far behind. “Want me to take care of it?” Luka asked quietly to Mishca, lacking that spark of emotion she had heard the last time she saw him. “Give me a minute.”

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She expected Mishca to be angry with her for going behind his back, but if his actions were any indication, he wasn’t upset with her at all. He pulled her out of the room, his hand gentle on her. When he finally stopped, he kept both hands on her shoulders, forcing her to face him while using his body as a block from what they were doing back in the den. “What happened?” She opened her mouth, ready to tell him everything, but it was the look on his face that made her pause. She was so used to his stern look, the way he addressed the men under his charge, but it had been a while since she felt her age around him. There was so much sadness there, and fear, that despite her efforts, she began tearing up. It was like his words snapped her back to reality. A reality where she had killed her own mother.

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“She would have killed us all,” Alex said, hating that her voice was shaking when she talked to him. She didn’t want to seem weak. “I’m sorry.” “Stop.” She expected him to tell her how badly she had fucked up, but he pulled her into a hug, her head tucked beneath his chin, the way he always did since she was a little girl. “You didn’t do anything wrong,” he whispered. “I should have done better for you.” She shook her head against his chest, not because she thought he had done anything wrong, but because she understood what he was saying to her. He didn’t want her to feel guilt for what she had done, and in true Mishca fashion, he felt like it was his fault. What he didn’t understand was that he couldn’t save everyone. She was already lost, and had been for a long time.

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Luka interrupted their moment, whistling low. Mishca drew back from her, but he didn’t go far, staying close as he looked to see what Luka had wanted. He gestured to the door with a tilt of his head, hearing something neither of them could. Vlad seemed to hear it too, stepping just behind the vicinity of the door, his gun at the ready, but he needn’t have worried. It was only Mikhail. It had never surprised Alex that he always seemed to know when to appear at the most inopportune times. She might not have felt fear that Mishca would be angry at her actions, but she did when it came to Mikhail. Alex could count on one hand how many times they had actually spoken since they had found out about Viktor, and that wasn’t without her trying to reach out to him. He came into the apartment without a word, his officers probably waiting outside, looking around at each of them before finally

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resting on Anya. Alex wished she had stayed behind Mishca so she wouldn’t have seen the satisfied smirk on his face. Alex knew Mishca hated Anya with a passion, yet he at least had the decency to conceal his delight at her death from Alex. Now, the change she had been expecting from Mishca came over him. “Luka,” Mishca called, his tone chillingly cold. “Take her.” She wanted to protest against that, really wanting to be alone, but neither of them would let that happen. “Should she not answer for what she has done?” Mikhail asked, gesturing out at Anya with his hand, though he looked like he could care less that she was dead. “If she does, she answers to me, and that won’t be tonight. Luka.” Alex stepped around Mishca, walking towards he door without waiting for Luka to lead the way.

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The worst part? Mikhail wouldn’t even look at her. It didn’t matter that she was an innocent in the entire matter of Anya and Viktor. It didn’t matter that she had taken care of a problem that was threatening the life of one of his Captains. Since she was the product of a betrayal against him, she was just as guilty as Anya and Viktor in his eyes. “Hang on.” Alex stopped, turning her shattered expression into one of indifference when she turned back to look at Luka, the only one of them she wasn’t afraid to look at for fear of what his expression may be. She could never explain it, but there was something about him that made her pay attention. Maybe it was the way he made a point to make other people view him as mad when in all honesty, he was one of the smartest guys she knew. He portrayed the idiot well, but when situations grew dire, she recognized

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the change in him, how he could easily command a room without a second thought. Maybe they had one thing in common—hiding who they truly were on the inside. Tonight, there were two plaits braided into his blonde hair at the temples, the look oddly suiting him. Unlike the last time she had seen him when he appeared to be trying to get away from her as fast as possible, tonight he looked like he was in control again. “Places to go,” Alex replied simply with a shrug of her shoulder. “I need to leave.” “You can wait for me.” She frowned, her anger the easiest emotion to summon at the moment. “I don’t have time for this, Luka. Go find your hole.” A dangerous light entered his eyes as he grabbed her arm, guiding her down the hall. “Don’t make me throw you over my shoulder. You remember how well that went, no?”

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Yep, she would never forget the day he took her to the safe house. He didn’t seem to notice that she was butt naked, glaring over at him. No, she was wrong. He did notice and he wasn’t shy about perusing her body either. But that was the thing though, she wasn’t going to shy away from him, maybe before her world had been rocked and she’d had to grow a thick skin quickly, but not now. If he wanted to look, so be it. Truthfully, she wouldn’t have been that calm if it were anyone else. Luka made it easy for her. Majority of the time, the men Mishca sent for her looked through her, treated her like she was precious glass, but Luka seemed to see her as a person. After several moments of memorizing every inch of her body, Luka finally tore his gaze from her, instructing her to get dressed as he waited for her to finish. He might have tried to hide his reaction from her, but from

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what she could see by the way he swallowed and mumbled beneath his breath, she affected him. Alex took her time getting dressed, ignoring the sound of Luka’s loud sighing outside her room, though it did make her smile. Since he had been such an ass about it, she took her time, not caring that he was getting more agitated by the second. She was just grabbing her hoes when he threw the door open, grabbing her and carrying her kicking and screaming out the door. Even when they got to the safe house, the gate locked behind them, he still made it a point to carry her inside, making her feel like an idiot. Yet inside, she was elated. “Fine,” she said snapping back to the present. She allowed him to drag her away. The silence was welcome, the night air cooling her heated skin, but Luka didn’t seem content

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with that as they arrived at his car. Instead of opening the door for her, he caged her against it, his arms on either side of her. “It’s going to eat at you,” Luka murmured. “Might not be today, but you’re going to feel that shit you did tonight and you’re not going to be able to deal.” “You would know from experience, right?” He smiled tightly. “Yes.” She didn’t actually think he would admit to it, but it made sense. Luka didn’t seem like the type of person to uselessly lie—stretch the truth perhaps, but not lie. They were so close that if she just titled her head up just a whisper, their lips would touch. Alex was practically shaking with the need to do it, to see if she would feel something by doing it or would he be like all the others that had crossed her path. All night, she had been all over the place. Anger. Sadness. Happiness. Even now, she

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was seeking an escape, knowing that what Luka was saying was true. “You want me,” Luka said, not arrogantly with a smirk, but curiously, as though the concept had never crossed his mind despite all of their encounters in the past. “Yes,” she whispered back before she could stop herself. The back of his scarred fingers came up to caress her cheek, pale eyes following the movement as though mesmerized. “I’d wreck you.” He pulled away from her, cold air hitting her chest instead. His rejection stung, but she wasn’t going to acknowledge it because when she did, when she acknowledged everything that happened this night, she would need something a lot stronger than alcohol to deal.

It wasn’t too cold when Lauren opened the doors to sit out on the balcony, a blanket wrapped around her shoulders. Stars littered the night sky, no clouds obscuring their beauty. Really, it was a perfect night, but it was hard for her to find any beauty in it, not when she was constantly reminded of the ugliness of the world when she saw the scar

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on Mishca’s chest or the now haunted look in Alex’s eyes. While his scar was healing—and looked far better than it did when he was discharged from the hospital—she doubted Alex’s wounds would heal so easily. Lauren pulled her knees to her chest as she sat, closing her eyes as the wind blew in her hair. She couldn’t have been sitting out there for long when the doors opened. His gaze flew to her immediately as he stepped outside, in only a pair of lounge pants, his feet bare. Not bothering with grabbing anything, he came to her side, motioning for her to sit forward so he could climb on the chair behind her. She attempted to pull the blanket off and give it to him, but he stopped her, wrapping his arms around her middle. “The cold doesn’t bother me.”

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She was stiff, trying to hold her weight off of him while leaning back against him at the same time. “Should I be laying on you?” He sighed. “You worry too much.” Mishca didn’t give her the chance to move away any further, tugging slightly until she was resting fully against him. If she concentrated on everything else, ignoring the feel of the scar against her skin, she could almost imagine that everything was okay. “Talk to me,” he whispered next to her ear, and as though he couldn’t help himself, he kissed the spot just below it. “I thought I could handle it, knowing the truth about what you were dealing with everyday.” She shrugged. “I don’t think I can anymore.” His hold tightened for a moment, like he was afraid of what she might be saying, but when she rested her hands on his arms, he relaxed. “I never wanted this for you. I want you to be happy.”

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“I am happy, when I’m with you.” “I can’t tell you not to worry for me, you will anyway, but if I was ever in any real danger, you will know. I give you my word.” Smiling, she squeezed the arm he had around her waist. “How’s Alex doing?” It had only been days since Mishca had told her about what Alex had done. She had tried calling, but Alex hadn’t answered besides sending a text saying she was fine. Lauren couldn’t imagine what Alex was going through, but did wish that she could help. “She only tells me she’s fine. I’ve apologized for the way I acted, tried to be there for her since Anya…but I think I’m the last person she needs to see at the moment. Luka volunteered to look after her until I can get her to come around.” “Good.” While it seemed to escape Mishca’s mind, it was clear enough to Lauren that Luka

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cared for Alex, and she didn’t think there was anybody else that could help her the way he could. But she didn’t think that Mishca would approve of him with Alex, not with how protective he was over her. She only hoped that it wasn’t too late to help Alex. “I need you to promise me something,” Mishca said suddenly, his eyes intent on her face. “Anything.” “Promise to trust me. Promise that you will let me decide what’s important for you to know. Can you do that for me? And I promise to keep the ugliness of my job out of our home.” Lauren thought about it, living in that world of blissful ignorance. She knew that she would probably think of the worst possible scenario when in reality, it was nowhere near as bad.

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She could accept leaving it as just a thought. “Yes, I’ll trust you.” “Good. Now, are you done worrying?” When she nodded against him, he kissed her forehead. “Then come back to bed.” Smiling against his cheek, she looped her arms around his neck. “You never did carry me over the threshold, you know.” Chuckling, he placed an arm beneath her legs, easily lifting her off her feet. He took his time carrying her over the threshold into their bedroom. In these moments, just short bouts of time, she remembered why it was all worth it.

Watching her sleep had become a new past time for him, but this time, as he watched her chest rise and fall, he wasn’t filled with content. Mishca was respected when he met with people he did business

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with. His name alone struck fear in men twice his age. If he couldn’t protect the one person that meant the most to him, then what did all of that matter? What Mikhail had said was true. Loved ones brought a risk, but what he failed to realize was, it was just as much a risk to Mishca as it was to Lauren. And frankly, Mishca was tired of the rules that governed his life. He had made his decision when Lauren accepted his name, and he was going to do right by her. The only way he could ensure a smile stayed on her face was to end the threats against them once and for all. He might not not have been able to forsake the vows he had taken to the Bratva all those years ago, but he would make damn sure his enemies wished he had.

Find a place inside where There’s joy, and the joy Will burn out the pain. -Joseph Campbell

Laying on the couch, laptop resting on her legs, Lauren was busy looking through med school applications when Mishca came through the front door. It was weird getting used to her life with him. Before, she had school most days and only spent a few nights together, or there was a threat that kept them apart, but now that that was all over—at least until she found a school—she

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now had to get used to him being around more often. She wasn’t complaining, she actually loved it when he spent the day with her, but there were days when she still couldn’t believe this was her life. “Where’ve you been?” She called to him as he came closer. “You were gone when I woke up.” With a kiss to her forehead, he dropped down beside her, pulling an envelope from his pocket, handing it over. It was vanilla in color and was hand-addressed to Mishca. Looking at it curiously, Lauren pulled out the card inside, the thick stock paper heavy in her hands. It was an invitation to an event a woman named Lucia Cortez was hosting. “You’re going to Brazil?” She asked looking from it to him after reading the time and place.

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“No,” he said plucking it from her hands. “We’re going to Brazil. Two nights, Marco sent his plane.” “Wait,” Lauren sputtered with a laugh. “We can’t just leave the country.” “Why not?” “Because…” Well she didn’t really have a very good answer to that. “And who is Lucia Cortess or Marco?” “Cortez,” he corrected her pronunciation. “Lucia is the ex-wife of Marco.” “I don’t understand.” Lauren looked back at the invitation. “Why would she invite you to a party where she’s selling her jewelry? I mean, unless you’re into that kind of thing, Mish.” “Sometimes I forget how much of a bad influence Luka is on you. While Lucia considers us friends, it’s more pressing that I go to meet Marco for a meeting. Besides, the jewelry she’s selling was once a gift from Marco.”

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“So she’s selling it? Wouldn’t that make him mad or something, and I still don’t understand who he is to you?” “Marco is an old associate of mine. There’s nothing to worry about, honestly. He approved of this.” Rolling her eyes, dropping the invitation on the table, Lauren asked, “So since this is a business trip, why do I need to be there?” “One night of business, two days for just us. Consider it our pre-honeymoon. There’s a gold bikini in there that I’ve been waiting to see.” Lauren pretended to think it over, more than excited at the prospect of leaving the country and traveling to a place she had never been. “What do I need to pack?”

Vlad didn’t look happy—though his facial expression rarely changed—at the news of

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the private jet, but dutifully kept driving towards the airstrip where the pilots were waiting their arrival. After Lauren thought about it, she had seen less and less of the enforcer since the Albanians had come to town, especially since Luka showed up, but Mishca hadn’t said anything about demoting him and when she looked, his tattoos were as they were supposed to be. As they were pulling into the hangar, Mishca’s phone rang, and with one look at who was calling, he rolled his eyes and silenced it. Before Lauren had a chance to question him about his reaction, her phone rang. “Hello?” “Why can’t I go to Rio?” Luka whined into the phone, music blaring in the background. Laughing, Lauren glanced at Mishca. “I’m not in charge of that.”

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“You shouldn’t have answered,” Mishca murmured. “After all I’ve done? You let him just throw me away like garbage! I’m offended.” “Luka—” “I’ve put my ass on the line of fire for you—I even got a damn speeding ticket. Did you know I had to pay him off not to arrest me. Which means I paid to get a damn speeding ticket!” “You’re being a little dramatic, Luka,” Lauren said, ducking out of the way when Mishca tried to take the phone from her. “If you want, I could tell Mishca to give you vacation time.” “Nyet, Vy s uma soshli—No, have you lost your mind!” Mishca growled at her, pulling her to his side so he was able to snatch the phone from her. Whatever Luka was saying now had Mishca frowning. “No, she didn’t mean—I don’t give a shit…You’re

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giving me a headache. Fine! We’ll discuss it when I return.” Lauren was still laughing, even more so when he promised to hurt her for what she had done. “You should stop indulging him,” he said as they got out of the car, the small, but sleek plane waiting dozens of feet away. “Give Luka a break. He’s deserves a vacation after looking after me when you were in the hospital.” His eyes grew hard, never liking to be reminded of that time. “It was his job.” “And with every job comes benefits and promotions,” she replied with a sunny smile, going up to the tips of her toes to kiss his furrowed brow. “You’re too nice to him.” “No, you’re not nice enough.” Though Vlad offered, Mishca carried their luggage to the plane

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While the plane was much smaller than a commercial airline, the interior was still spacious enough for the three of them to have their own areas, though Lauren sat with Mishca. They were buckling in, the pilot coming over the intercom to tell them they were about to take off. Lauren was looking out the window as the plane started rolling forward, her excitement making her glance over at Mishca with a smile on her face. While it might not have been his first time out of the country, it was hers, and she was glad that she could have that experience with him.

Lauren slept through most of the trip, her head resting on Mishca’s shoulder. She didn’t think that position could have been very comfortable for him, especially for that length of time, but he didn’t complain.

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“Are we there yet?” “We’ll be landing soon. Sleep okay?” She shrugged. “How’s your shoulder?” “I’m fine.” “What have you been doing?” “Going over the plans for the weekend.” The light blinked on, signaling for them to put on their seat belts. As they began the descent, Lauren dug through her carry-on for the camera she’d stashed inside, snapping a photo of the sprawling land outside her window. They even flew over the infamous Cristo Redentor that was just as amazing in person as it was in pictures. There was a car waiting for them when they landed. Mishca greeted the driver easily, but Lauren could tell he wasn’t as familiar with the language as he was with Russian and French. Lauren climbed in first, followed by Mishca and Vlad. It took minutes before they were pulling out and onto the street. Despite

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the ten-hour flight, and the hour long drive from the airfield, since she had slept on the plane, Lauren was wide awake now, taking in the sights as they drove past. There were stands everywhere, selling fresh fruit, clothes, and a variety of other knick-knacks. It was bright here, so many vivid colors, and exotic birds that flew through the air, circling the green of the jungle. Instead of a hotel, they were staying in a villa just steps from the beach. There were at least four bedrooms and as many bathrooms, with a spacious living area, the entirety of the place decorated in shades of white and taupe. The master bedroom was on the ground floor, with doors opening out onto the deck that was extended out into the sand. There was enough foliage to give them privacy, but the flowers were beautiful to look at.

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A king-sized canopy bed was set against the back wall, a giant portrait of the sunrise hanging in between two of the poles. Not surprisingly, there was not a television in the bedroom, and Lauren was actually glad of it. When they had arrived, she had hoped to talk Mishca into taking her on a tour of the city, but as soon as she curled up on the bed, she fell asleep again.

Hours later, after she woke and freshened up, Lauren found Mishca out on the deck, a drink in hand. She had slept far longer than she realized, stars now blanketing the night sky. “No jet lag for you?” She asked sitting in his lap, briefly kissing him. He smiled, gesturing to his phone with a tilt of his head. “Had to make a few calls.” “If Lucia’s auction is tomorrow, what are we going to do tonight?” Lauren asked as she

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leaned back, sighing at the feel of his arms slowly curling around her waist. “I thought you might want to go out to the water.” She hopped up quickly at that, ignoring his chuckling as she stripped out of her clothes, digging through her suitcase for her bikini. She was tying the strings to her top when Mishca walked back in, his eyes set on the stars on her chest. She doubted that he would ever get used to seeing them on her. Frankly, neither would she. “Are you going to change?” He quirked a brow as he undid his tie, tossing it on the bed. Now, it was Lauren’s turn to drink him in as he stripped. His shirt was next, then his socks and shoes, but he left on his pants. Despite the cool breeze blowing over the ocean water, it was still warm enough for them to be comfortable. The beach was fairly

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vacant at this time of the night, but there were still a few out, farther down. “It’s beautiful out here,” Lauren said absently, walking up to just the edge of the water as the tide rushed in. The moon hung heavily in the night sky, reflecting off the water, allowing enough light that they could see their reflections. As Mishca came up behind her, wrapping an arm around her middle, she smiled down at their flickering images. “Ne tak krasiv, kak vy—Not as beautiful as you.” She squeezed his hand, pulling free of his hold. “Are you getting in with me?” “I’ll watch you.” Lauren turned back to watch him drop down onto the sand, her eyes narrowing on him. “Don’t tell me the great Bratva Captain is afraid to get in the water.”

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He smiled as she began pulling her coverup off, left only in the skimpy white bikini she had bought for their honeymoon. "I like the view better." She carefully stepped into the water, putting the coldness of it out of her mind as she sunk in to waist level. Closing her eyes, she dived beneath the surface. Despite the craziness of their lives, being here with Mishca, away from all the drama and violence that surrounded them in New York, she felt at peace. “Please?” She called back with a flirtatious smile, wadding deeper into the water. She didn’t have to look back to know he would be coming in after her, so when she heard the splashing water, she smiled. “Tell me,” he said when he was at her back, “what do you see when you look out at the water?” “Endless possibilites.”

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His lips were ghosting over the shell of her ear, and she could feel the smile pulling at them, making goosebumps break out all over her arms. “That’s how I see us.”

"What do you wear to something like this?" Lauren called from the bathroom, light spilling out behind the door. "Anything you want," Mishca said back, busy on his phone, making sure that his other plans for the evening were still in play. He had already been dressed for some time, foregoing his suit for jeans and a shirt, scuffed boots laced on his feet. "How's this?" It wasn't that Mishca hadn’t grown accustomed to Lauren's beauty, quite the opposite, but there was something about the way she looked at that moment that made his breath catch.

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Amused by his reaction, she walked towards him, still barefoot, drawing his gaze from her face down to her legs that were displayed quite nicely in the dress. He would have to remember to pay them more attention in the future. He stood when she reached him. She turned her back, lifting the heavy fall of her hair. “Could you button me?” She asked innocently, more than aware of the affect she was having on him. He ran a finger down her spine, beneath the delicate chain that hung down her bag, the only thing really holding the dress together. Right at the top, there was the smallest of buttons that he knew she could easily reach. “Any more surprises I should know about?" She met his gaze through the mirror, a corner of her mouth turning up. She didn't answer, she didn't have to. Her expression told him everything he needed to know.

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“Tonight should be fun.” Chuckling, he opened the door, leading her outside. “Don’t tempt me.” As she walked by, she brushed her hand over the span of his abdomen, smiling up at him sweetly. “Or?” It was going to be a long night.

Lauren didn’t have to ask how often Mishca had been to Brazil, not with the way he expertly navigated the streets towards the villa on the outskirts of the city. At the moment, she didn’t have any cares in the world besides what her hair would look like once they got to the party. With the top down, her light brown strands blew in the wind, whipping past her face as Mishca drove well above the speed limit. By the time they reached the villa, she didn’t want the drive to end.

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“Oh wow,” Lauren said when Mishca exited the car, tossing his keys to the teenager in the maroon vest, coming around to her side. “This is incredible.” Halogen lights were imbedded in the ground along the walk way up to the front doors that were standing open, manned by two security guards, one holding a clipboard. Mishca didn’t have to give his name—his notoriety clearly spoke for itself—the guards stepping to the side to allow them entry. The floors were made of an expensive sandstone tile, the home itself decorated in warm shades of reds, tans, and oranges. The room they entered was nearly clear of any furniture, the guests already in attendance mingling together. A waitress carrying a silver platter with flutes of champagne, and glasses of a fruity smelling drink paused in front of them. “Can I interest you in a drink?”

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Mishca declined, but grabbed one for Lauren. At her questioning look, he said, “Sangria. No one is better at making it than Lucia.” While she had never had one herself, she knew what went into them. Taking her first sip, she coughed and swallowed, surprised by how strong it was, but did enjoy it. There was a vast difference between the Russians she had met back at the manor, and the ‘businessmen’ she was seeing today. They were not nearly as stiff, dressed casually as opposed to the suits she was used to seeing them in. Luka looked like he would more in this group than with the Bratva. They were at ease as they all talked casually, Mishca introducing her to a few of them, but the woman that stole the show was the one that was holding the auction. Lucia Cortez wasn’t classically beautiful, but had a wide smile that either meant happiness or impending doom, and while she

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seemed perfectly pleasant when Lauren first saw her, Lucia’s mood changed at the drop of a hat, especially when she saw people she didn’t want there. When Mishca and Lauren walked outside, where she was yelling in rapid Portuguese to one of the waiters, she abruptly halted her argument, smiling warmly at Mishca. She came over, the gauzy material of her dress whipping back behind her, as she grasped Mishca by the shoulders, kissing both of his cheeks. Even Lauren got the same treatment, as though they had been friends for ages, instead of virtual strangers. “I’m so glad you could make it,” Lucia said in heavily accented English. A pleasant smile spreading her plum-painted lips. “And you must be Lauren,” she said, “as beautiful as Mishca described.” Blushing, Lauren thanked her, glancing over at Mishca who shrugged.

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“Mishca Volkov,” a portly man called out, opening his arms as he crossed the room towards them. Accepting his embrace with a hard slap to the back, Mishca stood back with a smile, gesturing for Lauren to come to his side. Unlike Lucia, the woman standing at the man’s side didn’t smile at her, her eyes narrowing as thought she thought Lauren might have been a threat. Barely holding back an eye roll, Lauren accepted the man’s extended hand. “Marco, my wife Lauren.” “Ah, she is a treasure.” Lauren smiled kindly, readying to thank him, but Lucia’s condescending voice cut in before she could. “Oh, stop it, Marco. She’s not like one of your putas. She won’t fall for your charms.” He didn’t look angered by her remark, only amused. That was something Lauren noticed about the older men in Mishca’s line

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of work. Either they didn’t get angry, or those smiles they gave were warning enough. “My wife, as gracious as ever.” A waiter rang a bell, capturing the attention of everyone in the room. “If you would proceed to the media room, the auction is about to begin.” Instead of display cases, the jewelry was presented on young women, everything from diamond broaches, to emerald solitaire earrings, and brilliant ruby necklaces, the jewels nearly the size of a baby’s fist. The guests were casually going about, observing, commenting, and already selecting their favorites before the bidding even started. “Half of it she hasn’t worn, most were just gifts when Marco was having an affair,” Mishca explained when they were going to their seats. Lauren coughed, taking a sip of her drink. There were at least thirty models in the

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room. “If you messed up, what would you give me?” “The world, and if not that, I would let you slap me. That seems to be your favored response.” She rolled her eyes, but Lauren did smile. “That was one time.” Lucia walked in from a side entrance, all conversations dying away as she took the podium. As she began the auction, it didn’t take long before she started selling. She had an interesting way of holding the event, meaning she didn’t care how often Marco’s new girlfriend raised her hand to bid, Lucia ignored her, and in the same token, whenever Mishca bid on Lauren’s behalf, it didn’t matter whether another person was offering a larger amount, she always sold to him. In the end, Lauren came out with a necklace crafted in the shape of flowers and large teardrop earrings that were made of black diamonds. Once the auction was over,

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Lauren talked with Lucia, Mishca excusing himself to have a private conversation with Marco.

“I never thought I would see the day,” Marco said as they stepped outside, lighting one of the Cuban cigars he was known to carry around. “With all those rules you Russians are known for, I doubted you could even take a woman. Come você vive—How do you live?” Mishca smiled graciously, sitting in one of the few chairs that faced the house so he could still have a clear view of Lauren. “Times are changing, Marco.” Striking a match, Marco took his time lighting the end of the cigar, staring over at Mishca above it. “A change of power, si?” There was a time when Marco had anticipated doing business with them in New York, an alliance that could have been

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profitable to both sides, but Mikhail had rejected that offer in favor of one with another crime syndicate. While he had never revealed his motives, Mishca had thought it was because Marco was just as powerful as Mikhail, and he didn’t want to risk losing his status. To answer his question, Mishca shrugged. Nothing was set in stone, and he didn’t want to commit to an answer that hadn’t come to pass yet. “About our deal,” he went on, blowing out a puff of smoke. “I shouldn’t expect any interference?” Mishca didn’t doubt that Marco was referring to Lauren since she was here with him. “No, we’ll be meeting alone. Expect my call when it’s time.” “Claro—Of course.” “I—” “Mishca?” They all spun around at Lauren’s interruption, and Mishca immediately went on

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alert at the look on her face. She looked surprised when everyone stood. “There’s a slight problem inside,” she went on as a crystal glass smashed against the door beside her, making her jump back. Mishca could almost hear the raised voices inside as he climbed to his feet, pulling Lauren to his side as Marco’s men rushed inside. Mishca scanned over her quickly enough, making sure she hadn’t been hurt though he had no idea what was going on. “What happened?” “Lucia and Marco’s girlfriend are having it out.” Marco laughed joyfully, extinguishing his cigar in an ashtray at the table. “Perhaps I should be the one to deal with this. It was good to see you old friend. We will see each other soon, I trust.” He picked up Lauren’s hand with both of his, kissing the back of it for no longer than a second. “And do bring

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your wife back the next time you’re here. Good day, Lauren.” Lauren turned to him. “Are we leaving?” He glanced down at his watch, recalling the time he needed to be at the restaurant. “Yea, let’s go.” Saying goodbye to Lucia proved to take some time, only because she was in the middle of threatening to kill Marco’s newest playmate. While Lauren found it amusing, she didn’t know her like Mishca did, and he knew she was more than happy—and eager—to do it, especially with Marco willing to clean up after her. Back at the villa, Lauren pulled off her heels before climbing out of the car, running a hand through her hair. Instead of going inside, she came over to his side, and he knew immediately that if he didn’t let her down gently, he wouldn’t be meeting up with Marco any time in the near future.

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“Lauren.” Her name was a warning, and he could tell from the growing smile on her face that she knew that was what it was, but ignoring it, she continued to come for him. When she reached for him, wrapping her arms around his neck, he couldn’t deny her, even if it made him late. As he lifted her, she wrapped her legs around his waist, and he couldn’t help sliding his hand around her waist, squeezing the curve of her ass. He wanted to lose himself with her as he carried her in, almost did with the way she clung to him, but there were greater things at stake than his need for her. "I promised him a meeting," Mishca said by way of apology, nearly caving when she nipped at the cord of his throat. "Ten minutes?" She whispered in his ear, a plea if he had ever heard one—one he had made plenty of times himself. But he had a short window of opportunity, and he couldn't miss that.

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"I promise I'll take care of you when I get back." Sighing, she begrudgingly loosened her hold on him, allowing him up. He had to smile at the adorable look of frustration on her face. Righting his clothing, he grabbed his phone, pocketing the device as he leaned over to place a kiss on Lauren's forehead. “How long will you be gone?” Glancing down at his watch, he said, “No more than two hours.” He was readying to walk out the door, but Lauren called out to him, “Are you taking Vlad with you? You shouldn't go alone." "I will, don't worry about me." With a placating smile, she said, "I'll always worry about you."

Outside of the room, as he walked towards his car, Mishca sent a quick message to Vlad, letting him know where he was going, and who with, but he made a point to tell him not to go near Lauren's room for any reason. He didn't want to have to explain to her why he'd specifically ignored her request. Instead of driving, he took a cab to a restaurant in the heart of Rio, one that was

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fairly crowded despite the hour. He paid his fare, waving the hostess off as she prepared to offer him a table. He didn't plan on staying long. She, the woman he had come for, was sitting alone at an outdoor table, blueprints of a mansion resting in front of her. Too consumed by her task to notice, Mishca slipped to her side, refilling her glass of champagne with the bottle that the waiter had left in a bucket of melting ice. She thanked him absently, still not bothering to look away, but Mishca knew why, even if he didn’t understand it. Here, she thought she was safe and there had been no reason for her to doubt this assumption. Mishca had no business—that she had been aware of—to be in Rio, especially not for a weekend like this, especially when he wasn’t particularly friends with the Cortez family.

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But Mishca knew her. He knew with the amount of jewels that Lucia would be selling, she wouldn’t have been able to resist. Only thing he’d needed to do was wait for his contact to get the information back to him. Placing the bottle back down on the table, Mishca circled around, taking the lone seat across from her. As she looked up at him, she tried to mask her look of surprise at his interruption, only making him smile wider. “Naomi.” She was as he remembered her the last time she had come to New York. Dyed blonde hair in loose waves, signature red lips, but instead of her usual figure-hugging dresses, she was in a pair of tiny jean shorts, tank top, and flip-flops. Now, she looked more like one of the natives rather than the cut-throat bitch she was. Recovering smoothly, she tapped her claw-like nails against the table, a slow smile

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curling her scarlet lips. “You know how I’ve always loved surprises, Mishca, but I’m curious to know why you’re here.” “I could ask you the same,” he responded, giving a pointed look to the prints she had rested her arms on. He didn’t have to look over them to know they were for Lucia’s villa. “Kind of looks like I’m spending time with an old friend. Reminds me of when we first met.” It was nothing like the day they met and she knew that as well as he did. She just wanted him to remember a time he wished he could forget. It was a cold, winter night, when Mishca found himself at the Manhattan Public Library, attempting to study for a Psychology test that he hadn’t bothered to work on until the night before. No one could ever accuse him of being a good student, but it did help that a couple of the girls in his course

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were helping him with everything else—though one didn’t know about the other. It didn’t help, however, that he had been working on a bottle of Smirnoff for the better part of the last two hours, and the last bit in the bottle was making its way down his throat. That was the only way he knew how to deal with his father and the demands he was making. Mishca didn’t revere the Bratva the way Mikhail did, and for that reason, Mikhail was always in a perpetual state of disappointment when it came to him. Tossing the bottle he’d hidden in his bag, Mishca left his things at the table, going to search in the stacks for a book on Classical Conditioning, stumbling all the way. It took him far longer to find it than necessary, in part to the words jumbling whenever he tried to read the titles, but it

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was there, as he tried scanning through the titles that he felt someone near him. “I could help you with that,” she offered in a soft voice, leaning a hip against the stacks. At the time, he hadn’t thought much about her offer—too drunk to realize that even if she didn’t know what he was looking for—just accepted it for what it was. She was unlike any other girl he had met in his life. That wasn’t to say he had never encountered a pretty girl, but she exuded a sort of confidence, and later, after he had grown to know her better, a cunning sense that he was immediately attracted to. With just a glance, she had his full undivided attention, even if he were probably too drunk to remember it the next day. “What exactly are you trying to help me with?”

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She ran her fingers lovingly over the spines of the books he’d been looking at though her eyes never left him. “Anything you want,” she answered in Russian, the inflections in her words only slightly off. She reached for him then, trailing her fingers down his chest the way she had done the books. Mishca tried to focus on her face, or at least appear to, but his dick was doing most of the thinking at the moment. He leaned back against the case, allowing her to touch him, not sure where they were going with this, but he wasn’t about to stop her. Pressing up against him, she whispered, “I know who you are…and who your family is.” He chuckled. Even wasted he wasn’t too inebriated to recognize what she was hinting at. “And what’s that?”

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“How about I take care of you,” she said as she dropped down onto her knees in front of him, tugging at his belt, “and we can work out the details later.” And what had followed was a whirlwind of sex and drunken confessions that spanned the length of two years. While she had moved in with him some time later, he had never viewed them as more than companions—the term sounding better than fuckbuddies. He had never confessed any love for her, nor had he ever made any promises, and for the longest time, he thought they were in accord on this. Hell, most of his time was spent running useless errands for Mikhail, or drinking himself to sleep. He hadn’t bothered to change himself until a month or so before he met Klaus. By that time, Naomi had already skipped town, bearing his mark, and carrying off with half a million dollars of his own money.

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Another lesson, Mikhail had told him, that women were a bane. That didn’t mean Mishca hadn’t cared for her, he had. Just not enough to let her in. “But you did say you could always find me, no matter where I went. That begs the question, why are you looking for me now?” Mishca rested his elbows on the table, leaning forward as though to whisper a secret, but in reality, he wanted to see if he still had the same effect on her. Her actions in New York told him nothing, he already knew she enjoyed games, so her affection towards him could have been faked, but there were other signs she couldn’t manipulate. “I wanted to see you.” Her lips parted, though no sound escaped her lips. For a split second, the emotion was there in her eyes, that hunger, before it was replaced with humor. “And what of your wife?”

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So she had been checking up of him. That only made his plan easier. “And when has that ever mattered to you?” “Perhaps when you treated me so coldly when I came to visit you,” she said with faux sadness while looking at him pointedly, trying to read him as he did to her, but he was not nearly as easy. “I would have done the same for you.” She took a sip of her champagne. “I guess I should take it as a compliment that you flew all the way here for me, but are you only here to interrupt my dinner?” “I wouldn’t say I’m interrupting, merely waiting for you to finish.” “And if I had plans?” He smirked. “You don’t.” “Well, there’s no reason for us to waste any more time.” When Naomi was sure she had the upper hand, she never pondered the possibility that

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she could be wrong. For reasons Mishca never knew, she had always underestimated him, perhaps because of the position she found him in when they met, but Mishca was no longer that guy. He'd expected more of a fight from her, at least he thought she would be suspicious of his motives, but perhaps he had given her too much credit. In the darkness of the cab, Naomi’s hand crept over the space separating them, her fingers brushing his pants leg before moving to boldly rub up his thigh. There was, however, so much Mishca was willing to do for this ruse, and having her grab his cock wasn’t part of it. He grabbed her hand before she could go any further, keeping hold of it. Sadly, it wasn’t a very short drive back to her hotel, since she made it a point to give the driver obscure directions, more paranoid than he had thought.

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Leading the way up to her room, Naomi hardly paid Mishca any attention as she went, her focus straight forward. If she would have glanced back, she would have noticed that Mishca was checking for any security cameras, or if anyone was paying attention to the pair of them. Thankfully, there were none. When they were finally in her room, with the door closed behind them, Mishca walked past her, going over to the windows to peer out, thinking of his actions, and what had brought him to this point. He didn’t take lives needlessly, would rather maim than actually kill, but wanted to end Naomi. There was so much that could have gone wrong, and he might have explained this to her, but he knew in his heart that it wouldn’t change anything. She didn’t care, and would probably have done it from the beginning if she thought that would have helped her.

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This wasn’t just about him, it never was. Naomi came to him, slipping her arms around his neck, her eyes scrutinizing his face for any break in his composure. He had already sent the message to Marco, but he still had no idea how long it would take for the men to get here. If he didn’t want to blow it, he would have to play along. Even if that meant breaking a vow to Lauren. Mishca thought it would be easy—he had done things similar to this before Lauren came into his life—but as Naomi came towards him and he felt her mouth on him, it turned his stomach. He could only force himself for so long before he pulled away, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “Don’t be shy, Mishca.” There was no reason for him to be nice anymore, not when the door was slowly creaking open. While her back had still been

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turned, he’d left the door unlocked, knowing Marco wouldn’t be far behind him. Hearing the movement, Naomi looked from them, back to Mishca, fear in her eyes. She backed away from him, but there was nowhere for her to go, not when she was surrounded on all sides. “What the hell is this?” “I wanted to help you,” Mishca said by way of explanation. “Jetmir would not have touched you so long as I gave the order, you knew this. It was why you came to me.” She opened her mouth to respond, but Mishca grabbed her face, hauling her forward. Her eyes widened, but she was too shocked to try and fight her way free. “You went to Brahim and sent him after Lauren. There was nowhere you could have run that I couldn’t find you. I warned you.” He shoved her away from him, back into the arms of the men standing behind her. Withdrawing the envelope full of cash from

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his jacket, he handed it over to Marco, uncaring of the predatory smile that was spreading on his face. What he chose to do with Naomi was not his problem. “Mishca,” she called when he was almost to the door. He turned, hand on the knob, waiting for whatever she was going to say. “She wouldn’t want you to do this,” she pleaded with him. “You’re right,” he said with a nod. “But I’m not Lauren.” Without another look back, he left the hotel room.

On a stage in the back of the restaurant, dim lights shining over her, Natalia captivated the room with her rendition of a traditional Russian folk song, dressed in a flowing gown of black silk, her hair done up in elaborate curls. She, nor any of the other patrons in The Den, paid any attention to the three men that entered. It wasn’t uncommon for

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the place to have a revolving door of men dressed in business suits. This didn’t surprise Jetmir Besnik in the slightest. It wasn’t like there was any mystery as to who the owner of the restaurant really was. There was no need to fear anyone attacking this place, especially when Mikhail normally had a few of his men stationed there at all times. The three walking behind Jetmir waited for his signal, retrieving the guns from their jackets. This was the moment Jetmir had been looking forward to for months. While he had been momentarily set back by Anya’s actions, now that she was out of the picture, his plan was back in motion. She had provided him with safe houses within the Bratva, all of Mikhail’s businesses, and those of Mishca’s that she knew about. This just wasn’t about Mishca

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anymore, he wanted to take them all down, slowly before taking their lives in the end. This was just the beginning. “Ladies and gentlemen, if I can have your attention.” It took a moment for everyone to recognize his interruption, but when they did and turned to peer back at him, startled screams erupted from them, the fear of death now clear. The guards stationed inside didn’t bother reaching for their weapons, not when they were so terribly outnumbered. It wouldn’t matter soon, they would all be dead. “I hate to cut this performance short, but I have a message to deliver, and I need you lot to deliver it.” There was only one brave soul that was willing to speak up, probably hoping that by complying to Jetmir’s wishes, he would be spared. “What do you need said?”

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Jetmir chuckled, tapping his gun against his leg. “I can handle that.” That man was the first to die with a single shot to his head. One by one, every person in the restaurant was shot, sometimes multiple times to make sure the job was done. Since there were silencers on the guns, the sounds of the bullets were muffled, giving them enough time to finish the job without interference, only the flash of the muzzle visible. As they were finishing, Jetmir’s men dragged the bodies of the Russian soldiers to the front of the stage, callously kicking the singer’s body away. Jetmir watched as their bodies were maneuvered into elaborate positions, his men laughing at the sight they made. Ignoring their enjoyment of the task, Jetmir came forward, a sharpened blade in hand. He cut through one of the men’s shirt, then began the slow process of cutting the man open from the base of his throat, to his navel.

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Since Jetmir was wearing gloves, none of the blood that was pouring out of the man’s body coated his skin. He dipped his fingers into the man’s stomach, covering them thoroughly as he went to the wall and began writing his message.

Mishca hadn’t even been off the plane for ten minutes before he got the call, but it wouldn’t have made much of a difference, not with the amount of press that was covering it. “Luka, go secure it. See how bad the damage is,” Mishca said, hanging up with his enforcer. His anger got the best of him as he ended the call, tossing the device across the car, rubbing his temples. Lauren was quiet beside him, and he was almost afraid to look at her. “What’s happened?”

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He didn’t want to tell her, hell he almost decided not to, but he knew she would eventually see it. “The Albanians are back.” She shifted, just slightly, enough for him to know that this wasn’t what she was expecting. “You knew they were coming back, right? We talked about this.” “Yes, we did.” And he wanted to leave it at that. But, of course, Lauren was far smarter than that. “But what did they do to make you react like that?” He thought about just showing her one of the articles, but he thought better of it at the last minute. “Twenty-five people were murdered at Mikhail’s restaurant last night.” “Oh my God.” “It seems Jetmir was leaving me a message.” Mishca chanced a glance at her, wondering how she was processing this, but her face was a careful mask of blankness. “What are you going to do about it?”

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“Right now we’re trying to repair the damage. From there, I don’t know.” She reached across the seat for his hand, holding it between both of hers, rubbing her thumbs across his knuckles. “What do you need from me?” It relieved him, knowing she was willing to do what he wanted without hesitation. Before, she would have questioned him, but she knew the dangers as much as he did. “You’re staying with me for now. We have no idea where Jetmir is and I don’t want to worry that he’s gotten to you while I work on this.” They rode along in silence for a while, nearly until they reached the cluster of news vans outside of the restaurant. There were enough people outside the police tape to man a small army. “Can I have my gun back then?”

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With a smile, Mishca opened his door. “Not a chance. I might take a while, but call me if you need me.” It took some negotiating before Mishca was allowed under the tape and into the restaurant. At first glance, it was just as bad as it was described to be, except, the bodies were no longer on display, all in black body bags on the floor. For every one, there was nearly two uniformed officers taking notes, though all of them looked out of their element. A detective extracted himself from the crowd, making his way towards Mishca. He obviously didn’t know who he was, or his approach would’ve been far different. “Who the hell let you in here?” Sighing, Mishca ignored him, looking towards the back of the room where a bloody message was smeared onto the wall. He quickly read the words, twice over, then turned to the detective.

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“I was cleared, obviously.” “Listen, boy—” “Volkov,” Mishca said looking the man over. “I believe that’s the name you’re looking for, no?” Ah, and there it was, the recognition. The detective glanced over his shoulder to where Mishca had been looking seconds ago. That’s when the questions started. They were the usual, and Mishca answered them diligently, but he was waiting for the detective to get to the questions about what had happened here, that way, he could glean information from them. “Have you any idea what that means?” The Final Hour Is Coming… He had a pretty good idea what they meant. “Not in the slightest.” With the number of bodies present, Mishca was surprised— “We’ll take it from here, detective.”

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Keeping his irritation off his face, Mishca turned to face Agent Green. The detective couldn’t mask his as well, shuffling off, no doubt in search of his superior. “This is turning into more than a coincidence, Volkov,” she said with a gesture around them. “Or an unhealthy obsession. Tell me, how much does the FBI pay you to stalk me?” Wisely ignoring that, Agent Green walked over to the three bags on the center stage, expecting Mishca to follow her without question. Glancing down at his watch, he decided he had a few minutes to spare—since Luka still hadn’t made his appearance yet—he watched her unzip each bag one by one, revealing the faces inside. 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.

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“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

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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.”

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“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.”

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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.

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“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.

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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.

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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.

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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

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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.”

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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. 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.

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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

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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

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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.

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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

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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

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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

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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

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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

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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

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anything for them to find—they hadn’t been living there long—she still couldn’t be onehundred 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

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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?”

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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?” Lauren nodded. “Mishca is being held on RICO charges. Do you know what those are? Good, then you

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know he will face a considerable amount of jail time if convicted. Right now, we’re waiting to get him in front of a judge for a bail hearing, which we’re hoping for tomorrow, but I’ll call you with more details. Do you have any questions for me?” Lauren was still trying to wrap it all around her head, but there was only one question that immediately sprung to mind. “Is Mishca okay?” Jessica smiled, not unkindly. “From what I know about him, as long as you’re here, he will be fine. Now, how about I get this settled with the agents. You probably will want to stay in a hotel until we finish.”

Two days later, Lauren was getting dressed in her hotel room, every electronic device in the room turned off except for her cell phone, just in case Alex or Jessica needed to contact her. Anyone else got sent

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straight to voicemail. She had made the mistake of answering a call from Susan and Ross right after she had checked in, and soon realized that she was more than glad with her decision not to tell them about Jetmir and the Albanians. Apparently, the Bratva wasn’t just news in New York, but all over the country. Susan was panicking, thinking that Lauren was in trouble, and while Ross too was upset, he was more concerned with how Mishca’s case was looking. He might not have liked Mishca for what he was, but he respected him well enough. Mishca’s arrest, as well as half of the Volkov Bratva, was the biggest news on television. It had been on a loop for most of the day, broadcasting on every media outlet there was. By this time, Lauren couldn’t stand to hear what every reporter in the city was saying about Mishca and the ‘secret life he led.’

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She knew there were some things that she didn’t know about the Bratva life, and knew that it dealt with illegal activities, but the way the media was trying to portray him made her cringe. Lauren hadn’t understood why Alex demanded that she wear sunglasses and a wide-brimmed hat, at least not until they were outside the courthouse. The press was everywhere. Not that Alex hadn’t tried to explain on their way there, speaking on the fact that this was one of the biggest Bratva busts in the last decade. According to her, the FBI had never tried to touch the Volkovs because like most problems they faced, their obstacles just disappeared. She might not have been paying much attention, but when Lauren heard this, she immediately thought of Ivan and how he was killed in prison, and how his statement had been lost.

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No, she didn’t doubt that they took care of their problems. As soon as they stepped out of the car, reporters were on them, snapping pictures, firing off rapid questions as though they could provide any answers. Following Alex’s lead, Lauren kept her head down and her mouth shut as she hurried up the steps, tuning everything out. Walking into a courthouse for a marriage license was far different from attending it for an arraignment. Then, she hardly noticed her surroundings. Now. it felt sterile. Once the doors closed off the yelling reporters, Lauren took a deep breath, balling her hands into fists to stop them from shaking. Now more than ever, she felt the weight of her wedding ring. The actual room in which the arraignment would take place was modestly filled with people, a handful on either side of the room.

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Lauren and Alex sat behind the defense’s table, greeting Jessica as she prepared the documents at her table. When she was ready, she waved Lauren over, telling her what to expect for the hearing. A door to the side opened, a guard escorting Mishca out, his hands shackled in front of him. For someone facing RICO charges, he looked oddly calm, and Lauren couldn’t help but wonder if he knew something she didn’t about what was going on. His eyes scanned over the crowd, stopping on her as his mouth dipped into a frown. But to her surprise, Mishca wasn’t the only one brought in. Luka strolled in next, ever cheerful, speaking candidly with the guard that was escorting him. He looked more than happy to abandon Luka at the table. “I guess they’re getting tried together,” Alex whispered, looking just as confused as Lauren felt.

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Mikhail was next with his own attorney, sitting at the other end of the table. If he was worried about the impending trial, it didn’t show on his face. A few more came in, most Lauren had never met, though there were a few Lauren thought she’d seen in the past. Once they were all settled, though there wasn’t much to do about the noise level since everyone was talking all at once, trying to get advice from the numerous attorneys in the room. “All rise!” The bailiff announced in a booming voice. “The honorable Judge Larry Dobson presiding.” Another door opened, a man in black robes entering. He was average height, with snowy white hair and a thick mustache. His mouth looked like it was permanently set in a frown, and when he claimed his seat—everyone else doing the same when he

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waved his hand—he spoke with an authority of a man with years of experience. “Ladies and gentlemen, let’s not waste my time. How do the defendants plea?” Choruses of answers rang out as the men rushed to answer, not waiting for their attorneys to speak for them. Mishca was drumming his fingers on the table, looking annoyed as he leaned over to whisper in Jessica’s ear. Banging his gavel a few times, Judge Dobson called order, silencing the rallying call. Jessica cleared her throat. “I believe it is a collective ‘not guilty,’ your honor.” “So noted.” He turned to the State’s Attorney. “And the state on bail?” “Remand, your honor,” said the man in a crisp pin-striped suit. “The defendants have been charged under the RICO act—and two of them are high-ranking members of the Russian criminal organization: Vory v

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Zakone. They have unlimited resources, and should be considered a flight risk.” “Your honor, neither of my clients have ever been convicted of any crime. Mishca Volkov owns multiple clubs in the Manhattan area, has donated to dozens of local charities, and was recently married. Luka Sergeyev works as Mr. Volkov’s wife personal security. Unless the Attorney General would like to indict Mrs. Volkov, I highly doubt he could commit any crime while tailing her.” “Your honor!” He didn’t have to yell ‘objection’ it was clear in his voice. “Save your antics for the trial, Miss. Turney. Bail is set at five-hundred-thousand each, cash or bond. Anything else?” Jessica dug through her briefcase, pulling out another set of documents. “At this time, I would like to submit a motion to sever.” She passed the pages to the bailiff, who promptly handed them over to the judge. Nodding, he said, “I will tell you my decision

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at the next hearing.” He slammed the gavel down. “Next.” It took ages to get through everyone else—some let out on bail, others remanded because of their prior convictions. After it was over, Jessica came over to Lauren. “Why is their bail so high?” Lauren asked climbing to her feet. “It’s common in cases like this, but there’s no reason to worry, London. We’re lucky there was an amount set.” Accepting that, Lauren nodded, glancing over at Alex. “What do we do now? How do I post bail?” “Don’t worry about that, I’ll take care of it. And your apartment should be clear now. Mishca should be there in a couple of hours.” Jessica prepared to walk away, but Lauren wasn’t done. “And what about Luka?” “You want to post bail for him as well?” She asked, almost like she was surprised by the request.

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“Of course. I know they’re accounts are frozen—somebody has to do it.” Inclining her head, Jessica said, “I’ll see to it.”

Her home looked like a crime scene. Drawers were pulled out, clothes were strewn everywhere in the closet. They clearly didn’t care about putting the place back in order after their search. But at the moment, she didn’t care what it looked like, as long as Mishca came back soon. Lauren was sitting alone, despite there being at least a dozen people in her home, all talking in rapid Russian. She had no idea what was going on with Mishca since leaving the courthouse some hours before, let alone why all these people had just shown up, but since Alex was there, she didn’t question it.

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She had foolishly never thought of this possibility before, always believing that Mishca and the Bratva were untouchable, yet here she was, panicked, waiting for his phone call. It was only minutes later that Mishca walked in the door. Back during the shooting, Mishca had immediately lapsed into business mode, forgetting that she wasn’t accustomed to experiencing something like that, but this time, he came to her first, ignoring everyone else. He pulled her up and into his arms, stroking her hair. “I’m sorry about this.” “What’s happening?” She knew his charges, but she didn’t know how much information the FBI had on him. Mishca glanced back over his shoulder, biting something out in Russian that had them leaving out of the room to give them privacy. When they were alone again, he sat.

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He shoved a hand through his hair, sighing as he let the mask drop for just a second. “I don’t want you to worry about any of this.” “It’s a little late for that, Mish,” she said stepping back from him. “I watched you get arrested. You’re out on bail! Just tell me what you know.” “Not much more than you, to be honest. I’m still gathering intel, but when I learn something, I’ll tell you. I promise.” Luka had an odd look on his face as he entered the apartment, looking immediately to Lauren. “Thank you,” he said sincerely, pulling her into his arms for a hug. Luka was always nice enough, but he had never shown such a blatant display of affection before. If she had to guess, she would assume it was because she paid his bail as well, but if she knew something else about him, he probably didn’t want her to acknowledge it.

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“Any time,” she responded instead, returning his hug briefly. “I need you to stay here with Lauren,” Mishca said as he went over to a drawer in the kitchen, pulling out a small cell phone. “Have everyone switch out their phones.” “Mish, where are you going?” Lauren asked. He had just gotten there, and she hadn’t seen him in two days. She understood that he might have had business he needed to take care of, but she still wanted him for a little while longer. Barely acknowledging her, he kissed her forehead, heading for the door. “I’ll be back.”

Mishca had to meet Klaus out instead of calling, knowing that his calls were probably being monitored. He had thought about them trying to trace Klaus’ phone from the number listed in Mishca’s phone bill, but

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with Klaus ’s connections, they would never find him. “Looks like you’re in deep, Russian. What are you doing about it?” Klaus asked, shielded by the shadows he was hiding in. “I have it under control for now, but we will need to move our plans up.” “Give me seventy-two hours, then meet me here.” Nodding, Mishca prepared to leave, but Klaus called out to him. “Need help with these charges?” If Mishca was surprised by Klaus’ offer, he didn’t show it. He thought that if he did, Klaus might retract the offer, say something smart instead. “I’ll let you know.” Because if it did come down to Klaus having to bail him out, he would probably be too deep for him to do any good.

“No wonder you wear a mask. That’s seriously fucking freaky, mate.” Klaus rolled his eyes as he and Mishca entered Celt’s loft in Brooklyn. Celt was one of the few mercenaries Klaus knew that actually had a permanent residence as opposed to living in various locations for short bouts of time.

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The size of this place, let alone the location made it beyond expensive, and though Klaus knew how well they were payed for their services, it still wouldn’t pay for this. He was learning more about Celt in the last few weeks then the years they had spent around each other. Much like the warehouse that housed his fight club, there was a floor below the ground level, a coded elevator that took them down. But unlike that place, this place was meticulously clean, this floor was made of concrete and polished steel, the walls lined with various weaponry, even a few rifles that weren’t on the market yet that Klaus had been looking to acquire. Celt waved them over to a table, internally lit by LED lights. There were blueprints set up along the top of it, a room on the documents circled in red ink. Klaus had been smart in contacting Celt, one of the best trackers he knew because

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despite it being a little over twenty-four hours, he had already found Jetmir’s location. He had learned the hard way how to control his reactions to things, and the only time he showed an emotion was when he wanted to. Now, Klaus kept his excitement to himself as he looked over the plans, hunting for entrances and any possible exit. He had been waiting for this day for a long time, and though he had taken his time, working his way up the list of people that had hurt Sarah, it had all been worth it. “Two guards in the front, at least ten on the inside throughout these rooms.” Celt pointed to three, one near the front door, another by the back hallway, and the last on the top floor. “Our target will be easy prey once they’re out of the picture. Red, you take the guards, then we breach. I don’t know which of you two are more hard up for the bloke

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we’re after, so I’ll leave his capture up to you.” “Security?” The Russian asked speaking up for the first time since they got there. “Already taken care of.” The Russian glanced down at his watch. “Then we better get moving.”

“Maybe you should stay back, Russian,” Klaus suggested as he pulled on his mask, looking every bit of the mercenary he was. “You might’ve spent too much time sitting behind a desk.” Mishca had always had a soft spot for Klaus—though he would never admit that fact aloud—if only because he remembered how broken he had seen him all those years ago. Sometimes Mishca wondered if all the sarcasm was a ploy to make everyone think he didn’t care, that nothing got to him.

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Smirking, Mishca strapped on the bulletproof vest. “I’ve been doing this a lot longer than you.” “You two are fecking annoying, you know that?” Celt spoke up glaring at the two of them. The remark wasn’t unwarranted, especially when the pair of them were in the same room together. Their habit of bickering was a well known fact to practically everyone that knew them now. Klaus flipped him off, going over to the edge of the rooftop where his rifle was set up. Mishca felt a pang in his chest at the sight of it, remembering his own wound, but he wisely put it out of his mind, crouching down beside the pair of mercenaries. Just below them, at least three-hundred yards away, a man casually tossed a burning cigarette to the ground, extinguishing the flame with the toe of his boot as he blew out a thick stream of smoke.

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In seconds, once Klaus pulled the trigger, he crumpled to the ground. A shell casing hit the ground near Mishca’s feet, the sharp sound of the metal just softer than Klaus’s rifle as he reloaded. The other guard, just as Celt had said, came around the corner, looking to his fallen comrade as he snatched a gun from his belt, as well as a walkie-talkie. Before he could utter a word, though it was impossible to tell from his vantage point, Mishca watched as his head jerked back, a hole in his forehead. “Damn,” Klaus muttered as he lifted his rifle from the edge. “I was off by two centimeters.” Stashing the rifle away, Mishca, Klaus, and Celt headed across the street, looking to each other for a brief moment, an unspoken understanding between them all. They breached.

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As they entered the house, Celt and Klaus leading the way, Mishca decided that he would need to place a few mercenaries on his payroll, unless Klaus decided to stick around. With effortless precision, all of Jetmir’s guards were taken out one by one in what ultimately became a competition between Celt and Klaus. Having them, Mishca didn’t have to do much besides follow their lead up to the second floor. Yet Jetmir was nowhere to be found. Mishca looked to Klaus with a raised brow, but couldn’t discern what expression he was currently receiving in return. Of course, there had been no guarantee that Jetmir would still be here at the exact time they arrived, but Mishca had taken the word of Klaus’…well he didn’t know what Celt was to Klaus exactly. He would have said friend, but it didn’t seem as though Klaus had friends—and

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coworker didn’t seem an appropriate fit either. As he opened his mouth to question them both, a creaking floorboard alerted them to another presence in the house. Klaus cocked his head to the side, silent, listening, then rather suddenly, he shoved Mishca to the side, just as bullets shot through the floor, almost at the exact spot Mishca had been standing. Celt took off, surprisingly fast despite the amount of weaponry on his body. Mishca looked from the holes in the floor to Klaus as he prepared to run behind Celt. “Don’t mention it, Russian. Really, don’t.” “Bagged and tagged,” Celt called as he appeared back in the doorway. Back downstairs, sure enough, Jetmir was on his stomach on the floor, hogtied, a black bag over his head. He was squirming,

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trying to break free, his curses muffled by whatever Celt had stuffed in his mouth. “Right, so there’s your guy. I’ll take care of things here. Oh and Volkov—” Celt holstered his gun, smiling brightly. “—I’ll send you my bill.”

They hustled him into the freezer, easily overpowering his useless resistance. Shoving him down into the chair Mishca had set up hours ago, they hooked his arms into the restraints, then his legs. In seconds, he couldn’t move at all. Mishca snatched the bag from his head, watching as Jetmir tried to focus on him, trying to adjust to the dim lighting in the warehouse. Sadly, Mishca hadn’t been able to take him back to that industrial building he’d been so fond of, but seeing as how Jetmir would die before the night’s end, it didn’t bother him as much.

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“Hey,” Mishca said smacking him a couple of times in the face. “You’re going to want to focus for this.” Jetmir glared at him, the scar on his face pulling. “If you’re going to kill me, just do it!” Jetmir snarled as Mishca turned his back on him. Pausing mid-stride, Mishca faced him once again, canting his head to the side as he saw the shadow behind Jetmir’s head move. Right on time. “I’m not the one you should fear,” Mishca said easily, nodding once to Klaus as he came out of the darkness, all emotion wiped clean from his face. Years ago, Mishca had warned Jetmir that if they ever crossed paths again, he wouldn’t walk away from it. He should have heeded his warning. “Don’t make a mess,” Mishca called back as he left though he knew one thing.

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Even if Klaus took Jetmir apart piece by piece, there would be no evidence left of him for anyone to find.

“You don’t know how long I’ve waited for this,” Klaus said as he took his time rolling up his sleeves, rotating his neck on his shoulders. There wasn’t a day that went by since Jetmir had destroyed his life that Klaus didn’t think of how he would make the Albanians pay. He had sacrificed much more than anyone could ever realize to get his revenge, and more time than that learning how to shut off his emotions. Sure, he bantered with the Russian, but that was because he enjoyed it, and while he had been furious with the Russian’s interfering with his plans for Brahim, ultimately he was thankful.

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He’d tracked the Albanians as soon as they had touched down on American soil. It seemed that fate had been in his favor since his contract had been up, and instead of signing again, he took his leave, wanting to ensure that he would be free to do what he needed. Once he had realized that it was the Russian they had been after, he had pulled back, just to see what he would do about them. It didn’t take long to realize that the Russian was still the soft idiot he had been when they’d first encountered each other since he hadn’t immediately gotten rid of the French woman of his past, not that it really mattered to him. He had been surprised that he had someone to go home to. When he had first seen Lauren, Klaus had hated her. She was too nice, too understanding of the life the Russian led, and more than all of that, Klaus hated that the Russian was happy. He didn’t deserve that happiness, and

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for the longest time, Klaus had wanted to tear that happiness to pieces and watch it turn to dust. On that fateful day, after setting up his rifle on a neighboring rooftop, staring without blinking through his scope, his target on Brahim’s head, he thought of just waiting until Brahim killed the girl—he’d hoped for it—but through that same scope, he saw that desperate, pleading look in the Russian’s face, and he couldn’t help but be reminded of when he had begged for Sarah’s life. Before he had even realized it, Klaus had pulled the trigger, taking out Brahim with one shot. He was elated—as he normally was after killing one of those Albanians—but there was a burning anger in him that had him rushing over there just so he could face off with the Russian.

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To this day, Klaus didn’t know what his intention had been by approaching them, stepping out of the shadows of his life for the first time in what felt like ages. A part of him had still wanted to kill the Russian, but as he had so arrogantly spouted, Klaus wouldn’t have killed him in front of Lauren. Now here he was, practically allies with the very person he had vowed to kill on hundreds of different occasions. That was how it worked in their world. Enemies one day, allies the next. Klaus removed his mask, tossing it to the side. When he took Jetmir’s life, he didn’t want him to be confused as to who or why this was happening. Laughing bitterly, Jetmir said, “The brother? I was sure the Russians would have finished you off.” Klaus swung without thinking, glad that he had taped his fingers beforehand. That first hit wasn’t enough, not nearly, and he

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found himself swinging again and again, the blows carefully placed, not doing too much damage though he did draw blood. By the time he finished, Klaus’ arms felt like lead, but he felt better at the sight of Jetmir’s bloodied face. Though he wished otherwise, Klaus didn’t have time to torture him for days, not when he was needed elsewhere. This would have to be enough—though he was very well going to enjoy every second of it. Walking backwards, he picked up the container he’d left out in clear view, making sure Jetmir could see what it was before he unscrewed the nozzle and pulled out the hose. Taking his time, Klaus began pouring gasoline on Jetmir, starting at his head, making sure he was completely soaked before dropping the container some distance away. “For years,” Klaus said casually, ignoring Jetmir’s earlier outburst, “I’ve studied you, learning everything I needed to know about

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you and your associates. There are a couple of things I know. One, you have a pension for setting your enemies on fire.” “This is about that girl, no?” Jetmir asked, shaking his head to get his hair out of his eyes. Klaus didn’t respond because Jetmir was right, and because he didn’t trust what he would say next. He was sure that if he had bothered to ask him for her name, Jetmir wouldn’t have known it. “It wasn’t personal.” Despite the fact that he was drenched in gasoline and knew that he was facing death, he still taunted him, just begging for Klaus to overreact and make a mistake. Pulling out a metallic black zippo lighter, he could just see his reflection in it, the dead look in his eyes. Never in the last five years that he had imagined this day did he ever think that he wouldn’t be spouting nonsense as he listed every reason why he was killing Jetmir,

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stumbling over his words as grief took him over. Instead, the grueling torture he’d suffered as a part of his initiation had drained all of that emotion out of him. Now, he only felt bits and pieces, not truly caring that he was controlling a man’s life. Maybe tomorrow that would worry him. “Two,” Klaus went on as though Jetmir hadn’t spoken, “your organization consists of dozens of ruthless, arrogant men who are only loyal to the highest bidder. How do I know this?” Klaus reached up, pulling his hair to the side to show Jetmir the tattooed lines starting just behind his ear. Each line represented a single person that had been there the night they snatched them from the street, the ones that had tortured him for days. Currently, there were nine lines tattooed on his skin, and Jetmir would make number ten. While Klaus didn’t know Luka’s story—yet—he would soon before deciding

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whether he would be another notch there as well. “It was just business,” Jetmir said again, though not apologizing for his actions. He was a proud man, and despite having wronged so many people in his short life, he wouldn’t apologize for anything. Klaus smiled, slowly, then flipped the top open, flicking the lighter so the flame burst forth from the top. In perfect Russian, he said, “Oko za oko—An eye for an eye.” Klaus tossed the lighter, watching it’s quick descent back to the ground, never taking his eyes from it as it finally hit the ground and the flames raced towards Jetmir as it connected with the gasoline. In seconds, he was engulfed, his screams echoing around the warehouse, but no one would be able to hear him. There was something mesmerizing about watching his skin charring, the acrid scent coating the air,

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the way his muscles seized in unimaginable pain. And yet, despite the fact that Klaus watched this with unwavering dedication, he still didn’t realize he had lost a piece of his soul long before he had ever made it out of that building years ago.

As Klaus dumped the last of the bags, he wiped his hands on his jeans, watching the bags dip beneath the surface of the water, slowly sinking to the bottom. He had heard many stories about what it would be like once the person you were seeking revenge against was finally gone. Most said that the joy was short lived, if they even felt it at all, but Klaus couldn’t agree with that. He felt lighter, like he had been given a second wind. Nothing could compare to how he felt right now.

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Turning away, he lifted his hood, not in any particular hurry since he was alone…at least that’s what he thought. As soon as he was facing the street again, twin headlights gleamed in the distance, nearly blinding him. Before he could even think to reach for his gun, he heard the unmistakeable click of multiple machine guns. Sighing with a roll of his eyes, he held his hands up in mock-defeat, shuffling along as two came forward, urging him to the black Escalade that was idling. Once Klaus got a good look at them though, he dropped his hands. Sometimes he forgot how uptight his Boss’ guards were. When one of them gave him a push, he spun around, punching the man in the gut before anyone could restrain him. He really hated the fucking help. “Get in the damn car!”

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It seemed Celt had been invited to this little party as he pulled open the back door of the SUV, a stupid grin on his face. He held up a black hood, his smile spreading wider as he saw Klaus’ expression. “Just like old times?” Snatching it from him, Klaus snarled, “Fuck you.” But the hood did bring back memories of the day he was brought to the compound for training… Pulling it over his head, he climbed into the back, reclining back once the door was closed behind him, two sharp hits against the door making the car start rolling. His senses were on high alert as he waited for the other person in the truck to talk. His breathing was careful, and there was enough space between them that there was no way anyone else could know that he was there, but Klaus was trained for this kind of thing.

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While he did trust Celt to a certain extent, Klaus did wonder who the hell he had set him up with someone that was this damn still. He ticked off the minutes they drove in his head, cataloguing each turn as well. By the time they stopped, gravel crunching beneath the tires, they had only traveled about fifteen minutes. Klaus sighed loudly, his patience wearing thin as he waited. Instead, the person across from him opened the car door and climbed out, the car shifting with their weight. It was only a few moments later before someone else took their place. Unlike the previous inhabiter of that space, there was nothing subtle about this one. Though not overpowering, Klaus did catch the masculine tones of whatever cologne the man was wearing. “There’s no need for you to keep that on.”

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Klaus snatched off the mask, immediately looking to the man that had thought it was necessary to practically kidnap him for a meeting. More importantly, he needed to figure out who the hell he was. Since he had worked under contract, he had only ever met with the man that had found him in the alley. If there was a newcomer—and that Celt was working for him too—meant one of two things. Either Klaus was going to be bid off, or they were all under new management. Neither idea appealed to him. They were parked beneath a bypass, the lights cut though Klaus could see the shadows of people surrounding the car. “Niklaus.” He particularly hated when people used his entire name. “Klaus.” The man across from him wore a blank expression, not even a little amusement in his gaze. It was almost uncanny. “I thought it was time we had a little chat.”

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He had a marked accent, a combination of Irish and Welsh, if Klaus wasn’t mistaken. He had spent enough time in those regions to catch the inflections. “Who are you?” “Your new handler,” he said evenly, his head canting to the side as though he were the one studying Klaus instead of the other way around. The guy was fucking odd. Klaus scratched at his jaw, hiding his confusion well. “And my last one?” “Dead, but that is unimportant at the time. I need you for a job.” Klaus blinked, his original suspicion had been right. “Listen, I don’t know where you’re from, but I just finished a contract and I have some time before I’m supposed to report. “ He laughed, but it didn’t sound as though he was amused. “I would have thought that after you killed Rayne, you would listen to

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reason.” He lost that brief smile. “Especially since you’re facing death because of it.” Klaus was too seasoned to portray any reaction to the man’s words, but on the inside, he was squirming. With a casual shrug, he explained, “I was on the job. Not much I can do about that.” “I don’t believe I asked for a reason.” “So what are you proposing?” He had no other choice but to accept whatever he was offering. Despite the life he lived, Klaus wasn’t ready to die. “As I was saying, I need you for a job.” “Who’s the target?” Klaus was handed a single photo. He looked it over, focusing on the lone face that was circled. Blinking twice, he wanted to make sure he was seeing correctly before a curse passed his lips. Death was definitely a better option.

With Mishca’s pending court date, along with the media surrounding him, Lauren felt like she couldn’t escape the scrutiny, and now she just wanted a moment to herself. Mishca wasn’t around as much, doing as much damage control as he could now that half of his men—along with Mikhail’s—were in police custody.

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Not only that, but apparently Ross still had friends in the police force who’d updated him on everything going on. That conversation had not gone well, but whatever Mishca had said to him over the phone after stepping out of the room, had clearly appeased them for the time being. Between the unmarked police cars outside their building and the constant swarm of reporters, Lauren just wanted a slice of normal, if only for a few hours. She’d called Amber, almost expecting her to decline since the cat was officially out of the bag, but she was more than happy to help her get away from all of the chaos. “Is it really as bad as it looks?” Amber asked, sliding the New York Times across the table for Lauren to see. Right on the front was a rather candid shot of Mishca and Mikhail, the headline reading: THE FALL OF THE THIEVES-INLAW. Lauren didn’t bother reading the

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article, turning the paper over as she raised her hand, signaling for the waiter. “Mish says it’s not, but I don’t know how true that is. He always wants to protect me from the truth.” Amber shrugged, taking a sip of her water. “Can’t say that I blame him. This shit is crazy.” Rubbing her eyes, Lauren nodded, looking out at the street to where she saw a black SUV pull up. Dismissing it, she turned back to Amber. “You’re telling me. I should have at least prepared for this, but Mishca always seemed untouchable. I didn’t even think of the possibility that this could happen.” “I’m sure he’ll come out on top, Lauren.” The agents were trying for stealth, but after the run-ins she’d had in the past, Lauren was very aware of everything going on around her.

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“I need you to do me a favor,” Lauren said still looking at the agents. “Call Mishca and tell him the FBI picked me up.” “Wait, what?” Amber turned to see who had grabbed Lauren’s attention, her eyes widening when she saw the men in suits steadily walking towards them. “But you don’t have to go with them, right?” “Yea, but I don’t want you to get involved in all of this. If they see me with you, they might interrogate you next. Call Mish.” Lauren quickly scribbled down Mishca’s new number on a napkin and stood up. She could practically feel the eyes of the other guests on her as the men flashed their badges, escorting her out after making brief introductions. Though the ride was short and silent, and Lauren was left mostly to herself, she did well to hide her panic from those around her. Being brought in—this time by the FBI—had

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her thinking back on everything that had happened since she met Mishca. Would they ask her about Viktor again? Had they somehow found out about what happened to the Albanian mobster she had shot to death in Mishca’s club? There were so many possibilities that by the time they got to their destination, she had to stuff her hands in her pockets, just so the agents couldn’t see their trembling. After her identification was checked, and she was practically paraded around the station, Lauren was escorted to a room whose walls appeared to be made of steel, except a single one that she knew was a one-way mirror. More surprising than that, she wasn’t taken to an FBI field office, rather down to a local NYPD precinct, the officers in uniforms giving it away. She was left in the room by herself for a while, and she figured they were on the other

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side of the mirror watching her, waiting for a reaction that they weren’t going to get. It took some time, longer than Lauren thought necessary, but she was finally joined by a female FBI agent. She was tall, at least six feet with coffee colored hair and piercing brown eyes. Lauren recognized her from the club shooting—Agent Green, she thought. Agent Green presented a cup of coffee like a peace offering, sliding it across the table for Lauren. She refused to touch it. If they wanted her fingerprints—not that they would have anything to match it to—they would have to get them another way. “Comfortable?” She asked with wide eyes, like they were just two friends meeting up rather than a pseudo-interrogation. “Fine. Should I be asking for an attorney?” She lost her easy smile. “You’re not under arrest, Ms. Thompson.”

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Lauren narrowed her eyes on the woman, her next words spilling without a single thought. “Volkov. Mrs. Volkov.” Agent Green just smiled. “You do realize whose bed you’re sharing, don’t you? I can understand the allure, I suppose. He can be charming—they normally are—but he’s still a murderer.” Beneath the table, Lauren squeezed her hands together, trying to keep face. She knew what Mishca was, had accepted it, but she had also made it up in her mind that Mishca killed man that deserved it. Agent Green produced a manila folder with a case number written across the label. In her heart, she knew what would be inside, just judging from the look on the agent’s face. Even still, the first picture was like a punch to the gut. It was of a man, his fingers missing, just nubs in their place. His face was so badly beaten that he was rendered unrecognizable.

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Several holes littered his torso, cutting through the image of the Kirim on his chest. Without a doubt, she knew that the body was Ivan. Even as agent explained who he was, Lauren wasn't listening. She knew him and how he had ended up like this. This was the product of Mishca’s rage. She knew what he was capable of, at least she had thought she did, but it was nothing like seeing his actual work. I took care of it. That was what he had told her so long enough when he had all but confessed to what he had done. She remembered the discoloration of his knuckles, the cuts on his hands, but that was nothing in comparison to what he had done to Ivan…what he had done for her. Lauren shoved the pictures away, but Agent Green wasn't done. She presented picture after picture, forcing her to face what

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Mishca had done. She didn’t recognize the majority of them, but that didn’t make her feel any less queasy at the sight of them. “Surprised?” Agent asked reading Lauren's expression. "You don't just get the markings because you know someone. You have to earn them. I know you must be terrified," she said trying another tactic. "We only need just a little information to put these monsters away." "I can't help you," Lauren said looking away from the agent, the pictures, wishing she could also ignore the realities of the situation. "Really? Not even after all they've done to your family?" Lauren felt cold at her words, time slowing down as she spread out a number of pictures on top of the others, these completely different from the others. She met Agent Green’s eyes, a battle of wills ensuing. This

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was the challenge, whether she could look down and not be affected. Finally after what felt like minutes, Lauren tore her eyes away and looked down. Against a wooden door, his legs spread out in front of him was her father. Unlike the other men, his eyes were closed and if not for the blood saturating his shirt, he might have appeared to be asleep. There were dozens, from every angle, sometimes only a millimeter of change marking the difference in the shots. Looking at them, she knew she hadn’t been ready to see them when she read through her father’s file. She still wasn’t. Lauren balled her hand into a fist, trying to hide the trembling in her hand. Clearing her throat, she carefully stuffed the pictures back in the folder, keeping it on her side of the table in case the agent decided to pull them back out.

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“How awful must it be to look into the faces of the men that took everything from you? I know how that must hurt.” For years, Lauren had held onto that anger, and for a while, she let it consume her, but no longer. She was at peace with it and no matter what Agent Green said, she wasn’t about to start blaming Mishca again. Lauren looked up, not blinking as she stared into the face of a woman that would do anything to break someone. Too bad for her, Lauren wouldn’t be breaking. “I wouldn’t know,” she said, her voice calm and even. “I haven’t seen Viktor or Ivan in a long time.” Her fake frown of concern turned into a frown of agitation as she tried to maintain her composure. “Are we done?” Lauren asked, already standing, more than ready to leave this behind her.

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“You must really love your husband, to stand by him so faithfully when he doesn’t do the same for you,” said Agent Green almost thoughtfully as she held onto that last folder, her holy grail. The meeting was supposed to be over, Lauren was more than ready to walk out of there, but she made the mistake of turning back to face her, ready to tell her off, but she came up short when she saw the new surveillance photos Agent Green was presenting. She vaguely heard Jessica telling her something, but Lauren sank back down into her chair, pushing the photos around with trembling fingers. There were only a few, but it was enough. She wanted to believe that it was just a misunderstanding, just a shot of two people that could be read the wrong way, but there was no way to read this one the wrong way. The photo was of a hotel window, the curtains were parted, the light of the moon

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shining into the room. Mishca was standing in that room, only his profile visible, but the girl with him was clear enough to see. Naomi. She was smiling fondly, her eyes focused solely on Mishca. With each picture, she moved closer and closer to Mishca, her arm going up and around his shoulders. The last shot, the one Agent Green seemed so eager to show her was the most damning. Right in front of her was Mishca kissing Naomi. It didn’t matter that it might have been Naomi kissing him, he never bothered to tell her that it had happened. Lauren wanted to believe that the picture was old, it was no secret that they had had a relationship in the past…if only Lauren didn’t recognize the clothes he wore in Brazil. She didn’t bother trying to come up with an adequate excuse, because she knew there wasn’t one that she could come up with that would explain what she was seeing now. The

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blood was rushing in her ears, drowning out the voices she heard carrying through the walls. Lauren was still focused on the picture when the door was swung open by Jessica, Mishca storming in before she could take a step into the room. While Jessica’s disapproval was toned down, there was nothing she could say to calm the storm brewing inside of Mishca. He was spewing angry words in Russian, aimed at Agent Green though she only looked amused, but that only seemed to make him angrier, making him switch from Russian to English. “You bring in my wife?” Agent Green merely smirked, turning her attention away from Lauren to where Mishca was standing behind her. “She was free to leave at any time. And we didn’t force her to come in, she volunteered.”

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While that was technically true, it was left unspoken that she had talked her way into getting Lauren to stay, but Lauren wasn’t paying attention to the heated discussion between the agent and Mishca, she was still looking at the picture of Mishca in Brazil. Before Mishca could see it, however, Agent Green snatched the photo, stashing it away. Lauren wished, craved that she could see what other pictures were in there, just so she would know. Mishca pulled her out of the chair, his hand tight around her arm, she couldn’t protest much as she was practically dragged from the room. On their way out of the station, Lauren saw Detective Rodriguez. Briefly, she wondered what he was thinking, but when his mouth dipped into a frown, she had a pretty good idea. It took no time at all to file into Mishca’s car, or even to pull out into the late day traffic, but it took ages for Lauren to build up

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the energy to finally question him, but he beat her to the punch. “What did she ask you?” Lauren looked at him, trying to see behind that deceptive mask, wondering if she would see any guilt at all when she got around to asking him about Naomi. “They showed me my father’s crime scene photos,” Lauren said quietly, her voice sounding far too calm, even to her own ears. Mishca shifted uncomfortably, but he didn’t take his eyes off her. He had a curious glint in them, like he knew she was hiding something from him, but he had yet to call her on it. “I’m sorry.” And she didn’t doubt that he meant it, but for the first time, her father’s crime was the last thing she was thinking about at the moment. “And Ivan,” she went on, her tone dead, her eyes flat as she stared at him. She had

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never not felt anything before, but as she watched Mishca watching her, she felt nothing. “And Viktor. And Anatoly. I think I underestimated your need for revenge.” They were interrupted by his chiming phone, but Mishca didn’t answer immediately. It was like he felt compelled, just as she did, to seek out answers in her expressions, and what she wasn’t saying. When he answered his phone, Lauren sat in silence for the rest of the ride home, ignoring Mishca’s conversation on his phone. He would occasionally glance over at her, like he was expecting her to say something, but when she didn’t, his brow furrowed. Not even when they were home did he end that phone call, but by this point, Lauren had gone through every possibility of what Mishca might say to her, and she had yet to find one that would appease her. She walked into the kitchen without a word, searching through the cabinets for the

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bottle of Vodka she knew Mishca kept there. Unscrewing the top, she tossed it on the counter, not bothering with a glass as she tipped the bottle against her lips, swallowing the burning liquid. Mishca wasn’t far behind, ending the call before taking the bottle from her. “Chto eto takoya—What is it?” She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, feeling the alcohol in her stomach as she faced Mishca. “What happened in Brazil?” It was a curse, knowing someone so well that you could read every minute facial expression they made. Only a few seconds passed, but it was enough time for her to see the truth in his eyes. “Don’t lie to me,” she quickly said, could almost see the lie forming on his tongue. “Whatever bullshit excuse you’re about to give me, save it. Tell me what happened with Naomi.”

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“How—” “Casper told me—How the fuck do you think I know, Mishca?” “Now is not the time, Lauren.” With every word he spoke that was not an explanation, her anger mounted. Without a doubt, if he had bothered explaining it at all, given any excuse, she would have put it out of her mind because she trusted him that much. But as he avoided the question, that sinking feeling in her gut returning as her mind was consumed with possibilities.

“Did you sleep with her?” Lauren asked. Mishca didn’t have to look at her to know that she was dreading his answer. That meant, at least a part of her, believed that he had done it. He had no right to be upset with her for her assumption, but it bothered him all the same.

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“I told you, nothing happened. Leave it.” He had never been good with words, especially when lines were blurred between his life with Lauren and his life in the Bratva. Now, as those words hung between them, he could feel her rage escalating a she shoved him from behind, forcing him to spin around and catch her hands. Her eyes were alight, her body tense, and if it weren’t for the fact that he knew she would slap him for it—she had a knack for hitting him when he pissed her off—he would tell her she was beautiful. “I am your wife!” She snapped at him, trying to wrench her arms free, but he held fast. “I won’t be your damn doormat.” “Nyet!” Mishca exploded. “I didn’t fuck her. You know this!” “I don’t know anything! How the fuck could I when you’re lying to me. Was she the reason we took that trip in the first place?

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Why did I have to learn from the damn FBI agent that you were seeing her.” He narrowed his eyes on her, coming around the counter until he was just inches in front of her, forcing her to crane her head back to see him. It was no longer about her doubting him. “What did she say?” “Mishca—” “Tell me!” She flinched, a fear he had hoped to never see in her eyes blooming. He hated seeing it, but he needed her to answer, and though he feared what she would say, he had to hear it. “She didn’t tell me anything.” Though she spoke softly, there was still steel in her voice. “She had pictures, but I only saw one, one of you kissing her.” He backed away from her, unable to say a word, not knowing what to say.

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Mishca shot out of the apartment, the blood in his veins racing as he climbed into his car and sped off. His nerves were shot and it was only going down hill as the night went on. Not only had that agent brought Lauren into their field office, but there was no way she could have known about Brazil, not when the trip had been spontaneous. Even if they had been under surveillance for some time, Mishca knew how they worked, they wouldn’t have been approved for Brazil in time. Mishca didn’t doubt it, Mikhail had been right about the mole being FBI. There were only a few people that knew of the trip to Brazil, but only one of them knew of his plans to meet Naomi…

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Vlad.

As she lay there alone, Lauren wondered how many time she would be back in a similar situation like this, wondering where Mishca had went, and what was going on with him. It wasn’t a big mystery that something she had said pissed him off, but whether that was about her questioning him about Naomi or the fact that Agent Green had caught him in the middle of…well

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whatever it was he’d been doing, she didn’t know. Sighing, she picked up her phone again, sliding her finger across the screen to check for any calls. She even made sure the volume was turned up on the device, just to be sure. It was useless, she knew, but doing it gave her some peace of mind. The hours slipped by one by one, to the point that she had given up waiting for him to get home. Her tears had long since dried, and now there was just a numbness that had taken her over. Even laying in this bed felt wrong, especially when she didn’t know what all Mishca was keeping from her. Shoving the cover off, she climbed to her feet, walking into the closet to pack a duffel bag. Lauren wouldn’t leave, not without an explanation, but that didn’t mean she had to live in the same room with him until she got it.

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With the size of the penthouse, she could comfortably live on one side without ever having to run into him, especially since she knew his schedule. The guest bedroom on the ground floor was already furnished, and Lauren didn’t have to do much but grab fresh linens to make up the bed. Instead of wallowing, she opened up her laptop, submitting a few more applications before heading to Stanford’s website, her father’s alma mater. It would be a great school to go to—probably impossible to get into—but the only problem was the fact that it was located in California. She couldn’t just think of herself anymore, she also had to think of Mishca. And she seriously doubted he would accept her staying in California while he remained in New York. Before long, she heard the elevator ping, then Mishca’s voice as he called out to her. A part of her wanted to stay silent, to ignore

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him entirely, but she needed to at least let him know that she was safe…then ignore his ass. Shutting the screen of her computer, she headed to the door, pulling it open just as Mishca was pushing it in. He didn’t appear drunk, but the smell of alcohol on him was strong. He reached for her, but she pulled away before he could touch her. The reaction was involuntary, but she could see that he took offense anyway. “Why are you in here?” Taking a page out of his book, she shrugged, boldly looking up at him as she said, “I don’t think I can sleep next to you.” Sighing, he shoved a hand through his hair, grappling for patience. “You’re being ridiculous. Nothing happened.” “If nothing happened, you would have told me about it. Just face it, Mish. You lied, you got caught. Own your shit.”

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But he seemed unable to do just that. Lauren didn’t understand why he was being so resistant in telling her what happened…unless what she suspected was the truth. That thought threatened to unravel her, but Lauren refused to accept it, not until Mishca told her everything. Call her naive, call her willfully ignorant, but she wasn’t going to accept anything less. “Come to our room.” Sighing, because she knew that he wouldn’t bend, at least not tonight, she took a step back and closed the door in his face.

Lauren stayed in one of the guest bedrooms every night for the next week, and if she could help it, she avoided Mishca all together. She wanted to feel bad for what she was doing to him, but she was resolute in her desire not to give in. Anything she needed to

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know about the case came from Alex, or Luka on the rare chance she ran into him now that he was officially done being her guard. She didn’t think he minded being fired so much, probably because he still followed her around despite her protests. Things between her and Mishca were as bad as they had ever been, maybe a little worse since they weren’t talking to each other, even though they lived together. “If, hypothetically, he did kiss another woman—especially that bitch—I say give him hell,” Amber said, the wind making it hard for Lauren to understand her over the phone. “But I do say that if he wants to talk to you about what happened, you should still listen to what he has to say.” “I just want to know how to fix it,” Lauren went on, though she was glad that Amber had agreed with her. “Well, he’s the one that should be doing the groveling since he was going around

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behind your back, but you should at least let him explain. Could’ve been some secret black ops mission.” Since Mishca’s case had been all over the papers, everyone was always careful with what they said over the phone. There was no guarantee that their phones were tapped, but they would rather be safe than sorry. Outside her bedroom, the front door slammed. “Hold on, I think Mish is back.” Lauren climbed out of bed, going over to the door to crack it open, not just wanting to pop out and it be anyone else, but she was right. It was Mishca. And he was pissed. “Amber, I think I’m going to need to call you back.” She vaguely heard a response before Mishca grabbed the phone from her hand, tossing it over her shoulder where it thumped softly on the bed. Without so much

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as a hello, he grabbed her around the waist and practically—not really practically when he did just that—carried her into their bedroom. She was too shocked to put up much of a fight, then again, she also knew what was coming, and she definitely wasn’t going to fight that. 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—”

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“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

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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

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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

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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.

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“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,

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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,

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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

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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

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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 going 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.

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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.

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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.

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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.”

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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.”

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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

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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 easily 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.

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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

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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.

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He was dressed casually, sure, but there was still something about it that reminded her of Mishca. “And why are you dressed like that?” He shrugged, smirking down at the gun she held. “Who are you going to shoot? Never mind, just go get dressed. I’m hungry.” “Sorry to disappoint you,” she said dryly, “but I can’t cook.” “No shit? Didn’t you hear the part about getting dressed? I mean, unless you want to wear that. Not my problem.” “Do I have a choice?” She asked, not really feeling like leaving home. “No.” He pointed back at the bedroom, signaling for her to get a move on. She liked him better when he was angry and brooding.

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Le Bleu was a steakhouse in the heart of the city, one that charged more for its ambiance than for the actual food itself. Apparently, Klaus had already made a reservation for two so when they arrived, they were immediately led to a cozy table that had too much of an intimate feel, in Lauren’s opinion, for present company. She sat anyway, folding her napkin in her lap, gazing at the retreating back of the waiter that was giving them time to look over the menu. “Is there a reason for all of this?” She asked gesturing between the two of them—mainly indicating him. He picked up his own menu, scanning over the items listed there before finally answering her question. “I don’t know what you mean.” “You hate suits, and yet you’re wearing one. I’m pretty sure you are a regular burger

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and fries kind of guy, but here we are. Why are you pretending to be Mish?” Closing the little booklet, he dropped it back onto the table. “Has the Russian ever told you you ask too many questions?” Unfazed by his taunt, she smiled. “Maybe once or twice.” “Yea, right. Anyway, I need an alibi.” “You mean Mishca needs an alibi. Is that his wedding ring?” She had just noticed the wide band across Klaus’ ring finger, and she couldn’t describe how she felt about Mishca taking it off, and what he must have been doing that would warrant that. “Oh calm your shit. It’s not, just looks like it. Jesus, how do people get married? That constant fear of cheating, lying, a secret lovechild—not to mention if the person you shackle yourself to turns out to bat for the other team—why even put yourself through that?”

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Before Lauren could answer, their waiter returned to set down their drink orders—Klaus ordering a bottle of beer, Lauren just getting a wine spritzer—and was off again in less than a minute. “Because when you love someone enough, despite all the obstacles and shit you have to deal with, it’s worth it.” “Is it really?” He asked, his tone oddly serious. “Despite everything that’s happened?” Lauren looked down at her glass, thinking over what she would say before answering. “Yes. It’s been worth it.” Raising his bottle to her, he said solemnly, “Good luck with that.” “So since it seems like you aren’t going to tell me why we’re really here, will you at least tell me why you chose to stay? I figured after you found the mercenary that was sent after me you would go back…well wherever it is you’ve been.”

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“Got an offer I couldn’t refuse…and I have to find something before I leave again.” Their food arrived, and for a while they just ate in silence, at least until Klaus paused, taking out a phone Lauren had thought she’d seen Mishca carrying. “Smile for the camera.” He flipped it around, taking a picture of them both, then pocketing it. “Definitely a reason you brought me here and not Mish. Are you going to tell me?” “I suspect,” he said after swallowing a bite of steak, “that you’ll know more than you want to soon enough.” After dinner—that lasted for far longer than Lauren thought necessary, but she knew it was probably necessary for whatever Mishca was doing—Klaus dropped her off back at home, promising to see her in the near future. Mishca still wasn’t back yet, and she didn’t have any missed calls from him.

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By the time she undressed and pulled on her pajamas, it was going on eleven o’ clock. She was just reaching for her phone when it vibrated. She glanced down at it, surprised to see Luka’s name there. “Hello?” “Mishca is on his way to you.” “Why—” She was going to ask why he was calling to tell her that, but he’d already hung up. Some time later, she heard the front door open and slam, Mishca’s heavy footsteps echoing, before she heard the unmistakable sound of something crashing against the wall. Jumping to her feet, she hurried out of the room, pulling her sweater closed around her as she hovered in the doorway, eyes wide as she watched Mishca destroy their apartment. She tried calling to him, but he didn’t seem to hear her. Lauren didn’t want to try and stop him, knowing that whatever it was

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he was going through, he needed to work it out on his own, then he would tell her. His chest heaving, sweat glistening on his brow, he rummaged through the kitchen, disappearing behind the island. After grabbing what sounded like a bottle from a bottom cabinet, all the noise stopped. By the time Lauren made it to his side, he’s already finished a third of the bottle of Whiskey. Mishca was always so carefully composed, more often than not showing very little emotion, now he just looked devastated. He didn’t speak as she sat across from him, wrapping her arms around her upraised knees. He took a long swig from the bottle, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand as he rested his head on the cabinet behind him. One of his fingers was carefully wrapped, like it had been broken. “Mish, do you want to talk about it?”

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She waited until he lowered his arm, resting her hand on his wrist, trying to offer comfort while preventing him from drinking more. “We had a mole,” he said simply, his eyes on her though she doubted he actually saw her. It was like he was dead inside. She also didn’t miss that he referred to the mole in past tense. The mole had to have been what brought this on, but who could—Lauren’s heart stuttered as she looked away from Mishca. The only person that could elicit this type of response out of him was Vlad. Of course, she didn’t know the Bratva enforcer as well as Mishca did, but from the little time she spent with him, she liked him and she knew Mishca loved him. “I was going to let him go,” he said after a while, his gaze falling to a spot on the floor. “I would have lost everything, including you,

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the most important thing in my life. I-I’m sorry for that.” “You don’t have to apologize to me, Mish.” “I just couldn’t do it, end his life. I didn’t do it.” At least that would explain, she thought, why Luka had called her. Lauren understood what he was saying to her, between the lines, and while it might have upset someone else, she wasn’t upset that he hadn’t wanted to kill Vlad. She couldn’t fathom the idea of having to kill Ross to protect Mishca. He didn’t say anything more, just sitting there, tapping his finger against the side of the bottle. She thought he wanted space, was ready to get up and leave him alone for a while, but he grabbed her before she could go far, pulling her onto his lap. She wrapped her legs around him, then her arms, hugging him to her just as he did

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to her. She didn’t complain as he held her though it felt like he was almost crushing her. If this was what he needed, she would happily give this to him. The sacrifice he’d had to make tonight had broken him in a way she could have never imagined. He buried his face in her neck and before long,she felt cool droplets hit her skin, making her own eyes tear up in response. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered, silently wondering if their lives of pain would ever end. Mishca was losing everything, everyone he cared about, one by one.

Things between them hadn’t gotten any worse, but Lauren couldn’t say they had gotten any better. She was back in the master bedroom with Mishca—if only because when she tried to sleep in the guest room again, he

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promptly came in there and carried her back to bed. Those nights, she was able to sleep. Some days had passed quickly since he had had to leave Vlad in that motel room. Something was building inside of Mishca, what it was, she couldn’t put a name to, but it felt like he was unraveling more than he already had. He stayed out most hours of the day, and normally didn’t come home until the wee hours of the morning. And when he finally crawled into bed beside her, he wouldn’t settle down until she was curled beside him, his arm around her waist like he was afraid she was going to leave. It didn’t matter how many times she questioned him about his odd behavior, he found a way to change the subject, or distract her long enough that she forgot about it. But more and more, he was pulling away from her, and she knew without having to ask that whatever was bothering him had

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nothing to do with the case or Naomi. Whatever it was, she didn’t like what it was doing to him. Currently, he was sitting on the couch, staring at nothing, another bottle of vodka loosely held in one hand. Despite him deterring her, she wasn’t going to walk away this time until she knew what was bothering him. “Mish…” He turned his head to look at her, a lazy smile curling his lips as he waved her over. When she got to his side, she took the bottle from his hand, placing it on the table. “What’s going on with you, Mish?” Mishca reached for her, pulling her down onto his lap, his gaze already drifting down the front of the loosely buttoned shirt she was wearing. He cupped her face, his skin feeling feverish. Everything about him seemed so still that it was almost uncanny. “I need you.”

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His eyes searched her face, looking for an answer. Whatever he saw there had him cupping the nape of her neck, drawing her down for a kiss. He tasted of alcohol, but he was still himself and she couldn’t deny herself this small piece of him. Especially if it would help him. If they were going to do this, she needed to connect with him, get him to actually see her. Before she could say anything to him, he fisted her shirt, ripping it in two. She sucked in a startled breath, grabbing his hands before he could reach for her panties. “Let me.” She eased his shirt up, a small smile curling her lips as he raised his arms to help her. His legs were moving beneath her as he toed off his shoes, lifting up to shove his jeans and briefs down his thighs. “Will you look at me?” Lauren asked softly, resting her palms on his shoulders.

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His gaze was pointedly focused downward as his hands made quick work of her bra. There was something detached about the way he was acting then. It wasn’t because she didn’t think he wanted her—she could feel the evidence of that pressed against her—but she needed more from him. Instead of waiting for him to act on her demand, she forced his face up with her hands on either side of his face. In his eyes, she saw an agony that resonated through her, and she wished with every part of her that she could take that pain away from him. She knew where it stemmed from, and could see the truth of it eating away at him, but she wasn’t willing to lose him to his grief. “Kiss me.” It was plea as much as command. Whatever he heard in her voice made him frown, his brows drawing together as he focused on her. He had made a promise to her

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once, that in their darkest hour, he would find his way back to her, no matter the cost. She wanted him back. Drawing her forward by the nape of her neck, Mishca pulled her into him, and she fell willingly, tasting the sharp bite of whiskey on his tongue. The arm banded around around her waist grew tighter as she slipped a hand between their bodies, sliding it down his chest until she held his erection, slowing sliding her fist over him. He groaned brokenly, the sound sending a thrill through her, but it still wasn’t enough. She needed that passion from him that he only got when he let his guard down for her. Even with her sitting on top of him, they managed to get his jeans unzipped and shoved down his legs, but he didn’t bother trying to take them all the way off. She did the honors herself, reaching to position him

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in just the right place before slowly sinking down. His hands dropped from her face to her waist, his fingers digging into her skin as he kept her seated on him. Lauren waited for his grip to loosen, rolling her hips, but he wasn’t content with her steady pace. He needed faster. Harder. Something that would combat with the raging storm inside of him. Lauren couldn’t scream, could barely make a sound as she tried to do just that as she held onto him tightly, accepting everything he was giving her, responding in kind. But she still felt like he was holding back, resisting letting go of what was eating at him. She wanted him to come alive, to show her that he was still lurking inside of the shell of a man he had been. Lauren grabbed his face, forcing him to meet her gaze, wanting him to see and hear

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the sincerity of her words. “Give me your pain, Mish. Just let it go.” It took a second of him just staring at her before he gave her exactly what she’d asked for. He whispered guttural words in Russian that she didn’t understand, but his intent was clear, the way his thrusts sped up, the sting of his teeth as he bit her neck not hard enough to break the skin, but enough that it would leave a mark, sucking roughly. Lauren tried to breathe through it all, accept everything he was giving her, but the air wouldn’t, or couldn’t, fill her lungs, not even when he released the spot where he had undoubtedly left a hickey, her head falling back. She had been sure that he was close, was ready to feel him come apart, but he lifted her off him, carrying her into their bedroom, the first time they would be in there together for weeks.

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He crawled onto the bed after her, slowly entering her again as he hooked her legs around his waist. The pain he felt, that agony that had been consuming him for so long, he let it all out, taking it out on her body. But she really couldn’t complain, not with the way that the stress in his eyes was fading, and the way it made her feel in the process. By the time they were coming together, Lauren felt breathless, unable to do anything more than rub her hand down Mishca’s back. After several moments, he lifted his weight from her, rolling over to his side. He didn’t pause in pulling her closer, his hold still insistently strong, but at least the tension in his body was dwindling as he kept her in that spot. “Thank you.” His voice was gruff, tired. “There’s no need to thank me, Mish. I’d do anything for you. Is there anything else I

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can do?” she asked quietly, still clinging to him. Mishca’s eyes were still haunted, still dark with emotion, but he was at least looking at her now with a ghost of a smile. “All I need is you.”

There was a different atmosphere about Mishca as he got dressed that morning for court. He knew there was nothing further the prosecution could present that would continue the case, and while he was happy with this fact, the consequences of the life he led weighed on him. It was much easier for everyone else to pretend like Vlad wasn’t one of their own, to

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act like he was nothing more than a fraud and a blight in their inner workings, but to Mishca, he had been one of the closest people he’d had. Even though he hadn’t been the one to pull the trigger, Vlad’s death was still on his hands. Lauren appeared in the doorway to the closet, already dressed and ready to go. She looked far better than he felt, and he wished he could feel that peace. Without him having to ask, she reached to straighten his tie. Brazil had been left in the past, and she rarely spoke of it—much—because of the emotional toll Vlad’s death had on him. Lucky for him, he didn’t foresee anything like this in the future. “Are you okay?” She asked dropping her hands to hold his. He almost smiled. He couldn’t think of the number of times he had asked her that exact question over the last two years.

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Mishca definitely didn’t want her to worry about him now, especially when this was nothing compared to what he would be facing once he met with the others in a few days. “Let’s get this over with.” Together, they headed to the courthouse, used to the cameras now. This was the day they had all been waiting for. It was the last day for the People to present a case that was worthy of going to trial. Few people knew that the decision wasn’t going to be in the favor of the prosecution. “Where’s Luka?” Lauren asked looking around, completely oblivious to what had happened between him and Mishca. Truthfully, Mishca hadn’t seen the enforcer since the night at Vlad’s hotel room, and he was glad of it. At the moment, he didn’t know what to say to him, and despite his temperament, Mishca didn’t want to say something to him out of anger.

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“He’ll be here soon, I’m sure.” Sure enough, Luka appeared right behind the State’s Attorney. His face was impassive, but he did wink at Lauren as he headed to the defense’s table. When he met Mishca’s gaze, he only inclined his head in a show of respect. Eventually, Mishca would get past his anger towards him, but he wasn’t sure when that day would be. Until then, he would keep his distance. Agent Green wasn’t far behind, and if her expression was anything to judge by, she knew that this was about to end, and not in her favor. The State’s Attorney didn’t look particularly happy either, but she had a better poker face. Jessica looked to Mishca, her voice low as she asked, “Is everything in order?” She had worked for Mishca for years, and just like so many that took an oath to obey the law in all ways, she’d succumbed to their

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side long before she had ever come to work for him. As long as she received her money, she kept his secrets. By the time the judge claimed his chair, looking less than impressed when the State’s Attorney very obviously tried to buy time, Jessica interrupted her, wanting to end this. “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

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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

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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.”

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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

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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

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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.

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“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?”

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“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.

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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

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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.”

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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,

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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

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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.

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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.

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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

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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

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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.”

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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

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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.

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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 part 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.

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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.

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“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.

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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. After getting the four nods of approval, Mishca climbed up on the table, resting his hands beneath his head as Clorick set up. He breathed a sigh of relief when he heard the thrilling hum of the gun starting up. “I hear you are married now,” Clorick said in that gravelly accent of his, peering over Mishca as he began the intricate cross that he would be creating. “I am offended that you did not think to include me.” “You were in the old country, I believe,” Mishca said with a smile, then grimaced as the pain started. While he enjoyed tattoos as much as the next person, that didn’t mean he enjoyed the pain that came with it. “Besides, I sent an invitation to your last address. I can’t be blamed that you hadn’t lived there for the last decade.”

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“Bah, I kid. How is she, your wife?” “She’s well.” “And kids? Have you talked of this?” Mishca blinked in surprise. That hadn’t been something they ever talked about, not that he could remember. He knew at some point he would need to, but for now, he was happy with where they were. “We’ll see.” “There’s plenty of time for that, no? Go explore the world. You are young, cherish it. Do not let our life consume you, yes?” “Thank you for the advice, Clorick.” For a while, they sat in silence, just letting the buzz of the tattoo gun speak for them. With each passing line, Mishca knew that from this point, things would have to be different. He would have to be different. He wanted to change the structure that Mikhail had created, and more importantly, he wanted to create a different legacy for

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himself than the one Mikhail had passed down to him. With this, he had all the power, and now he could do what he had always wanted.

Leaving the manor, Mishca placed the set of duffel bags Vlad had left for him in the trunk of his car, already having gone through them once Luka had told him where they were stashed. To say that Vlad’s investigation had been thorough was an understatement. There was enough incriminating evidence in just one of the flash drives stashed away to send Mikhail away for the rest of his life, plus thirty years, let alone what Mishca had found on the rest of them. Not only was there information on practically everyone in the Bratva, but some of their enemies as well. Mishca had willingly handed over some of that evidence to the other Pakhans as a

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sign of good faith between them, but that didn’t mean he gave everything up. Luckily, only he and Luka knew about the information Mishca now held—since he told the Pakhans he’d come across it elsewhere—and that gave him the leverage he would need to get rid of a thorn in his side. He drove out to a cigar shop in Brighton Beach, one of the few places Mikhail liked to go to unwind. It was no secret that he had lost favor with the others, rumors spread like wildfire. Mikhail was sitting alone in a back room, guardless for a second time. He had a Cuban in one hand, already lit, a thin stream of smoke billowing from the tip. He hardly acknowledged Mishca’s presence when he entered, but that was to be expected since he knew what was coming next. This was the first time Mishca had ever seen his father in such a somber mood, but with all he was facing, Mishca could

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understand why. They hadn’t stripped Mikhail of his markings out of respect, but at this point they were worthless, and everyone knew this. With where he was going, he would need to stay in Mishca’s good graces, a place he had never been. “Why are you here?” Mikhail asked, reclining back in his seat as though Mishca still answered to him. Old habits died hard, he supposed. “The manor, is there anything you want from it?” It would be on the market within twenty-four hours, and Mikhail would be out of the country within the same timespan. “Not particularly, but I suppose I should be a little more respectful since you have moved into my position.” He laughed without humor, tapping his cigar against the edge of an ashtray. “Just because you bear that symbol does not make you worthy of it.

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What makes you think that I will let this happen?” Mishca pulled out a chair, slapping down a single folder full of surveillance pictures, audio transcripts, and more that hadn’t even begun to scratch the surface. “You never had a choice. You have one chance, Mikhail, and only one.” Next, he placed a flight plan on top of the folder, a one way ticket to Russia. “Return to the motherland, set up your business there if you wish, but so long as I head the Volkov Bratva, you are never to return. If you do, if I ever catch wind of you here, I will send this file to someone that will make sure you pay for your crimes.” Mikhail glared down at it, not bothering to open it at all, probably already knowing what was inside it. “You think to blackmail me?” “Not much thinking about it. I am. Your flight leaves in the morning.”

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Mishca would have left it at that, figuring he had made his point, but Mikhail had never backed down from a fight, even when it was one he couldn’t win. “I will have you slaughtered like—” He didn’t get to finish that statement, not before Mishca pulled out his gun and fired a warning shot into the floor, right between his feet. “Next time, I won’t miss.” Mishca walked towards him, sticking the barrel of his gun beneath Mikhail’s chin. The older man hissed, feeling the burn of the heated muzzle, but he didn’t flinch away. He was too proud of a man. “I would have let you stay, would have let you spend the rest of your miserable days in that shithole restaurant of yours, but do you know what I found in these files? You sanctioned the Albanians to come after me when they got Klaus instead. Yes, I hated you then

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too, but I was still loyal, and yet you never thought to mention that.” Mikhail remained stoically silent, his face not revealing a single emotion. “The only reason you get to live is because I need someone to assume responsibility for the deaths at your restaurant. Don’t worry, the men under your command will take the majority of the blame and will probably be sentenced to life because of it. Luckily for you, you will be out of the country, and you and I both know how Russia feels about extraditing back here.” Mishca put his gun away, straightening his clothes. “And don’t bother trying to have me killed, the last person that tried didn’t fare too well.” Bending down so that he was nose to nose with Mikhail, Mishca smiled coldly. “Besides, I have a very pissed off mercenary that would love to take your head. If he could find a man in the mountains of Siberia, he can find you.”

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Straightening, Mishca turned, ready to get out of there, but Mikhail always had to have the last words. “You will never be me.” “You’re right about that—I won’t. I’m worse. Be careful what you wish for.”

When he returned home, Lauren was waiting up for him, a resigned look on her face. It still baffled his mind sometimes, the way she could read a situation and know exactly what was going on. “Can I see it? She asked, sounding like she expected him to deny the request. Nodding once, he carefully drew up his shirt, mindful of his new tattoo, until he had his shirt off. Her eyes softened when they fell to the bullet wound on his chest, but soon clouded with confusion at the absence of the new mark that was meant to be there.

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Before she could ask, he turned, giving her his back. She was climbing off the bed, her soft steps bringing her closer to him. Instead of placing the cross on his chest as was customary, it was placed on his back since it was still too early for his chest due to his wounds. It was temporary, Mishca believed, until he was able to receive the cross on his chest. “I know what it is,” she said carefully, “but what does it mean for you?” “With Mikhail going to Russia, I have to take his place.” That was the easiest way for him to explain it to her. She blinked, her lips parting as that sank in. “You’re the new Pakhan.” He nodded. Lauren took a step back, her eyes straying to the cross constantly as though she was trying to will it away. But it would always be there, and with came more responsibility, more danger, and a far different life in

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general, but if she had accepted him before, she would have to accept this now. “Is this what you want?” In some ways, it was what he wanted. He liked being able to govern his own life for once, making the rules and keeping order, but he also feared that power, knowing what it could do to men. It was a chance he was going to have to take. “It is.” She reached for his hands, twining their fingers together. She gave him a shaky smile, making sure he saw the sincerity in her eyes. “We’ll figure it out together, yes? Wherever this road takes us.” To this, he nodded and kissed her knuckles. “We will.”

the tarmac on a private airfield in the middle of nowhere. It was only the two of them, Mishca and Lauren in the back of the town car, waiting for Mikhail to appear. Mishca hadn’t wanted to drive, though Lauren hadn’t known why. Really, she didn’t know why she was there, thinking that Mishca might have wanted to be alone with him, especially with what he had told her.

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All morning he had shared everything with her, not sparing a detail of what was happening with Mikhail, with the Bratva, and what he expected in the future. She was glad that he had, and she had even shared her feelings on it all. Now, she believed they were stronger than ever. Lauren looked over to him, hoping to gauge some sense of his mood, but she couldn’t read anything in his expression. “Are you okay?” He nodded without looking at her, but did reach across the space between them to take her hand, bringing it up to his lips, pressing them against her knuckles. Finally, another car rolled in, Mikhail climbing out of the back of it. He no longer had the two giant goons following him, nor did he have that proud air about him. Now, he just looked like an older man going on a trip.

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On the afternoon news some hours from now, a few of his associates would be confessing to the murders of the twenty-one people in The Den, naming him as their contractor. Not only did Mishca have the files of Mikhail’s past crimes, but he had pretty much guaranteed that Mikhail would never return here if only for fear of prosecution. “I can stay here while you talk to him,” Lauren suggested as the passenger door was opened by their driver. “Nonsense. We’re a package deal, remember?” And he was making a point to Mikhail that despite all of his best efforts, they were still standing together. Mishca stepped out first, extending his hand to Lauren. Mikhail seemed to only have eyes for her as they approached which would have normally made her nervous, but it was different knowing that he was being exiled to Russia.

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“Come to see me off?” Mikhail asked by way of introduction. Mishca regarded his father. “We thought it was only right considering you brought us together.” “I would not have extended you the same curtesy.” This hadn’t been what Lauren was expecting. It didn’t really feel like a send-off, but of two men still fighting for power. But there was no way for Mikhail to win this, and he knew that. “Be careful out there, boy. It is an unforgiving world we live in..” Nodding, Mishca extended his hand to Mikhail. “Have a safe trip.” Accepting it, Mikhail then turned to Lauren. “Take care of him, young Lauren. He will need you.” Mikhail left them standing there, boarding the plane, the door closing behind him.

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Lauren reached for Mishca’s hand, twining her fingers with his as they watched the plane take off into the air. One by one, every obstacle they had faced in their relationship dropped out of their lives. Now—besides Mishca’s new obligations to the Bratva—there was nothing standing in their way. “You should head home,” Mishca said once the plane was no longer in sight. “I have something I need to handle first.” One thing she had grown used to since Mishca had gotten the cross was his tone when he referred to the Bratva. While she no longer asked about his dealings—deciding to stay ignorant of it all—she did recognize the differences between when he was with her and when he was working. “Should I ask how you’re getting home?” She asked since they had rode together. At that moment, Luka pulled into the lot, saluting her from the driver’s seat. She still

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wondered what had happened between them, besides Vlad’s death, that had made them so distant towards each other. Normally, he would have given her a silly grin, or actually gotten out of the car to say something weird, but he didn’t move, and as soon as she waved back at him, he turned to look straight ahead. “I’ll see you later.” “Can you do me a favor?” Lauren asked, clasping his hand. “Of course.” “Fix whatever this is with Luka. I don’t like it, and no, I don’t care what he did.” Kissing her hand, then her cheeks, he promised, “I’ll work on it.”

It was time. Mishca entered his childhood home for what would be the last meeting held in the basement there. Now that Mikhail was gone,

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and considering Alex felt the same way about it, Mishca had put the place up for sale. There was no guarantee it would sell for the amount Mikhail had paid for it, but Mishca didn’t care about that. He just wanted to be rid of it. Inside, furniture was covered in plastic sheets, the precious art once hanging on the walls already shipped off to Mikhail’s new house in Russia, all except for one. Catja’s portrait still hung on the wall outside of Mikhail’s office, at least until Mishca left once his meeting was over. He didn’t care that Mikhail had asked for it, it would be going with him to his home where it rightfully belonged. Luka trailed behind Mishca, his hands stuffed in his pockets. Mishca knew it was odd for the enforcer to have moved up in the ranks so quickly, especially when it was something he didn’t want, but Mishca wouldn’t be making the same mistakes as

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Mikhail. Only those he trusted implicitly would stand by his side. But, he also thought the former enforcer would miss his short stint at The Gilded Room. “Ready, Boss?” Luka asked as he shoved the door to the basement open. Mishca clapped him on the shoulder, but didn’t respond as he moved past him, collecting his thoughts as he walked down the stairs, the whispers of voices below him tapering off. When Mishca emerged at the bottom, representatives of the three other families climbed to their feet in a sign of respect. Mishca looked to his former chair, a place he’d sat for the last eight years. No longer was he considered one of them. He was their boss. He was their Pakhan.

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Waving for them to sit down, Mishca took his own seat at the head of the table, making sure to face each of them in turn. “Our organization has suffered over the last year and a half due to the choices some of us have made. We have to live with that. The only thing we can do now is move forward, make new investments to climb back on our feet, and flourish.” He tapped his thumb on the table, wanting to be sure he had everyone’s attention before he continued. “Mikhail has gone back to homeland and cannot act as Pakhan from there. Therefore, it was agreed that I would take his place by the counsel.” There was no reason to argue since it was a moot point after the decision had been made, so only a couple frowned. Mishca had expected it. He didn’t expect anyone to agree with someone as young as Mishca to lead an

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organization that was older than he was, but they would accept it. “If this is a problem for you, or you think to challenge my rule, the door is there”—he pointed over his shoulder—“but know that you will not live to see another day if you do. Act against me, you will die. It is simple.” He sat forward, folding his hands on the table. “And if any of you think to go after my wife, there is no where that I cannot find you. You will die, painfully. Consider this your warning.” Mishca left the house only a short while later, driving back into the city. Alone in his car, he let himself think of his time with Vlad, even if that time had been a lie. He missed him, just as much as he had missed Lauren in her months away from him. The only problem was that Lauren had come back to him. Vlad never would. Things would be vastly different at this point, now that he had to rework the

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structure of the Bratva in its entirety. New positions would need to be handed out, and he would have to decide who he wanted in his corner…besides Luka. He hadn’t spoken to him since the motel, but that didn’t mean he planned on demoting him. He was the best at his job, and Mishca couldn’t fault him for doing it. One thing he would have to learn how to do was to keep his personal feelings out of it. Climbing out of his car, Mishca tossed his keys to one of his associates—who was currently working as a valet for his building—nodding to the women at the front desk who smiled in his direction. He took the elevator up to the penthouse, unbuttoning his jacket as he entered, hanging it up on the rack on his way. Lauren was in the kitchen, her head stuck in the refrigerator as she rifled through one of the drawers. He smiled at the sight of her,

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humming beneath her breath. He cleared his throat, making her spin around in surprise. From the first day he had seen her, he knew she would be it for him. He didn’t know why, he didn’t know how, but he couldn’t deny how he felt. Her face split into a wide grin as she looked at him. He didn’t think he had seen her this happy in a long time, but now that they were here, free of the past, he would make sure she was smiling all the time. “You have your meeting?” She asked coming around the island toward him. “I did.” Before she could ask him about it, he tugged her forward, shutting her up with a kiss. She melted beneath him, smiling against his lips for a second. “We never did get to take that honeymoon,” Lauren said as she wrapped her arms around his waist, looking up at him. “Now might be a good time.”

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He smiled, tucking a lock of her hair behind her ear. “Where do you want to go?” “As long as we’re together, we can go anywhere.” THE END

A Note From the Author I would like to take this time and thank every single person that has made it a point to message me, tell me, yell at me about how badly you wanted this book. When I first started working on Mishca and Lauren’s story back in April of 2013, I could have never imagined that it would have morphed into something this big, or even that there would be so many people interested in their story, let alone the stories of their associates. I can only hope that I did them justice in the final conclusion to their story (if it really is the end). If you enjoyed this, please consider leaving a review, or even just telling me that you enjoyed it. I love hearing from the readers about what they loved, and sometimes hated.

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We will be picking up Klaus’ arc (Red.) in Fall of 2014 where we will learn what brought him to this point, and why exactly he hates Mishca so much. Thank you, so much, for reading! <3 L.M. Facebook Goodreads Twitter

Stay tuned for an exclusive excerpt of Red., book four in the Volkov Bratva Series. The untold story of Klaus…

Preface Icy cold water jolted Niklaus awake though he wished otherwise. In an instant, all the pain he had been subjected to over the last three days rushed back, every nerve ending screaming to life. He couldn’t even wipe the droplets of water from his eyes, his arms long since numb, his limbs restrained with rope behind him. Wincing as he faced his tormentor, he met soulless brown eyes, saw the glimmer of satisfaction in the man’s eyes once he had his attention. In his left hand, he held a black lighter, an engraving Niklaus couldn’t make out on the onyx casing. Each time the man flipped the top back, the flame igniting, a sliver of

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anxiety shot down Niklaus’ spine, not because he feared for his own life, but for the life of the girl strapped to the chair in front of him. “Tell me what I want to know!” The man demanded, the same request since Niklaus had ben brought into the warehouse. But no matter what Niklaus told him, the man was not convinced. For what felt like the hundredth time, Niklaus said, “I’m not who you think I am.” Frowning in frustration, he grabbed the red, plastic container from the floor, dumping its contents onto the girl’s heads, the liquid soaking through her clothes in seconds. She whimpered behind the gag stuffed in her mouth. When the acrid scent of gasoline hit him, Niklaus began begging in earnest, training against his restraints. “Please…I don’t know who you’re looking for. Just let us go.”

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The man held the lighter out, the flame dancing and growing larger like it was anticipating the moment of contact. “One chance…” Niklaus looked to her then, helplessness eating at him. At this point, he was willing to tell them anything if it meant sparing her. “Please, I…” The words had barely left his mouth when the man dropped the lighter. Time slowed as he watched its descent, the lighter bouncing a couple times on the concrete floor before settling on its side. Niklaus met her frightened eyes for several seconds and in them he saw acceptance because they both knew this was the last time for them. She was about to die.

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