London Miller - Until the End (Volkov Bratva #2)

Until the End Vokov Bratva [2] London Miller London Miller (2014)

Lauren Thompson After learning the truth behind her father's tragic murder, Lauren vowed never to go near another Volkov again, but sometimes matters of the heart are too strong to resist... Mishca Volkov As a Captain in the Volkov Bratva, Mishca has pledged his loyalty to the Vory v Zakone, but he soon finds

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himself at odds with the life he's always known... Until the End When Mishca and Lauren fight to salvage their relationship, new obstacles present themselves, forcing the pair to make drastic choices that either tear them apart or bring them closer together... **Intended for mature audiences only. *This is meant to be a bridge between Book one and Book three

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Until the End 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

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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. Cover Image Copyright © mtoome Used under license from canstockphoto.com

Also by London Miller

Volkov Bratva Series In the Beginning

For those that have found love No matter the challenges.

FOREWORD

The Volkov Bratva: 1. Forsake his relatives—mother, father, brothers, sisters… Allow no family to come between your obligations to the Volkov Bratva. 2. Not have a family of his own—no wife, no children* Have no family to be used as a weakness. 3. Never, under any circumstances work, no matter how much difficulty this brings*

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Live only by means that are permitted by the Volkov Bratva. 4. Help other thieves—both by moral and material support, utilizing the commune of thieves Hold the Bratva sacred; they are your only family. 5. Keep secret information about the whereabouts of accomplices Never betray the confidence of a fellow Vor.

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6. In unavoidable situations, take the blame for someone else, buying the other person time for freedom Provide an alibi for a fellow Vor. 7. Demand a convocation of inquiry for the purpose of resolving disputes in the event of a confrontation between thieves If problems arise with a fellow Vor, bring the case to the Counsel. 8. If necessary, participate in such inquiries Provide evidence to support your claim against a fellow Vor.

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9. Carry out the punishment of the offending thief as decided by the convocation Once the convocation has reached a decision, mete out justice. 10. Not resist carrying out the decision of punishing the offending thief who is found guilty, with punishment determined by convocation Never hesitate to mete out punishment after a decision is made. 11. Have good command of the thieves’ jargon (Fehnay) Talk the talk.

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12. Do Not gamble without being able to cover losses Do not bet more than you can afford to lose. 13. Teach the trade to young beginners Pass along knowledge to up and coming Vor. 14. Have, if possible, informants from the rank and file of thieves Even men in the lowest ranks can serve a purpose. 15. Not lose your reasoning ability when using alcohol

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Do not allow your choice of poison to skew judgment. 16. Have nothing to do with the authorities Never help police. 17. Not take weapons from the hands of authorities; not serve in the military To serve in the military is to be considered a suka. 18. Make good on promises given to other thieves Be a man of honor among thieves

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*At a meeting between high ranking officials in the Vory v Zakone, these rules were redacted.

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House of Besnik London, England 7:26 p.m. Naomi Le Feuvre accepted the valet’s hand as she stepped out of the chauffeured car, pressing a bill into his hand as she

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sauntered by, checking her reflection in the tinted windows. She had salon-dyed blonde hair that was sheared to just below the nape of her neck, the light strands falling in soft waves. The tap of her heels echoed off the cobblestone and the fact that she could make the trek on such an uneven surface was a feat on its own. A pathway to the entrance was provided, scores of people moving out of her way as she walked past, but despite the importance of each person in attendance, Naomi was a special guest of the host.

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The mansion was only one of the many properties that the Besnik family owned. Tonight, parts of the estate were closed off, manned by men dressed as waiters, their guns hidden beneath their jackets. Once inside, Naomi handed her coat to an attendant, smirking as he fumbled a bit. They were all the same. Following a few of the waitresses as they carried trays of appetizers and flutes of champagne, Naomi made her way into the center of the party, her eyes immediately

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drawn to the case that was illuminated by a spotlight in the ceiling. Goosebumps prickled across her flesh, her breathing labored as she immediately started walking towards it. There was nothing that affected her quite like an exquisite jewel. Djegia Flaka—The Burning Flame. One of the rarest fire diamonds in the world, found in a previously unexplored cave in South Africa. Naomi had only heard rumors when the diamond first surfaced, warnings about the bloodbath that followed.

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The newspaper suggested that the three dead natives were killed by child soldiers, but the unsavory truth had been brought to light when the diamond appeared on the Black Market, the Albanians quickly obtaining it. For the first time since acquiring the diamond, Jetmir Besnik—the owner of said diamond—was putting it on display for the small gathering of men and women who were invited to the mansion. That was the problem with men—and Naomi’s problem as well though she refused

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to acknowledge it. Their need for recognition caused them to take needless risks. She spotted a young man, no older than eighteen, walking towards her from the other side of the room, carrying two glasses of champagne. With a glance, you could tell his position in the Albanian Mob. His suit was ill-fitting and was a ghastly polyester blend. He might not have appealed to her, but he had his uses. “It’s an exquisite piece, is it not?” Naomi asked her Albanian lover, accepting the glass he offered her, careful to only let the pads of

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her fingers brush his, not wanting to risk anyone seeing them together. It was a trick she had learned while perfecting her craft, learning the art of persuasion with a few simple actions that made men, and well people in general, do her bidding without her ever having to say a word. And if that didn’t work…she hadn’t gotten the best body money could buy for nothing. He was young, only a soldier for the Albanians, but he served his purpose fairly well. In fact, young was how she preferred them, making it child’s play to wrap them

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around her finger. Yet, there was only one in the years of her being in the jewelry business that refused to break…the only one she had ever gotten too caught up with to realize that she meant very little to him. And that fact annoyed her the most. For weeks, she had studied him, waiting for the day she could make her move. He had neither notoriety or anything of particular value himself, but knowledge was power and anything she could hold over him, she would gladly take, but it was years before she learned of anything and even then, he was

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careful, keeping her separate from his life with the Vors. She had underestimated that Russian. In the end though, she hadn’t walked away empty-handed. Focusing back on the present, she smiled coyly at the Albanian. “Are you on guard tonight, Sebastian?” There was no high tech equipment protecting Djegia Flaka, because there was no one bold enough to try and steal from the Albanians, especially from the particular family the diamond belonged to.

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From what little information she could garner without drawing attention to herself, there would only be one person near Djegia Flaka at all times. The Besniks didn’t want to take away from the experience by having the view blocked by blokes with guns. “I am.” “Then maybe I’ll stay later to keep you company.” He grinned, clearing his throat as his cheeks reddened in embarrassment. The double doors leading into the ballroom were pushed open by the waitresses

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standing there, making way for a man that silenced the room with just his presence alone. He was of a decent height, if Naomi were to judge, and had a rather impressive jawline that he kept clean shaven. It was a good thing since any beard that he thought to grow made the heinous scar on his face stand out more. It dissected his left eye, the skin still puckered though it was a few years old. The eye, itself, was milky white, contrasting the dark brown of the other.

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No one really knew how he obtained the scar and he refused to talk about it, but to Naomi, it only added to his name. Jetmir the Barbarian. Some men felt the need for a ridiculous moniker added to their name, distinguishing themselves from others who performed the same role, but Jetmir was a man who’d earned his title and would gladly give a demonstration if challenged. Tonight he was dressed in a muddy brown suit, one that was more expensive

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than the ones his men wore, but that also spoke to his leading role in the organization. Tossing her hair back over her shoulder, Naomi turned in his direction, smiling broadly as she moved towards him, drawing the attention from him to her. Jetmir’s smile matched hers, though on him it was more genuine. “Hello darling,” Naomi greeted him with a kiss on the cheek, slipping her arm around his as he led her away from the diamond and around to the guests.

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She couldn’t help but take a wistful glance back at what she hoped to acquire by night’s end. He kept a hand at the small of her back, looking down at her with his one good eye. When he spoke, one side of his mouth—the same side as the scar—would stay lax, the muscles in his face ruined as well. “Are you enjoying yourself?” “Of course.” “Let me introduce you to a few of my associates.”

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Over the next hour, Naomi played the role of arm candy, speaking only when spoken to, smiling at everyone, and practically fawning over Jetmir as others looked on. Six months. That’s how long it took her to work her way up the ladder of the Albanian Mob until she had finally landed in Jetmir’s bed and he hadn’t suspected a thing, but on her way to the top, she had witnessed Jetmir’s brutality and knew that after this job was done, she would need to disappear. She wasn’t foolish enough to stick around and face his wrath.

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As the event was coming to a close, Naomi’s heart beat just a little bit faster, knowing she was one step closer to getting the diamond. She willingly followed Jetmir out of the ballroom, winking at Sebastian on her way out. From the insistent hold Jetmir had on her arm, Naomi knew what he was expecting when they got to his bedroom. “You looked beautiful tonight,” he commented as he closed the door behind them, already loosening his tie.

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“Aw,” Naomi cooed, playing with the straps of her dress. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were sweet on me.” He chuckled,

his smile

telling

her

everything she needed to know. Without waiting for him to ask her, she undressed, going over to him to remove his clothes as well. This hadn’t been part of her schedule, but she had to play the part so he wouldn’t suspect anything. It had already been hard enough to spike his drink with all of his men

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hovering and his insistent need to watch his food. She gave him a slight push, climbing on top of him, kissing his neck, then his chest and slowly down his body. His hands immediately went to her hair, pulling tight as her fingers traced the edge of his boxers. Just as she was pulling them down, his hold on her loosened. Waiting a few moments, Naomi peeked up at his face, making sure he was out before she smiled. Glad that she hadn’t needed to

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perform, she quickly redressed and crept out of the room. Her clothes and the rest of her belongings had

already

been

shipped

out,

small

amounts at a time. The last of it was stashed in her car. Just as she’d thought, Sebastian was the only man in the room. Quickly running a hand through her hair, Naomi stepped out of the shadows, drawing his attention to her.

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“I’ve been looking everywhere for you,” Naomi said, fingering the front clasp of her dress. He cleared his throat, stepping away from the case to walk over to her, his eyes immediately drifting down to where her breasts were exposed. She beckoned him closer with a crook of her finger and he was none the wiser to the Taser she held behind her. As he was leaning down to kiss her, she struck, shocking him with enough voltage to drop a three-hundred pound man.

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She caught him as his body seized, easing him to the ground. Now, there was nothing preventing her from taking the one thing she sought. She was the best at what she did and she had no fear of the consequences of her actions. Her arrogance afforded her that luxury. She stepped over Sebastian’s body, knowing she only had a few minutes left. They might not have believed in security, but one of the Albanians’ men would be coming down shortly to retrieve it and her window of opportunity would be lost.

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Peeking around the corner, she checked one last time to make sure she was truly alone before hurrying over to the case, slipping on a pair of gloves to remove the glass. And there it was. Naomi smiled in satisfaction as she stared down at her newest possession, plucking the stone from its bed of velvet. What little light there was in the room glinted off the diamond, a rainbow of color splashing against the floor. Not wanting to push her luck, Naomi wrapped it in a cloth, tucking it away into her

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cleavage as she sauntered out of the mansion. Now that her work was done, she would be on the first flight out of the country, making her way to South Africa where she knew another score awaited her. She had no regrets about the men she had used to gain her latest possession, she pitied them. With them, she hadn’t tried hard at all before they crumbled in her hands.

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The Catacombs Albanian Stronghold Seven days later… Beneath the mansion was an underground passageway leading to a narrow opening of a place that the Albanian Mob affectionately deemed The Catacombs. Like most underground tunnels that bore the

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name, the slightly damp under space was littered with the remains of human bodies, their bones—especially the skulls—used as decorating ornaments. Except this place was anything but a place of religious practices. It might have been medieval in design, but Jetmir Besnik preferred it this way. It gave his macabre acts a more theatrical feel. It was in this decrepit place of despair that

Sebastian—Naomi’s

other

lov-

er—kneeled on the ground, sharp rocks biting into his knees. His body was racked with

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shivers, his clothes long since torn, his blood darkening the fabric. One eye was swollen shut, the other had been hit so brutally that the blood vessels inside it burst, turning the white startlingly red. He had already soiled himself, fear paralyzing him as he faced the men that would soon take his life. Jetmir didn’t know what he was more upset about: the fact that the zuskë had stolen from him, or that this gomar had disrespected him. Either way, the rules were in place

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for a reason, and anyone that broke them would pay the price. Grabbing the can of gasoline himself, Jetmir poured the contents all over Sebastian’s head, turning deaf ears to his cries for mercy. He’d even begun to whisper a jaunty tune, one that even made his colleagues glance at each other warily. Jetmir didn’t bother saying anything more, it was beneath him. He didn’t have to announce that this was a lesson to the men surrounding him. They all knew.

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Striking a match, Jetmir tossed it onto the doused man, watching in grim satisfaction as he burst into flames, his cries growing louder as he writhed helplessly on the ground, his skin slowly melting off. The stench of burning flesh filled the cavern and as Sebastian stopped moving, Jetmir clapped his hands together, turning to face the men that stood at his back, the burning man behind him providing a gruesome backdrop. “Find her.”

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They were the only two words he needed to speak. Naomi Le Feuvre’s fate was sealed.

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May It was a cool Monday afternoon, the sun was shining, the shielded petals of new flowers blooming, but as Lauren Thompson sat in the interrogation room facing a murder charge, it was hard to see any beauty

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in the world, especially the one she had found herself in. Months ago, she had stood on the other side of the glass, staring in at the man that helped murder her father. Now, the only thing she could see was her own reflection. Long brown hair pulled back into a ponytail, eyes the shade of warm honey, bloodshot and tired. Overall, she looked sickly, like she had been to hell and back, and in some ways…she had. Not many took on the Russian Mob and lived to tell about it.

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Though to be completely honest, she didn’t know why Mikhail—the Pakhan of the Volkov Bratva—had let her leave that room. Sure, he had given her a warning and she knew the consequences of what would happen if she ever talked, but realistically, she was still a loose end. That was what Viktor’s murder was about. He wasn’t killed just because he ordered a hit that the Pakhan didn’t sanction. He was killed because of the problems he brought down on their organization. He could not have known that by killing

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Lauren’s father, he would start a domino effect that would take place fifteen years later, but he let greed and power blind him, along with the lure of a beautiful woman. Lauren had no idea what had become of Anya and frankly, she really didn’t care. Anya played her part in the destruction of not one, but two families and deserved whatever fate came to her. She had been conflicted at first, feeling guilt

over

Viktor’s

death

and

what

Alex—Mishca’s sister—must have been going through, but that guilt soon turned to

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resentment and the longer it stewed inside of her, the less she felt bad about it all. The only one Volkov that made her feel anything other than burning hatred was Mishca.

With

him,

she

felt…anger…betrayal…unequivocal shame…but the final part of her, the part that refused to go away, felt the love that had been building since the moment they had bumped into one another at the café. “Miss. Thompson?” Lauren was torn out of her thoughts by the two detectives entering the tiny room.

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She eyed them warily, searching for the signs she knew were coming. She was raised by a homicide detective after all and knew what to look for. “Call me Lauren.” The shortest of the two, with a receding hairline and beady eyes, smiled gratefully, like he had assumed she wasn’t going to cooperate. He took a seat at the table, his partner standing off by the door with his arms folded across his chest.

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“I’m Detective Stifler,” the short one said. “Detective Baker. We just have a few questions for you.” She nodded, matching his relaxed pose because she knew they were only questioning her about Viktor’s murder, which despite all Viktor had done, she wasn’t the one to kill him. “Okay.” “Tell me, what was your relationship with Viktor Volkov.” Lauren met his eyes, not showing fear. “We didn’t have a relationship. He was my boyfriend’s—ex-boyfriend’s—uncle.”

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“Isn’t it true that you came in a few months ago*, claiming that Viktor Volkov was allegedly involved with…” He flipped through the folder on the table, reading from a sheet of paper inside that Lauren was sure he had already memorized. “…The murder of a Doctor Cameron Thompson? That’s your father correct?” “Yes, that’s my father, but no I didn’t accuse him of it, Anatoly Stonosky did.” With police, especially during interrogations, it was important to be literal, ensuring

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that words couldn’t be twisted and shaped to fit an alternate meaning. “But you gave a statement saying you heard Viktor Volkov’s voice the night of the murder. Is this true?” “Yes.” “And you learned that he was the one to kill your father?” “I guessed.” “You guessed?” Lauren shrugged. “I was five, locked in a closet for I don’t know how long. My statement isn’t very reliable.”

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That was another reason why she chose not to wait on the justice system to do something about it. There was no physical evidence connecting Viktor to the crime, nor were there any remaining witnesses. So maybe, no matter how she tried to deny it before, had wanted Viktor to die. “And did you ever see Viktor after that day.” Now they were venturing into dangerous territory. “Yes.” “When was that exactly?” “End of February, maybe March.”

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“Can you be a little more specific?” “Not really,” she said honestly. “And where were you on the night of April twenty-fifth?” “I don’t know.” “You don’t know?” asked Detective Baker joining in, sounding terribly disbelieving. Guess he was bad cop. “How can you not know?” “Considering it’s May, don’t you think if I had

a

ready

suspicious?”

alibi,

that

might

look

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“But you do have an alibi for that night?” He reiterated. “Do I need an alibi, detective?” He looked annoyed with her word games, but she was begging truthful. She really didn’t know where she had been that night, and it wasn’t going to matter much because Amber had been gone from the apartment for the last two weeks. Which meant, Lauren had no one to corroborate her statement. “I didn’t think I needed one,” she went on before he could respond. “Am I under arrest?”

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“No. We’re just trying to get some answers.” Detective Stifler tried for a disarming smile, but Lauren read right through that. He leaned close, close enough that only she would be able to hear him. “Let me tell you what I know, Lauren. I know you got involved with a known mobster. You might not have known what he was then, but there’s no reason for you to be protecting him now. You find out that his family is behind your father’s death, I can understand why you would be a little angry and might want to take the law into your own

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hands. A jury will understand that, and if you cooperate with us, I’ll put in a word for you with the DA.” Lauren opened, her mouth, ready to tell him that she wanted a lawyer when the door was pushed open, a woman in an expensive beige suit stepping in, her heels clicking on the floor. “This interrogation is over,” she said in a no-nonsense voice, carrying herself like she was used to her orders being followed. “Lauren, don’t say another word. Detectives, I have surveillance photos and a formal

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statement from the cab driver that picked up Lauren on her way home on the night in question.” She dropped her packet on the table, turning her nose up at them smugly. Lauren was speechless, much like the detectives, but she had no idea who the attorney was or who had hired her. “Let’s go, Lauren.” Not questioning it, Lauren made to stand, the detectives following suit though they looked less than pleased. What more could they say? Until they ran whatever the

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attorney had in that file, they could no longer hold her. Ross and Susan were waiting for Lauren near the vending machines, both looking surprised at her rather speedy exit, as well as the lawyer that was guiding her out of the precinct. Ross, a Michigan homicide detective, knew how interrogations worked, had conducted hundreds over his lengthy career. He had specifically warned Lauren not to answer any questions, but eventually relented on the way over.

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He eyed the lawyer suspiciously as he and Susan joined them. Lauren hadn’t thought for a second that either he or Susan had called

her—though

Susan

could

afford

to—but it seemed too convenient that she came exactly at this time and with Lauren’s alibi. How the hell had she gotten it so quickly? Lauren felt like every police officer in the precinct was looking in her direction as she walked behind her attorney, like they were all judging her. It was irrational, since not all of them could know why she was brought in,

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but with a high profile case like this, anything was possible. Outside the precinct, the sun was shining, police cars were parked along every inch of the street, and Mishca Volkov was casually standing at the foot of the stairs. Lauren stopped where she was, a few feet above him on the top step. It all came flooding back, like it had been yesterday when everything had changed between them instead of almost four months ago. Same wavy, disheveled hair, same towering relaxed frame, but there was something

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different about his eyes. They were still that endless blue, but now they held a haunting knowledge she was all too familiar with. He looked like he hadn’t slept in days and Lauren despised herself for caring. Completely ignoring him, she continued down the concrete steps, towards Ross’ old pickup. Ross made a rude sound below his breath, hobbling down the steps on his crutches There was no love lost between he and Mishca, and it wasn’t just because Mishca’s uncle decided to send his foot soldiers to attack them in the middle of the

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night. It was because Mishca was Russian mob. On the surface, Mishca was a law abiding, tax paying citizen like the rest of the country, but to a man like Ross, it was what Mishca was on the inside that he disliked. Criminal. Mobster. Murderer. Lauren hadn’t believed it at first, but it was hard to deny it when she had witnessed it firsthand. Ross glared at him as he passed, Susan following soon after, though her expression was

far

less

menacing.

She

almost

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looked…sad. Not like the last time the two had crossed paths. Back then, Lauren hadn’t understood her mother’s strange reaction, but now it was more than clear that they had more of a history than she had ever known. The lawyer spoke softly in Mishca’s ear and after his nod, she was off, never speaking another word to Lauren. He didn’t come towards her, didn’t crowd her with his presence, just stood there, allowing her to make the decision. She didn’t think about the consequences of her actions, just held her head high and

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approached him. Up close, the effect was worse because now she could smell him. Mishca was just overwhelming in every way possible. But that wasn’t what today was about. She couldn’t get sucked back in. “Are you having me followed?” Lauren asked. Her first thought was to ask him why he hired the lawyer, but that was plainly obvious considering where she had come from, but what she didn’t know was where the lawyer had come across the information. “Not in so many words.”

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Classic Mishca evasion. “I’ll take that as a yes. Did you come here to make sure I wouldn’t talk?” He looked frustrated, like she wasn’t saying what he thought she would. What did he expect? It wasn’t like they had walked away on good terms. In fact, it was better if they didn’t talk about it at all. “Is that what you think now?” He asked looking down on her. “Is that all you think of me?”

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“It’s who you are,” she said back just as fiercely. “You never showed me the monster that hid beneath the pretty surface.” “I showed you what mattered.” Like they had done many times before, they unconsciously drew closer until they were just a whisper apart. It was almost too easy to get lost in his eyes, the ways his lips twitched when he was going to smile, or how he always made it a habit to kiss her knuckles when they saw each other.

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Even now, she could feel the ghost of his lips pressing against her skin and had to refrain from reaching for him. “I’m leaving, Mish.” His eyes softened when she used that nickname for him. She could practically read his thoughts and knew, despite how much it would hurt, she had to let him go. “Lauren, about what I said…I didn’t mean—” “You don’t have to explain.”

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He shoved a hand through his hair the way he did when he was agitated. “I want to, to fix this.” She squeezed her eyes shut, wishing she could ignore the hopeful look on his face when he said that. It was hard, staring up at the boy who had been such a big part of her life for months, someone she had grown to love and care for, but there was too much between them and she didn’t think any of it could be fixed. “I can’t.”

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Lauren drew away from him, watching the mask fall over his face. This was goodbye. Turning her back on him, she walked back to the car where Ross and Susan were waiting. With each step, a foolish part of her hoped that he would call her back.

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July Days. Weeks. It all passed in a blur of idle time and enjoying the summer away from New York. Luckily for Lauren, Diego was understanding enough not to fire her since she would be gone for so long, but after the

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semester she’d had, he thought she deserved a little time off. Yea, and he didn’t know the half of it. Most days were easier to handle, the ones where she blocked everything out that reminded her of her time with Mishca. It wasn’t easy, not when every little thing brought back a memory of him. The sweet scent of coffee, songs playing on the radio, that particular shade of blue that she saw when she looked up at the sky, but whenever her thoughts turned to him, she immediately thought of something else,

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even if it was one of the most mundane of topics. She thought distance might help the ache she felt in her heart, lessen the damage, but the distance only seemed to amplify the problem. At her dresser, Lauren touched the intricate jewelry box Susan had given her recently, though she hadn’t known that Lauren would only be using it for one piece of jewelry. It was hand carved from a special African wood, a piece Susan had picked up in town years ago.

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Running her fingers over it, Lauren flipped the latch, tilting open the top to look at the one thing she hadn’t seen since she left New York. It was a charm bracelet made of golden links, and hanging on one of the delicate loops was a tiny egg, designed to look like the Fabergé eggs crafted for royalty in earlier centuries. What she had originally thought were gems were actually diamonds, more than a few dozen encrusted around the charm. On a whim, she had searched for it on Tiffany’s, remembering the powder blue

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packaging it had come in. Knowing Mishca, she had assumed it cost a few hundred dollars—he

wasn’t

shy

about

spending

money—but after finding it online, she nearly gaped at the price. The bracelet itself was a little over a thousand dollars, but the charm itself cost well over twenty-grand. From that moment, she hadn’t felt right wearing it, not just because of the price, but because she felt like a piece of her would always be connected to him as long as she wore it.

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But, even after she had taken it off, she still felt him in every part of her. That was the hard part. She could separate herself from the physical reflections of their relationship, but there was nothing she could do about the memories. Some nights she’d lay awake remembering the way his entire face would light up when he smiled at her, and in the darkness of her bedroom with no one around, she would smile back like he could still see her. Honestly, she had no idea what she would do once she went back. She could

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hope that she wouldn’t run into him in a city that big, but considering she found the needle in the haystack once, she doubted she would be that lucky. The better question was, what would they do when she returned? She was under no delusion that she was free of the Volkov Bratva, not when they believed she had evidence that could potentially be used against them. It was a bold move pretending her father had kept a record of his work with the Russians, one that

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had ultimately paid off, but it was one that she constantly fretted about. Lauren still remembered Mikhail’s last words. A knock at her door drew Lauren from her thoughts, the sight of her mom, Susan, standing in the doorway making her force a smile that she didn’t really feel. She placed the bracelet back in the box, sealing it in. Susan had lost a little weight over the months—understandably with all the stress she was under—but it didn’t look bad on her. She had also sheared her hair to her

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shoulders, stylish layers cut through out. It made her look younger than her forty-two years. “Ross

coming

for

dinner

tonight?”

Lauren asked smiling wider when she saw Susan blush. Whether it was his near death experience or that he was just tired of waiting, Ross had finally confessed his feelings to Susan. It took them weeks to finally tell Lauren about their new relationship, but she had merely rolled her eyes at their sudden epiphany,

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secretly glad that they had each other. She had called it years ago. “Yes, he’s grilling steaks.” Susan hesitated in the doorway, one hand on the doorknob, the other holding a small sheet of white paper with jagged edges. She looked almost nervous in her approach and that made Lauren wonder what she held. The moment they got in the car on their way to Michigan, no one had brought up Mishca’s appearance at the police station or any of his family, but the Volkovs’ brief

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presence in their life was still like a shadow over them. “The last time you were here, I took this out of your father’s journal before you left. You have to understand,” she explained as she handed it over. “I was trying to protect you from the truth and reading this would have led to questions that I couldn’t answer.” Lauren took the paper, smoothing it out, smiling genuinely at the familiar untidy scrawl that was her father’s handwriting, but that smile soon began to fade as she read the words.

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November 14th 1997 Lauren, I pray that you may never find this letter, but if you are reading this, then I have to assume you know the truth. There are so many things I wish I could explain to you, but my time has run out. I regret that I will never get to watch you grow up and accomplish your dreams, teach you to ride that princess bicycle you had always wanted. For that, I am deeply sorry. I cannot make excuses for the choices I have made that led me to this point in my life, and I can only imagine how you feel right

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now, but please know that I did everything I could to protect you and your mother. I can only hope that you may find peace with everything that you have learned. Until the end of my time in this world and the next, I will watch over you. I love you, Lauren, more than I can ever express in this letter. -Dad Lauren looked away from the torn paper, the missing entry from her father’s journal. She vaguely remembered it the first day she found the journal when she had skimmed through the pages, but with everything that

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was happening around her, she had forgotten about it. “Why did you show me this?” Lauren asked almost angrily. The blessed numbness she had fallen under over the summer was now slowly dwindling away, the pain returning in agonizing force. Susan sat at the edge of her bed, opening her fingers where a familiar gold band on a delicate gold chain sat in the palm of her hand. It had a mate, one that Susan had worn for as long as Lauren could remember, but not lately. With her new relationship

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with Ross, Lauren didn’t fault her for removing it, but she couldn’t help but wonder why Susan was showing her the ring. “I blamed him for so long,” she said wistfully, staring down at the ring, rubbing her finger over the inscription on the inside. “I just knew that whatever those Russians were holding over him was what kept him there for so long.” “You don’t believe that now?” “I didn’t want to believe it, not after the murder, but I’ve always known that your father cared about him.”

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Lauren didn’t have to ask who she meant. “Even when he didn’t mean to, he spoke so highly of Mishca that I was under the delusion that it would not end badly for your father. After…after that night, I blamed them both. Your father because he chose to stay, and Mishca because he was the reason. How could I tell you that I had once hated the boy you had fallen so deeply in love with?” Susan smiled gently, touching Lauren’s knee when she thought to look away. “You couldn’t hide it if you tried.”

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“That’s why you were so angry at Thanksgiving, wasn’t it?” Sometimes, Lauren couldn’t believe how blind she had been. All the signs of who Mishca was were there for her to see, yet she was still surprised when Ross had revealed the truth to her. When Susan had come to New York for Thanksgiving, Lauren should have suspected something then. It was their awkward demeanor around each other that was a clue, and then there was the fact that Susan had

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called Mishca by his name before Lauren had even introduced them. “Yes. It was the first time I had seen a Volkov since the day I learned what your father really did when he went out of town. It brought it all back up again.” “And now? You act as though you don’t blame them anymore.” What Lauren wasn’t saying was that much of her anger stemmed from the loss that Susan had suffered as well.

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“I can’t blame your father,” Susan said, but it was what she said next that made Lauren stiffen. “It isn’t Mishca’s fault either.” “Yes, it is,” Lauren said nodding, staring down at a nick in the floor. “He’s a part of it.” Sighing, Susan folded her hands. “I do not want you to blame him because you think I want you to.” “I’m not.” “You think Mishca is responsible.” “Well, of course. Why wouldn’t I?” Lauren asked, her brows drawing together in confusion.

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“Because he was only a child,” Susan replied reasonably. “It took me a long time to come to terms with that fact. I don’t want you harboring that same anger. If you want someone to be angry with, be angry with Viktor.” “Why are you advocating for Mish? You don’t even like him.” “I may not agree with his lifestyle, but that doesn’t mean I dislike him.” Blowing out a breath, Lauren stood, going over to stand by the window, watching

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the cherry blossoms billow outside in the wind. “What does it matter now anyway?” She asked. She thought of what Mishca had said in the hotel room, how angry he was when he learned the truth behind the lies his family kept, and how her revelations had affected his sister. She could still see the fire in his eyes when she thought back on that day. “Lauren, you’ve been in this room for nearly a month and a half. The only time you leave is to eat. It matters because Ross and I

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are watching you slip away a little bit more every day.” “I don’t know what to say to that. How should I be acting? First, I find out that my boyfriend is in the Mob, not just an errand boy, but a high-ranking member, then I find out that his uncle is the one that facilitated my father’s murder. I’m a little proud that I’m doing this well.” “If I thought it was just about your father, I wouldn’t bring it up.” “What do you want me to say, mom?” She asked looking back at Susan, annoyed with

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herself because it felt like the only thing she knew how to do anymore was cry. “Even without everything that’s happened. We could never be together.” “Come back and sit down,” Susan said patting the spot next to her. “I want to tell you a story.” Lauren did as she commanded, folding her legs beneath her as she faced her mother. “This was your father’s ring,” Susan said wistfully, holding it out for Lauren to take. “Before the wedding, he had both of our rings engraved with a saying. Until the end.

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It was Cameron’s promise. No matter what situation we may have found ourselves in, we promised to stick by each other—” “Until the end,” Lauren finished for her. Seeming satisfied, though Lauren didn’t grasp what she was trying to tell her, Susan stood, pressing the necklace into Lauren’s hand, going over to stand by the door. Lauren clutched it, looking to Susan. “What are you saying?” “We can’t help who we fall for and sometimes it may seem like they’re the worst

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possible choice, but even I can’t deny what I saw between you and Mishca.” “But he lied to me, about everything,” she whispered just loud enough for her to hear. “Then be angry with him for what he did do, not for what he had no control over.” Lauren didn’t get a chance to respond to that as the front door open and shut, Ross announcing his arrival with a call up to them. Susan went down first, Lauren promising to be down in a minute. She needed a moment to think.

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Lauren could deal with the anger, it was the easiest to feel, but the rest of it was what she couldn’t make sense of. It seemed like Susan wanted her to forgive Mishca, but there was so much that was said and done that she couldn’t just let it go over night. Putting it out of her mind for the time being, Lauren traveled downstairs, seeing the new building supplies near the door to the basement. Ross hadn’t gotten the boat they’d talked about, instead he chose to build one from scratch.

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She really had to talk him out of watching Crime TV with Susan. The back door was open, the smell of burning charcoal carrying through the door. The unnecessarily large grill that Ross was manning took up nearly the entire deck, smoke billowing up into the air. He held a fork in one hand, flipping steaks as he tipped his beer up, taking a few long swallows before wiping his brow with his forearm. He was off his crutches though one foot was still in a brace. He had even begun growing his hair out, finally letting go of

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the strict cut he had been wearing since his time in the army. Looking over his shoulder, Ross flashed his crooked grin. “Returning to the land of the living?” Laughing, Lauren grabbed one of the chairs, moving it over to the shade. “Your one to talk. If you’re not sawing away at that boat, I don’t see you.” “Touché.” While Ross readied the steaks, Susan made potato salad in the kitchen, both keeping Lauren far from any of the food. They

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talked, steering clear of any tough subject—one tough subject. When the food was ready, they set out plates on the table. Since the sun was setting, the temperature had decreased enough for them to sit outside. After saying Grace, Susan looked to Lauren. “Have you thought about what you’re going to do once you go back?” Lauren glanced quickly at Ross before answering. “Same thing I was doing when I first got there. Concentrating on school and work.”

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Ross nodded. “Good. I’ve talked to Rodriguez. He’s promised to look out for you if you ever need anything. Mishca won’t be bothering you.” In a quiet voice, Lauren said, “Mishca.” Ross grunted, focusing solely on his plate as he pushed his food around. It was no secret that there was no love lost between him and Mishca, especially with the events that transpired a few months ago. And that was another thing that Lauren thought about constantly. Even if she did think about trying for something with

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Mishca—not that she did—there were so many obstacles standing between them. Their families would never accept them together. “Whatever his name is.” For some reason, though she had just voiced her doubts with Susan, Lauren spoke up for him. “He’s not the one I’m worried about.” Narrowing his eyes on her, Ross got that scrutinizing look on his face. “Don’t even think about it. He’s not who you thought he was.”

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“Thomas—” “No, Susan, she needs to understand. This isn’t one of those romance books where everything gets wrapped up nicely in the end.” He dropped his fork on the plate, sitting back to look at Lauren. “I thought that by giving you space, it would help, but you’ve been locked away in that room and I can only imagine what ideas you might have come up with. I know these type of men, I’ve dealt with them before. They’re killers with zero remorse.”

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“The hour I spent talking to Mikhail was enough to convince me of the type of men they are,” Lauren said bitterly, making them fall silent. Lauren was staring down at the table, tears of frustration blurring her vision. Ross reached out, laying his hand over hers. “I just want what’s best for you,” he said gently. “Even if you can’t see that yet.” Pushing back from the table, Lauren extracted her hand. “I’m going to go check on my registration date.”

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They didn’t stop her from leaving though she had barely touched her food. Even as she walked away, she heard Susan whispering quietly.

At six a.m., while the house still slept, Lauren silently dressed, grabbing the keys to the tiny Kia outside. Susan and Ross had

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gotten together to buy her the car, giving her a means of transportation to get around, and for when she wanted to come home. She headed into town, stopping by the local florists’ shop, run by an elderly couple. After a few pleasantries, they put together an arrangement of white tulips and an assortment of other flowers, ones that conveyed exactly how Lauren was feeling. As she was leaving, they both gave her sympathetic smiles. By the time she got to the cemetery, it was still dark out, a bank of fog making it

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hard to make out any of the gravestone, but Lauren knew the route like the back of her hand. Two aisles down, four rows up, second to the left. Her father didn’t have a headstone, rather a ledger stone, one that was set into the ground. Lauren knew what it said, had read the words plenty of times over the years, but every single time since she realized how final those words were, tears formed in her eyes. It never got easier, but while there

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was residual pain, there was still a level of comfort that being here brought. Setting the flowers on the ground for the moment, she took the time to take out the older ones since they looked like they’d been there for a few weeks, and brushed away a few stray leaves. Placing her own arrangement into the pot, she fanned them out, twisting them in every direction until she was satisfied. But no matter how long she tried to hold off, she knew she would have to face it.

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The grass was slightly damp, wetting the knees of her jeans as she tucked her legs beneath her. Finally, when she couldn’t wait any longer, she read the words.

CAMERON ISAAC THOMPSON JUNE 1, 1962 - NOVEMBER 15, 1997 LOVING HUSBAND AND FATHER

Even still, the numbness she had grown accustomed to was cracking again, the fissure growing so large that it took everything within her not to breakdown.

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The guilt was too much. It felt wrong, being here, knowing that she had consorted with the very men that stole his life. Coming here hadn’t just been for sentimental reasons, but because she wanted a reminder why she should stay away from Mishca, what his life would lead her to, but no matter how hard she tried, she found an excuse. The biggest one of all? At the time of her father’s death, Mishca had only been nine years old, a child himself.

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The only thing she knew for sure was that he knew her father had died, but he looked just as surprised that day she told Mikhail that she believed he hadn’t known—and there was no doubt Mikhail didn’t. If she wanted to blame Mishca, why not blame herself? While he had been hundreds of miles away, she had been in the closet mere feet away. She could have done something, anything to stop Viktor and his men. Susan’s words came back to her then.

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It was no one’s fault but the person that took his life. She wished she could believe that. “I wish we’d had more time,” Lauren whispered touching the sides of the stone. “I don’t…I don’t blame you. I just want to know why. Why would you work for people like them?” No matter how long she sat there, she knew she would never get an answer, but it felt good to ask the question anyway. “I moved to New York,” she said suddenly. “I guess you know that, but I feel like I

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haven’t really moved forward. What would you say if you knew I’m still undeclared?” She laughed, tracing the letters of his name. “I did pretty well with my volunteer work at the hospital.” A sudden breeze blew, ruffling Lauren’s hair. It was only for a second, just enough to make her smile. In that moment, she knew how to move forward.

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August A couple days later, Lauren was packing the last of her things in the car when she felt a sense of déjà vu. After all this time, it was getting ridiculous.

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“If I promise to call whenever I make a stop, will you stop crying?” Lauren asked trying not to smile. Susan and Ross were standing next to the car, the former sniffling as Ross kept a comforting hand around her shoulders. Lauren would think that Susan would be done crying at this point. “Every hour,” Susan amended looking far too serious. “Okay, let’s just stick to whenever she’s stopped,” Ross butted in, kissing Susan’s forehead.

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Shutting the trunk, Lauren hugged Susan first, accepting the bawling and the kisses until she finally let go. Ross was next, his arms like bands around her. “I’m sorry about what I said,” he whispered in her ear. “I just want you to be safe.” She nodded against his chest. She knew he meant well, even if she wasn’t ready to hear it yet…just like he’d said “Do you still have that gun I gave you?” “Ross.”

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He held his hands up innocently. “Just making sure you’re safe.” Funny thing was, the gun was still tucked away in her desk. Waving goodbye, she climbed into the car. As she started the engine, and the view of Susan and Ross faded in the rearview mirror as she pulled away, she had no idea what to expect when she got home, but she was ready for anything.

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Several hours later, Lauren climbed out of her car, staring up at the familiar brownstone just outside of the city. Almost a year ago, she had relocated here to escape small town living, moving in with Amber who was more of a best friend rather than a roommate. She couldn’t wait—

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“You fucking asshole!” She swung around at the sound of Amber’s angry voice, spotting her barreling down the stairs towards her, but she wasn’t alone. Rob was hurrying behind her looking sheepish. For a moment, Lauren stood in dazed confusion, wondering why Amber would be upset with her, but she wasn’t the target of Amber’s rage. Pulling up, Lauren hadn’t noticed Rob’s shiny black BMW parked a few blocks down, but now that she had, she could see Piper in the passenger seat, oversized sunglasses

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shielding her eyes, but judging from the way her mouth was set, she appeared smug. Amber reached the passenger side, yanking at the door handle as Piper lurched back, trying to get as far away as possible in the confined space. Foregoing her bags—and hoping to stop Amber from doing anything she might regret—Lauren hurried over. Rob had the nerve to look relieved as he tried unsuccessfully to calm Amber down. “Lauren, please. Can you talk to her?”

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“I don’t really know what’s going on,” Lauren said looking between the two of them. Then suddenly, Amber took a deep breath, letting go of the door handle, holding her hands up. “I’ll explain. Robin decided that because I didn’t have a real ‘job,’”—she air-quoted the last bit—“he needed to take my

cousin,

the

conniving

bitch,”—this

screamed at the car—“to the office party at his law firm. Then, because I was out of town visiting my sick father, he brought her back to my apartment and fucked her in my bed!”

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And there went the calm before the storm. Drawing her arm back, Amber slugged him in the nether regions, dropping him to his knees. Deciding it was a good time to intervene, Lauren grabbed Amber by the back of her shirt, pulling her away. Amber didn’t struggle much, though she did hurl insults as they stumbled backwards towards their building. Rob eventually struggled to his feet, climbing into his car and driving off, not doing less than ninety miles per hour.

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“I’m fine,” Amber said again and again as they climbed the stairs to their apartment. But she wasn’t and Lauren knew that. Amber was a beautiful girl, with extremely curly blonde and brown hair that now fell just past her shoulders since the last time Lauren had seen her. She also had wide expressive brown eyes that were currently brimming with tears. Amber went in the apartment first, easily stepping over all the little, white fluff that seemed to cover the majority of the floor. Actually, it was everywhere. On the counters,

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all over the couch, some floating through the open window where one of Amber’s paintings was sitting on an easel waiting to dry. “What did you do?” Lauren asked looking around in wonder. “I murdered a mattress.” Sure enough, inside Amber’s bedroom, her once queen sized mattress was ripped to shreds, long gouges down the center of it, the springs sticking out. “Oh,” Amber said snapping her fingers. “We should go mattress hunting sometime

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today now that you’re back. Speaking of, does he know?” He meaning Mishca, Mishca Volkov. There were no words to describe how she felt about

him

adequately,

it

was

too

complicated. “No, I haven’t talked to him yet.” Not that she planned to talk to him at all. Amber blinked, hearing what Lauren wasn’t saying. Good friend that she was, she didn’t question it. “Mattress first, then margaritas.”

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Four hours later, Amber had a new bed set, and they were well on their way to being beyond drunk—at least Amber was. Lauren was still working on her second margarita while Amber was raising her hand for another Long Island iced tea. “Piper, of all people?” Amber said as she pulled the pineapple from the other drink

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she had yet to finish, nibbling a piece of it. “I really shouldn’t be surprised though. She has a habit of going after other people’s boyfriends.” “Don’t let them get you down. They’re not worth it.” Amber nodded, but Lauren doubted she believed that. The pain was too fresh for her to just let it go so easily. “Enough about me and my pathetic excuse for a cousin. What’s up with you and Mishca?” “We…well, it just didn’t work out.”

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Lauren didn’t want to tell her any more than that, not because she didn’t want to—it would be great to finally talk with someone about this—but she didn’t want to involve Amber in it, not when she was already worried about her own safety. “Well if you ever want to talk about it, I’m a great listener.” There was no one else she’d rather talk to.

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It was considerably cooler when they left the bar, making Lauren zip up her jacket, fumbling with the zipper several times before finally tugging it up. “Where do we go from here?” Amber asked in a whimsical voice, spinning in circles while nearly falling off the sidewalk.

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Lauren giggled, hurrying to catch up to her. “What about Florida? I’ve never been to Florida.” “Really? You should come with me to Cali for a few weeks.” She slung her arm around Lauren’s

shoulders,

gesturing

out

to

everything around them. “That would be fun, right? I’d show you the coast, we’d surf, and meet all the hot surfers out there.” “Sounds good.” But she wasn’t sure about meeting other guys. Maybe it was because her breakup with Mishca was so fresh that she wasn’t ready to move on.

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Lauren

fiddled

through

her

purse,

searching for her phone—feeling the buzzing against her side—falling behind. She was still looking when she stumbled into Amber as she stopped abruptly. Looking up, she didn’t have to ask to learn why Amber was no longer walking. Rob and Piper were exiting a restaurant—one that Lauren had wanted to go to since she moved to New York—hand in hand, acting every bit of the sophisticated couple they were pretending to be. Grudgingly, Lauren could almost understand Rob’s

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twisted view of what kind of girl he should be with. Piper was everything that Amber wasn’t and that seemed to work for him, not that his opinion really mattered to Lauren. She would have chosen Amber over Piper any day. “Let’s just go,” Lauren said so that Amber was the only one that could hear her. “I’m fine,” Amber muttered holding her head up, the sadness radiating in her eyes. It seemed their movements attracted Piper’s attention. She slinked closer to Rob,

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holding onto him like she thought Amber was going to attack her at any moment. Rob leaned down, whispering something in Piper’s ear that had her laughing softly. Amber was trying to put up a good front, but Lauren could see the tears brimming in her eyes and she had had enough. “Time to move on,” she said in a voice laced with steel. “I’m sure you have something better to do.” Piper tried to look down her nose at Lauren—an act that was hard to do since Lauren was a few inches taller—as she pulled

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away from Rob. In her mind, she assumed Lauren was the more passive one which would make her the easiest target, but she couldn’t possibly know that in the span of a few months, Lauren was no longer the same girl. “Who do you think you’re talking to?” Piper asked, actually getting in Lauren’s face like she wanted to fight. It was for the crowd of people waiting in line behind them, Lauren assumed.

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“You got what you wanted, no?”—Shit, now she sounded like him—“Why don’t you leave.” “Or. What?” “Do you really want me to answer that?” Lauren challenged. “You think because you have his attention for a few minutes that it’ll last? Please. You’re the pretty little gem whose shine will wear off in a week tops. Get over yourself, Piper. I’m sure your mouth isn’t all that great despite what you can do with it.”

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Her face mottled with red as the bystanders around them broke out in laughter. It even managed to get a smile out of Amber. Never in her life had Lauren been so bold, but she hated seeing her friend hurt, and alcohol could make anyone brave enough to speak their mind. Piper raised her hand, as if she meant to actually hit Lauren, but Amber was done with her shit. In the blink of an eye, Amber balled her fist, slugging Piper in the face. Amber yelped in pain, cradling her hand. Piper cried out, stumbling in her heels as she

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touched her face, sobbing dramatically. Lauren didn’t doubt that the hit hurt, but she was sure Piper was just making a scene. “Call the police!” Piper shouted, reaching for Rob, but he was too busy trying to talk to Amber to notice. “Let’s go.” Lauren grabbed Amber’s arm, dragging her away in case someone was actually calling the police. “Amber! Can we just talk about this?” Rob called after them, his hands in the air. “Screw you!”

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Just their luck, there didn’t seem to be any taxis in the vicinity. Her next option? Finding somewhere crowded enough for them to blend into without being noticed for a while. Music was pounding through the walls of a building across the street, scores of people standing outside it. Perfect. Lauren hurried them across, checking behind them to make sure thy were no longer the subject of attention. They weren’t even on the sidewalk yet when the bouncer unclipped the rope,

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waving them ahead. The first couple of patrons in the line complained, but Lauren was too grateful to care. Passing the rope, however, she felt strange, like this was the last place she needed to be.

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As soon as they were inside the club, Lauren understood that sense of foreboding that filled her. She had only been to this particular club a handful of times, but the interior was one she would never forget. Same sleek, white furniture. LED-lit shelves, making the bottles of alcohol resting on them glow blue. It seemed she had stumbled her way into Mishca’s club. Club 221 was an exclusive spot and now that she thought about it, there was no reason for the bouncers to allow them in, neither

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of the pair were dressed for a night out on the town…unless they recognized her. She couldn’t help but wonder if the bouncer had already used his walkie-talkie to alert the owner. Glancing around, she quickly hunted for him in the crowd of people, but with so many people, she couldn’t spot him anywhere. Trailing behind Amber—who seemed oblivious to their surroundings—they made a beeline for the bar, and when she passed Lauren a shot, she happily gulped it down,

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wanting to dull the apprehension blooming in her chest. Realistically, she could get out of there, talk Amber into waiting a few minutes before they left again, but a nagging voice in the back of her head reminded her why she was at the bar, in direct view of the office above.

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In a corner office above the sprawling dance floor of Club 221, Mishca Volkov sat at his desk, holding a framed picture in his large hands, briefly tracing over the girl’s smile with his thumb.

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For months he had left it in the bottom drawer of his desk, but even without seeing it, he could practically feel it hidden away and worse than that, he couldn’t get her out of his mind. Born and raised in a lifestyle full of secrets and death, he had hardly lived for anything else in his twenty-five years…not until a year ago when he met a girl that would disrupt the delicate balance between his personal life and his obligations to the Bratva.

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He had tried for months to get her out of his head, doing just about anything to get a reprieve. A few girls, but after the third attempt at trying to take one home—and feeling absolutely nothing—he turned to the one thing that took away the memories. In his office, Mishca drank freely until the wee hours of the morning, but only on the days when he was not needed by the Vory v Zakone. Their mandate demanded that they not drink to the point of excess, but Mishca often teetered on the brink.

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He didn’t know how to handle it, the emotions she sparked inside of him. Nothing he did would turn them off. The only time he had a modicum of peace was when he drank. A hard knock drew Mishca from his thoughts. Sighing, he dropped the picture into the drawer, slamming it shut with his foot. Barking an ‘enter,’ he watched the door swing open, Jonathan standing in the doorway. His partner was one of the few people outside of the family that knew what Mishca

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really was, but he was also someone Mishca trusted with his life. Currently, he looked apprehensive, rubbing his hands together as his eyes shifted from Mishca’s face to the half empty bottle of Vodka that was doing nothing to lift Mishca’s ever darkening mood. “Hey, Boss.” Though Jonathan had a stake in the club, and wasn’t one of the brigadiers, he insisted on calling Mishca by the same title as his men. “I know you’re busy,”—another pointed look at the bottle,

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then to the drawer where the picture was hidden. Frowning, Mishca turned in his chair, blocking the view. “Get on with it.” “Right.” Jonathan snapped his fingers, shifting on his feet. “There’s a saying I’m rather fond of. ‘Don’t shoot the messenger.’ Have you ever heard that before?” Mishca was slowing losing his already short patience. “Spit it out!” “Your sister is downstairs dancing on the bar.” Jonathan cringed as he said it, waiting for Mishca’s careful composure to come

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unhinged. It wouldn’t be the first time he had snapped since he and Lauren had ended things—a subject he knew never to bring up. In the blink of an eye, Mishca had the bottle of Vodka in hand, hurling it across the room to shatter against the wall. In the midst of the bottle flying, Jonathan made his exit. As soon as Mishca got his hands on her, he would strangle her scrawny little neck. Since Lauren’s revelation that day, things had slowly spiraled downhill for the Volkov family, at least for the Volkov children. Mikhail had returned his full attention to the

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Vory v Zakone, putting his men to work to expand their businesses. With Viktor dead they had to take over his obligations. Mishca wasn’t hypocritical enough to judge her for the drinks—there were many a night when he found himself at the bottom of a bottle—but he could limit her intake when he was around. He didn’t let her in his club, not just because she was only seventeen, but because of the men that used this place as their hunting ground. Though a bar brawl sounded a bit appealing at the moment, he had all he could take

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of law enforcement lately. Even in death, Victor still managed to bring a cluster fuck of a problem down on them. Mishca understood Mikhail’s decision to make Viktor’s death public, though a few members of the Bratva voiced their disapproval. It was a calculated risk, one meant to resolve the problem with the NYPD as well as the Michigan police department. Anatoly’s recorded testimony had been destroyed, there was no physical evidence, and Mishca knew—and made sure to speak up at the last

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meeting—that Lauren wouldn’t speak a word of it. That problem had been fixed. Now, if he could just fix the hundred and twenty pound problem he had downstairs…

Commotion near the other end of the bar had Lauren turning around, nearly spilling

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her drink when she saw who was at the other end. Several college-aged boys were throwing back shots, shouting at each other though they were only inches apart, but the petite girl in the center of their group was who grabbed Lauren’s attention. She was dressed in a rose gold sequin dress, her feet bare though silvery anklets adorned both of her ankles. Her blonde hair gleamed in the glowing lights of the club, wayward strands sticking to her damp skin. She looked far older than her seventeen

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years, wearing enough makeup that she almost didn’t look like herself. The

girl

was

Aleksandria

Volkov,

Mishca’s little sister. At one point, Lauren might have thought them friends, but she doubted Alex wanted anything to do with her now, not after that day she revealed the truth about Viktor—Alex’s biological father. Technically, that made Alex Mishca’s cousin, but Lauren doubted either of them wanted a reminder of that.

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She was the splitting image of her mother, Anya, more so in this moment than any other. Two of the guys grabbed Alex’s extended hands, hoisting her up and onto the bar top. Cheers rang out as Alex threw back another shot, swaying her hips as she danced to only a beat she could hear. At that point, Lauren knew she had to step in, no matter how much more Alex would hate her after. “I’ll be right back,” she told Amber who gave her a drunken thumbs up.

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Lauren maneuvered her way through the crowd, keeping her eyes on Alex in case someone tried to move her. It took more time than she had hoped, but when she was right behind the pack of vultures, she elbowed her way to the front, uncaring of their hostile glares. “Alex!” She tried calling, but her voice was

drowned

out

by

the

music

and

screaming. Reaching up, she grabbed Alex’s hand, trying to get her to come down. Someone else was reaching for her also, but Lauren

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was too preoccupied in making sure Alex didn’t land on her face to look. Between the two of them, they helped an overly intoxicated Alex down from the bar before she tripped and hit her head or something. Lauren was prepared to thank the guy—or tell him off if he was a creeper—until she looked up and met his eyes. Mishca. It was like the first time all over again, that stunned moment of seeing someone so attractive, but it was different now because

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she knew him. Just at the sight of him, the ache in her chest grew larger. He seemed just as dazed as she felt, both suspended in the moment, too lost in one another to notice Alex drunkenly glaring at Lauren like she was the bane of her existence. She lurched towards her, stumbling in her heels as she tried to grab for Lauren, but Mishca caught her around the waist, grating angry words in Russian that had her shoving away from him, turning that glare back on Lauren.

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“You ruined my life!” She shouted, loud enough to be heard over the music. Lauren flinched. No matter her problems with Mishca, she had never meant to hurt Alex in the process. She was all too familiar with what a secret could do, and inadvertently, she had done to Alex what Viktor had done to her. “I’m sorry,” Lauren said seeming to shock Mishca though Alex was too drunk to understand what Lauren was saying. Looking back at Mishca, she had to stop kidding herself into believing that anything

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could work out between them. Not because she didn’t want it, but because it seemed the circumstances weren’t right for it to work. Taking a step back, Lauren said, “Goodbye, Mish.” And without a single glance back, she found Amber in the heavily occupied club and helped her outside to a cab where they went home.

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Despite trying to yank her way free, Mishca kept a firm grip on Alex’s bicep as he hauled her up the stairs in the back of the club, dragging her into his office and slamming the door shut behind them. With little finesse, Mishca dropped Alex on her ass in one of the armchairs, his anger mounting as

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she tried to straighten the pathetic excuse for a dress she was wearing. He went over to the mini bar, grabbing a water from inside it, unscrewing the cap as he handed it to her, careful not to spill any. “Drink it.” She glared at it, then him, before flinging an arm out, knocking the bottle to the floor, sending water spraying out onto the front of his shirt. That glare quickly turned into a satisfied smirk as she practically dared him to do something about it.

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“Don’t push me, Aleksandria,” Mishca said not bothering to wipe at the droplets still dripping off him. “My patience is wearing thin.” “Like I give a shit,” she spat back at him. “What was she doing here?” “Never mind her. What were you thinking? Have you forgotten you’re underage?” Rolling her eyes, she reached for his special hundred-year-old whiskey, throwing the top at him. “So?” “Aleksandria, I’m not in the mood for this tonight.”

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“You think just because you keep saying my full name, that’s going to make me behave? You’re not my father, Mish. Matter of fact, you put a bullet in his heart.” He couldn’t fault her for the next swig she took. Grimacing, she held the bottle up in toast. “All thanks to that bitch you’re pining over.” Mishca was in her face in a second, snatching the bottle from her. “Don’t call her that.” Alex narrowed her eyes, shoving him back, nothing he did would scare her. “Just like I thought. Lauren this. Lauren that. She

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ruins my fucking life and your still taking up for her!” “What do you want from me?” Mishca demanded, shoving his hands through his hair. “I practically forced her away for you.” “Oh right, asshole, try to make me feel guilty. You and Mikhail are just alike.” “Don’t compare me to our—” “Well he ain’t my father,” she said sarcastically, plopping back down. “Isn’t that what your precious girlfriend just had to tell everyone? Now, I can’t even see my mother.”

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“She would have been killed,” Mishca tried to get her to understand. “She didn’t have a choice. You can’t blame her for what Viktor caused.” Even though he had done just that. Alex laughed bitterly, clapping her hands. “But it’s okay to blame me? Mikhail won’t even look at me anymore. Sure, he deposits money in my account, but is that all I am now, an obligation?” Mishca sighed, his anger draining away when he heard the sadness in Alex’s voice. This was much harder for her than he had

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realized. She didn’t share Mishca’s bitterness towards Mikhail. So while he would see it as a blessing if Mikhail ignored him, it wasn’t easy for a seventeen-year-old girl. They hadn’t even been around to celebrate Alex’s birthday—Mikhail was away on business, Anya wasn’t allowed—and Mishca doubted he had been as caring as he could have been. “No, Alex. Give him time, he’ll come around. If you really want it, I’ll set up a meeting for you to see Anya.”

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She sniffled, her eyes downcast as though she didn’t want him to see her crying. He reached for her, gathering her into his arms, resting his chin on top of her head like he had done so many times when she was a kid. It seemed so long ago now and he wished he could go back to when things were simpler between them. “Why are you buttering me up anyway?” Alex asked after several heartbeats, peering up at him beneath wet lashes. “I’m not.”

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“Or maybe it’s because you want me to be okay with you pursuing her?” He couldn’t lie to her if he tried. While he did want to make her feel better, he also didn’t want there to be problems between her and Lauren if she ever came back—and she would if he had anything to do with it. But from the quickly escalating anger on Alex’s face, it would take more than a two minute conversation before she would accept it. “Fuck you too, Mishca!”

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She stormed out of his office, slamming the door so hard that he was sure it could be heard over the pounding music. Everything around him was falling to shit, and there was nothing he could do to fix it. Not yet at least. Even as he entertained going after her and apologizing again, a stronger urge to go see Lauren rode him hard. Ten minutes. That was all he needed. She hadn’t looked angry when she saw him, surprised yes, but not angry. If there

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wasn’t that, then maybe they could work it out. But her last words before disappearing made him wonder what exactly she was apologizing for.

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“Remind me never to listen to your suggestions,” Amber grumbled the next morning, buried beneath a mountain of blankets on the couch, a pillow pressed against her head.

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“Or listen to your own suggestions,” Lauren responded with a wry smile, trying to keep her voice down knowing her friend had a terrible hangover. She protested weakly, but didn’t argue. Lauren set the bottle of Tylenol and orange juice on the table, laughing softly as Amber peeked out, snatching the bottle of pills and taking two. “Where are you off to?” Amber asked settling back. “I’ve got an appointment with my advisor to change my major.”

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“Oh, you finally decided?” “Yep. Pre-med.” “Well, shit that’s awesome.” She hadn’t even told Susan yet, but as she said the words to Amber, they felt right. One step forward. “Do you need anything before I go? I’m not sure when I’ll be back, I have work right after.” “Don’t worry about me, I’ve had worse hangovers, trust me.” Lauren was out on the sidewalk a few minutes later, looking over at her car. It

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really made no sense driving the short distance to campus when she had walked it all last year. It was stupid really, the anxiety she felt as she walked. Just because she had run into Mishca last night didn’t mean that he would be stalking her every movement. He lived in Manhattan after all, and there was no reason for him to be on this side of town…especially not at their old spot. Reaching the corner where she would usually cross the street to go inside the café to meet Mishca, she continued forward

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instead, but even still, she turned at the last moment, peering inside the large windows to the table where they used to sit. Today, it was empty. Logically, she knew it would be, but a part of her still hoped to see him…while another part hoped that she would never see him again in her life. She couldn’t make up her mind. Ten minutes later, she was waiting in the sitting area for her advisor to call her in. A friendly looking receptionist was behind a white counter, typing away on the computer

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and there were a couple of people seated near her. Besides them, the office was rather empty. Certificates and school memorabilia hung on the walls, yet it still felt a little sterile. “Lauren?” She looked up at the middle-aged woman wearing tortoise shell glasses and a pinstriped suit. Her graying blonde hair was pulled back into a severe looking bun, but she had a friendly smile. Lauren followed her into a smaller office, sitting in one of the leather chairs. A manila

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folder with her name on it was resting on the desk in front of her. Maggie Douglas, her advisor’s name was, sat down, pressing a few buttons on the phone to stop the ringing. “If I understand correctly, you want to change your major?” Lauren nodded, folding her hands in her lap, rubbing her thumb across the back of her knuckles. “Can I ask what made you choose Premed?” She opened the folder, looking over a few of the documents inside.

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One had Lauren’s grades from the pat year as well as her transfer credits. Another was a letter from the hospital Lauren volunteered at the summer after her senior year in high school. Before leaving Michigan, she had stopped by, not really sure what to ask of them, but one of the doctors she had worked with was there and she told him about her decision. He offered to write a letter of recommendation—she guessed to keep on file since it didn’t really make a difference at NYU.

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“My father was a doctor.” While she did enjoy helping people, that wasn’t her sole reason for choosing this path. “It’s what he would have wanted me to do.” Maggie smiled kindly, like she had heard this reason before. “But are you sure this is what you want. I know a lot of students whose parents wanted them to go in a certain direction, but it wasn’t what they really wanted.” “More than anything.” Nodding, Maggie made the entry in the computer, then proceeded to go over the

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course work Lauren would have to complete to graduate on time. A few times Lauren’s eyes widened, but she was more determined than nervous about it all. It was a rather quick process and by the time it was over, Lauren had a new schedule for the upcoming semester. Leaving campus again, she paused at the intersection, noticing the man across the street. He had a very distinctive look and it didn’t help that he stood out rather prominently in the sea of smaller men around him.

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He didn’t seem to notice that Lauren had spotted him and she didn’t make it a point to alert him of that fact. She continued on, deciding that she would stop by the café anyway. Occasionally, she would peek behind her to see if he was still there…he was. Vlad

was

Mishca’s

bodyguard…or

something else for the Bratva that she didn’t know the name of. While mostly reserved, the few times they had talked he seemed kind enough, if saying a maximum of ten words on those encounters were anything to

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judge by, but Lauren had no idea why he was on this side of town now. At first, she had thought Mishca was somewhere nearby since she had never seen one without the other—unless Mishca was with her—and momentarily panicked thinking that he was going to see her, but she didn’t see him. Inside the café, Lauren waited the short time in the line and at the register, Lauren ordered her usual while ordering a medium black coffee for Vlad. She didn’t know how

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he took his, so she just grabbed a few sugar packets and creamers. Back outside, she headed in his direction, smiling when she noticed him pretending not to notice her. When she was within earshot, she smiled. “Nice to see you again, Vlad.” She held out the cup to him, nodding when he took it hesitantly. “What can I do for you?” He shrugged good-naturedly. “I need to talk to you.” He gestured over to the park where a good number of people were minding their

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business. Maybe he chose this spot because he knew she wouldn’t go anywhere with him alone. Seated on the bench, she tried to pass him the sugars, but he declined, taking a long drink of his coffee. “You did not need to do this,” he said looking down at the cup. “Thought you might want it since you’ve been following me for…” She trailed off, hoping he would fill in the blanks, but Vlad was too seasoned to fall for that. “I’m assuming

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because you’re here everyone knows I’m back.” And by everyone she meant Mikhail. “We knew as soon as you hit the interstate.” She grimaced, looking away. That was seriously creepy, but she had to stop underestimating the Bratva’s reach. “So why are you here. Did…did Mishca send you?” She cast her gaze around, trying to spot his car anywhere in the vicinity, but no luck. He nodded once. “Mikhail will want to see you.”

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That made her blood run cold. “Why?” “You spoke of a journal, he will want it.” She had been waiting for this. “Where exactly?” Vlad looked at her head on, his gaze unwavering. “Wherever you are, he can find you.” He didn’t give her time to fret on that, saying, “I suggest you find somewhere public to be tonight if it will make you more comfortable…though if he wanted, he could kill you still.” “Right,” she said dryly. “Was that supposed to make me feel better?”

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He shrugged again. “Just the truth.” “Is that what this meeting is about?” “Nyet. Captain wouldn’t allow it if it were.” “Good to know.” Did Mishca even have that power? “Was that all you needed with me?” He nodded, standing and tossing his cup in the trash. He straightened, smoothing the front of his suit jacket. While Mishca wore three piece suits, Vlad had on a black shirt beneath his jacket. “Take care, Lauren.”

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“Vlad?” He looked back expectantly. “How is he?” She didn’t have to iterate who she meant. He seemed to think over his answer. “Lost.”

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Before Lauren headed into work, she dropped by her apartment, picking up the journal. As she left—this time taking her car—she felt saddened by the fact that she might not ever see it again. Inside it were her father’s private thoughts and the thought of anyone else reading them bothered her, but she had no choice. “Good to see you back,” Diego said as he mussed her hair like he always did when she came in. There were a few new people, a boy named Johnny and a girl with a sleeve of

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tattoos on the upper part of her right arm. Tara was in the back, trying one of the new deserts when Lauren walked in. Abandoning it, she rushed over to hug Lauren like she had been gone for years. Sometimes, it felt like it. “I heard what happened. How are you doing?” “I’m fine.” Any other time, those words would have come out evenly, but tonight, with what she might be facing, they were shaky and breathless.

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“If you need anything, anything at all, just let me know.” She smiled gratefully, giving her one final squeeze

before

pulling

back.

“How’s

Timmy?” That made Tara laugh, lifting the sudden dark mood. “Bad as ever.” They talked more as Lauren wrapped the apron around her waist. With her notepad, she tucked the journal into one of the front pockets. Hours passed with little fanfare, the morning crowd dwindling away to the night

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customers. Her mind had been too preoccupied with work to remember that Mikhail was supposed to be dropping by. It wasn’t until she came back out from filling an order that she knew it was time. The guests were dwindling quickly, halffinished courses left on the table, money casually thrown down. She looked to Diego, wondering what was going on, but he looked just as confused as she felt. The bells at the entrance chimed as a new customer walked in.

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Tara was at the front asking, “How can I help you?” “Table for one please.” Lauren froze at the voice. How he had managed to empty an entire restaurant in less than ten minutes baffled her. They might not have known the truth behind the man, but it was clear that there was something dangerous about him. That’s just how Mikhail Volkov was. He was at least six-foot-one with a head full of graying black hair that he normally kept greased back from his face, with steel

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gray eyes that were as menacing as they were cold. In the few occasions that Lauren had been around him, she thought him to be a bit odd and menacing, only difference now was she knew why. He was the Pakhan of the Volkov Bratva, an extension of the Vory v Zakone. As the Boss, he led an army of men and liked to think he had more power than God himself. Keeping her head held high, she refused to show fear as she crossed the room. To them, fear was a sign of weakness and she was no longer weak.

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“I can take them,” Lauren said cheerfully to Tara, gesturing for Mikhail and the three men accompanying him to follow her. She sat them at one of the empty booths in her section, conscious of the fact that the other workers were watching them. “Please,” Mikhail said after he was seated. “Join me for a drink.” “I can’t. I’m working.” “I am sure they can spare you for a moment. It is rather empty, no?” It didn’t sound like she had much of a choice and she thought it would be best not

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to challenge him just yet when she didn’t know his plan, so she did as told. “At least let me get your drink. Vodka?” He nodded. Giving him her back, she walked the short distance to the bar, keeping her eyes trained on Diego. “You okay?” He asked softly, briefly glancing behind her. “I can ask them to leave.” “No,” Lauren said a bit too quickly, trying for a weak smile when he looked suspicious. “I can handle it. I do need a Vodka on the rocks though and, uh, can I take my break.”

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“Sure, but just say the word and I’ll…well I’ll call somebody.” As Diego took his time about fixing the drink, Lauren thought of how she would handle this. Ross would have wanted her to call Rodriguez instead of confronting them, but she thought that would only make it worse. She had to trust that what Vlad had said was true. Back at the table, she set the glass down in front of Mikhail and took her seat, focusing on his face, refusing to break eye contact.

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Men like him valued strength, and although she was terrified inside, she had to keep up appearances. “You have something for me, yes?” Mikhail asked without preamble. Lauren blinked, not entirely confused by his question. “The good doctor’s journal,” he explained patiently. Beneath the table, she fidgeted with the tablecloth, knowing that she would have to come clean. Eventually, if he even bothered to read it, he would see that there was

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hardly, if any, entries about the Volkov Bratva, and the ones that were there were so obscure that one wouldn’t think that they had anything to do with the crime syndicate. “There’s no need,” she said trying to keep her voice even. “Nothing in it shows any connection between my father and your…well you.” He ran the tip of his finger around the rim of his glass, still studying her. “All the same, I would like to have it. And—” he went on as she opened her mouth to interrupt

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him, “—if I find it okay, I will return it to you.” Now that had Lauren frowning. “You would give it back? Why?” “My son values your happiness.” Mikhail looked oddly amused by that fact. “What does that matter to you though?” He chuckled. “I fear that it would be in my best interest to honor his wishes.” So it was true. She didn’t know what had happened between Mikhail and Mishca in the time she was gone, but it seemed there was a slight shift of power.

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Reaching into her apron, she felt the worn leather, closing her eyes for a moment as she savored the feel of it. Despite what he said, she didn’t think she would ever get it back. She slid it over to him, not taking her eyes off it until it disappeared into the hands of one of Mikhail’s men. “Our business is done.” That was it? It seemed rather anti-climactic now that Lauren thought about it, but she wasn’t ready for him to go yet.

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Mikhail stood to leave, but Lauren reached for him, halting him mid-climb. His men moved to grab her, but Mikhail held his hand up to stop them. Lauren removed her hand. “What can I do for you, young Lauren?” There were only two people that knew her father well enough to explain his actions. Susan and Mikhail, but only one of them could explain why her father chose a life with the Russian Mafia. “I—I need to know why he did it. Why did he work for you?”

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Mikhail sat back down, downing his Vodka in one giant swallow. “I will tell you, but I am not sure it will be what you want.” Twenty-two-year-old

Cameron

Thompson stepped out of the yellow taxi, his eyes wide and unsure as he gazed around the sketchy neighborhood he had come to in an act of desperation. Two months ago, he had been accepted to Stanford, the only college he had wanted to attend since he was a boy. While in school, Cameron had made sure to apply himself, keeping his grades up so

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that he would be able to attend the University of his Choice...at least until senior year. His mother had grown ill, a fatal brain tumor that had caused her to be hospitalized for the majority of that time. While his high school had been more accommodating about his plight, his GPA had fallen, causing the scholarship he had worked so hard for to be revoked. So instead of a full ride, he was only given a partial scholarship that would hardly cover his expensive tuition.

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He worked tirelessly around the clock, saving whatever money he could for the upcoming year, but he was still short. Cameron was about to give up hope until a good friend of his suggested an alternative revenue source. Billy knew of a man that gave out loans, one that rarely cared who came to him as long as they were willing to pay. This was his last chance. Turning his collar up, Cameron crossed the street, finding the loan shark exactly where Billy said he would be.

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Cameron couldn’t recall the man’s name, only an initial. D. He was burly, wearing a black leather jacket, black slacks, and a white dress shirt open at the collar with dark springy chest hair peeking out. He was standing with two other guys, both much younger than him. D noticed Cameron immediately, tapping one of the guys. They all looked to him, sizing him up. “What can I do for you, kid?” “I need a favor.” That was the code, Billy had said.

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They all laughed, but it was D who responded. “Do I know you?” “I’m a friend of Billy’s.” “Oh, yea? Billy, with the bad hair. I know him, but I don’t know you.” He had a distinct accent, one that Cameron had never heard before and Cameron might have headed the warning in D’s voice, but he wasn’t ready to give up yet. “I’m willing to do anything,” Cameron said. “Please.”

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D was silent for so long that Cameron just knew that he was going to send him off, but he was shocked when D nodded. “What do you need?” “Forty.” D didn’t deal in small amounts. When someone came to him for a loan, it was done in thousands, not a penny less. “For school,” Cameron went on to explain as though that might help his case. “Medical school. I’m trying to become a doctor.”

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When he only got an amused look from D, Cameron finally stopped talking, shifting on his feet. Snapping his fingers, D gestured to one of the boys, waiting for him to hand over a small notepad and pen. “Come to this address tomorrow at noon. Don’t be late.” This was said with a level stare, a thick finger pointed in Cameron’s face before he was handed a scrap of paper. Clutching it in his hand, Cameron didn’t bother with a thank you.

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They had already dismissed him. The following day, Cameron arrived at a local restaurant in Brighton Beach ten minutes early. It was a rather run-down place, filled with men in different states of dress. One of the guys from the previous night recognized Cameron, waving him over to where he stood near the bar. “D is waiting for you in the back,” he explained before pushing Cameron through the door, slamming it shut behind him.

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Thick smoke made it hard to see, but Cameron kept going, trying to ignore the glares of the men watching his every step. D was seated at a round table in the back, several men surrounding him, but they all seemed to be angled around a single man. Even Cameron could tell there was something different about him. He wasn’t dressed as lavishly as the others, and unlike the empty glasses in front of the others, his glass was full.

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Cameron wasn’t sure what to do when two men stood, refusing to let him pass. He looked to D, but he was leaning over to the man in the center, speaking rapidly in another language. Nodding, the man waved for them to let Cameron through. He tentatively stepped forward. “Please, sit.” Cameron took up the vacant seat, folding his hands in his lap. Sweat formed at the nape of his neck, his nerves getting the best

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of him as he became the subject of everyone’s attention. “My associate tells me you are in a predicament, yes?” When the man spoke, everyone stopped to listen. It sounded unbearably loud when Cameron cleared his throat. “Yes, sir.” “And you want this money to be a doctor?” Cameron nodded.

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Surprising them all, the man reached into his coat pocket, withdrawing a hefty envelope, tapping it against the table. “How do you expect to pay me back?” “I have a job,” he spoke up. “I can get you the money.” “You work at a supermarket to pay for your mother’s care. How long would that take, young Cameron Thompson?” Cameron was stunned speechless. He had never even given his name to anyone, yet they knew all this information about

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him. He should have known then that he was way over his head. “I’ll do anything,” he pleaded instead. D smirked, shaking his head as though he already knew what the man was going to do, but he frowned when the man slid the envelope across the table. “Do not worry about the money,” the man said, shocking everyone. “One day, your debt will come due, and on that day, you will answer to me. Do you agree to my terms.”

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Cameron stared down at the envelope, hesitating. For all he knew, the man could ask him to kill someone. Was he really willing to take that chance? As Cameron left that room, the envelope tucked safely into his back pocket, he would later regret ever doing business with the Russians in that back room. When he finished, Lauren couldn’t look at him. It was an impossible situation to understand. Her father’s desire to go to school by any means necessary was admirable, but

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how could he think that that was a good option. “You could have said no,” Lauren said quietly. “And he could have turned down the money,” Mikhail retorted. “I am a businessman. I do not care for sentiment. At the time, he was what I needed and he served his purpose.” Red, hot anger filled Lauren and she was close to saying something she knew she would regret.

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“I warned you that it would not be what you wanted to hear, you persisted, but,”—he raised his hand when she meant to cut him off—“that does not mean I do not feel sorry for what he suffered. He was a good man in a world of thieves. He knew the risks. Know that Viktor paid for what he did and leave it at that.”

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The same hotel room. The same day of the week. Yet despite the familiarity, there was a considerable difference charging the air around them. Mishca could see it on their faces

as

he

surroundings.

entered,

scanning

his

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What happened with Viktor—at least the reasons behind his execution—was unknown to the other members, but since his murder was broadcasted, his death was a well-known fact, and the way his body was found was a clear indicator to anyone in this room who had taken out the hit. Most of the members inside were respectful, not daring to even look like they thought of questioning Mishca, but others were bolder, blatantly looking to him for an explanation. What was the likelihood of Viktor’s death happening only a few months after

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he brought Lauren around, especially with his attitude towards her? Ignoring the looks, Mishca took the seat to the right of Mikhail’s chair, unbuttoning his jacket to pull out his Blackberry, hoping for a missed call or text, finding neither. It wasn’t that he expected anything different under the circumstances, but after seeing her the other day…he had hoped. Logically, he knew he kept his phone on vibrate and if there were any notifications he would be able to feel it, but he still found

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himself checking his phone every few minutes. Hope was a bitch. By the time the meeting started, Mishca was ready to leave. “Viktor is no longer with us,” Mikhail said ominously, tapping his finger against the table. Mishca couldn’t help but notice it was the finger with the skull across his knuckle. “Because of this, we will need to divide his duties amongst ourselves. Mishca and myself,” Mikhail went on though he didn’t

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bother to acknowledge him, “have taken over the arms deals. He’s proven himself and the buyers are pleased, but that still leaves The Gilded Room.” That particular establishment was one Mishca didn’t particularly want, but he also didn’t want anyone in this room to have it either. It was too close to his territory for his liking and sometimes the problems inside The Gilded Room spilled over into his work, and he couldn’t have that.

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Ronald, a particularly nasty man with a penchant for raping and beating the working girls spoke up, offering to take the position. Frowning, Mishca said, “I have a man for the job.” Mikhail

waved

him

on

as

Ronald

scowled. “Speak.” “Luka Sergeyev.” He cocked a brow. “He’s done good work for me over the last year,” Mishca hastened to say. It was no secret that Luka could be a bit…unstable, but Mishca had never doubted

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his loyalty, not once since he came to work for him several years ago. “Two weeks and report back to me.” With that over with, the meeting went on as usual, everyone passing their envelopes to the center of the table. Ten minutes later, the room was empty again, save Mishca and his father. To say that things were tense between Mishca and his father would be an understatement. They kept up pretenses, yes, but Mishca avoided his father whenever possible. The only time they saw each other was for

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the monthly sit down when Mishca was forced to be in his presence. “I spoke with the doctor’s daughter some time ago.” With each word Mikhail spoke, Mishca’s hand tightened around the glass in his hand. By the time he finished speaking, the crystal shattered. Mikhail looked on calmly. “I thought I made myself clear before, but perhaps you need more clarification. Stay away from Lauren.”

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Mikhail’s eyebrows rose to his hairline, his amusement clear. “You think to order me?” “Damn right. She’s mine and you don’t go near her.” “You should not allow emotions to influence your judgment, son. It is unbecoming.” Rolling his eyes, Mishca ignored that. “Did you get what you wanted from her?” Reaching into his coat, Mikhail withdrew a journal, tossing it over to him. “I gave her my word that I would return this if it had no useful information.”

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“It doesn’t?” Mishca asked in confusion. He specifically recalled Lauren telling them that Doc kept information about them inside it. “It seems the girl is more clever than I gave her credit.” So she was. “What do you expect me to do with this?” “Return it, of course. I believe it will help in repairing the damage between you since I am sure you will not listen to reason and pursue her anyway.”

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Not responding, Mishca climbed to his feet, buttoning his jacket. “I need something from you.” “Speak.” “Anya’s address.” “And why would I do this?” “Because Aleksandria asked for it. She is but a child. She shouldn’t have to suffer for her mother’s indiscretions.” It was the best argument Mishca could come up with. It also would give him insight on how Mikhail felt about Alex. They hadn’t

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spoken since that day and he could see it affecting Alex though she tried to deny it. “How is she?” “Angry, hurt. She thinks you despise her.” “Untrue, I just have something to say to her presently.” Meaning, he couldn’t see her without seeing the betrayal. If Alex were not his sister, he might have understood where Mikhail was coming from, but he wouldn’t allow Mikhail’s selfishness to affect Alex any more than it already had. “Give me the address.”

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He did. “Be careful what you wish for, Mishca. Happiness comes at a price.” Mishca left without another word, refusing to play his father’s mind games. It was just like him to try and take anything he cared about away from him. It was what he did best. “Where to?” Vlad asked as they got into the Mercedes. “Just drive for now.” There was nowhere Mishca wanted to be than next to Lauren and since he couldn’t

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have

that—not

yet—he

just

needed

something to occupy his time. Mishca was staring out the window, watching the people go about their lives when he noticed a familiar curly headed girl walking out of a pastry shop. He narrowed his eyes, just to make sure he knew it was her before he had Vlad pull over. Amber was a fast walker and he had almost missed her until he yelled her name. She turned back, searching through the sea of faces until she landed on him. She went from calm to confused to utter outrage.

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She didn’t keep walking away, instead she turned on her heel and marched directly over to him. “What do you want?” “I need to talk to her,” he pleaded, not knowing what else to do. He was desperate at this point. “And why exactly would I help you?” “Because I made a mistake and I need to fix it.” He had no idea whether Lauren had told Amber about the reasons behind their

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breakup. If she had, Amber definitely wouldn’t be giving him any answers. “You get one freebie,” she said. “I don’t know what happened between you two, all I know is if you’re half as miserable as you look, then maybe you are sorry for whatever you did.” She held her finger up. “One chance. We’ll be here for Lauren’s birthday. Come by.” “Thank you.” “I’m not doing it for you. Lauren looks worse than you do.”

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It was a particularly muggy night, but Lauren could hardly focus on that as she sat in the back of the cab with Amber as she held up a dark blue scarf, signaling for Lauren to turn her back.

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“It’s a surprise,” she explained with a cheerful smile, practically bouncing in her seat as she gestured impatiently for Lauren to turn her head. “Step up—no don’t step up yet,” Amber cried, laughing when they both nearly fell to the ground. “You suck at this, you know,” Lauren said dryly, still letting Amber lead her. “No,

you’re

just

not

good

with

directions.” After tripping a few more times, they finally entered what smelled like a bakery, the

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scent of cupcakes making Lauren’s mouth water. Fiddling with the knot at the back of Lauren’s head, Amber finally removed the scarf. “Surprise!” she, Tristan, and Matt yelled. “Happy Birthday!” There was a banner hanging over them with her name in the center. A dozen or more cupcakes lined the table that Tristan and Matt were standing behind, twenty-one candles divided between them. “Guys, this is too much.”

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Besides her parents, she had never had anyone celebrate her birthday like this. She loved everything about it, and more importantly, she loved each of them for doing it. “You only turn twenty-one once,” Matt said pulling out her chair. “And what better way to celebrate it than—” “With a bottle of premium Tequila. Darling, I’m getting you drunk tonight,” Tristan chimed in with a victorious smile, holding up the giant bottle in one of his tattooed hands.

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Amber produced a custom shot glass, with her name and birthdate on it. Tristan poured the first one. “Am I just chugging this?” Lauren asked. “Unless you want to do body shots,” he replied lifting up his shirt, revealing more of the tattoos he had hidden beneath. It wasn’t just his arms and hands tattooed like a skeleton, but his chest, and undoubtedly the rest of him as well. “I’m down for that.” Not rising to the bait, Lauren lifted her glass and smiled at her friends. “Cheers.”

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She tossed the drink back, covering her mouth as the urge to spit it out overwhelmed her. Matt was cheering her on in the background, Amber doing her happy dance. “Good?” Tristan asked. “Sure,” she croaked back. “It’s the first of twenty-one.” She was going to die.

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Despite his proclamation, Lauren hadn’t actually taken twenty-one shots, stopping somewhere between five and six. She was too busy listening to Tristan’s latest exploits to drink anymore. “Then she bends over backwards, freaks me the fuck out. I’m like have you seen the demonic shit they’re putting in movies lately? I can’t risk her biting my dick off.” “You alone are the reason we guys have a bad name,” Matt said biting into a cupcake.

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“Bullshit. If it weren’t for assholes like me, you would never get laid.” Lauren had grown used to their banter. In fact, she enjoyed listening to them go back and forth. They were like polar opposites of each other, but it worked for them. A strong gust of wind blew through the small shop when the door opened, the bell chiming with the newcomer’s entrance. Since it was only supposed to be the four of them, Lauren wondered who it could be, at least until she saw her friends’ faces.

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Maybe it was a subconscious thing—besides their expressions—that told her it was Mishca. It took a moment, but she needed that time to prepare herself. Mishca was unlike anyone she had ever met, not just because of the life he led, but because of the reaction he caused in her when he was around. Tonight, he was dressed in his work attire—which job was up for debate—but there was something almost tired about him that worried— No, she wasn’t supposed to care. She didn’t care.

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“Mish?” “Didn’t mean to interrupt, but I was hoping I could speak with you for a moment, privately.” She blinked in surprise, looking over to Amber for a second, focusing back on him. “I—yea, give me a sec.” He nodded, visibly relaxing when she agreed. “Well that was fucking awkward,” Tristan muttered when Mishca was back outside. “What happened between you and the Russian?”

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“Mishca,” she absently said, knowing no matter how many times she told him that, he would always call him ‘the Russian.’ “How did he even know we were here?” Lauren asked aloud, not really expecting any of them to answer, she was just stalling. “That was kind of my doing,” Amber spoke up guiltily. “He said he wanted to talk and I…I guess I felt sorry for him. I hope I didn’t overstep.” “No, no, it’s fine. I just wasn’t expecting him is all.” “Do you want my opinion?”

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“Yes.” “You should at least talk to him, even if it’s not going to work out between you, you’ll at least have closure.” Right, right. She would do this for the closure, not because she actually thought there may be a chance with him. Excusing herself, Lauren headed out into the night, pulling her jacket on as she went. Vlad was a few blocks down the street, standing next to the car. Lauren waved as she stepped beneath the lamp post where Mishca waited.

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Folding her arms across her chest, she asked, “What are you doing here?” “Wanted to talk?” He said though it came out more like a question. “You never answered my calls and it took begging to even get Amber to tell me you would be here tonight. I just want a chance to explain,” he said gazing back at her. He seemed so unsure of himself, shifting his weight from foot to foot. It was almost endearing.

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Every part of her screamed to agree to meet whenever, but she still found herself saying, “I don’t know.” “One conversation, that’s all I want, and if you don’t want to see me after that, I’ll…I’ll leave you be.” She heard the words, but it didn’t match the expression on his face. He had that determined look about him that he couldn’t hide. Lauren couldn’t say no to him. “Maybe on Thursday. I don’t have classes then,” she offered.

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Mishca nodded gratefully, taking her hand, bringing it to his lips to ghost a kiss over her knuckles. “Thank you.” Though she didn’t want him to, he released, taking a step back to give her space. “I’ll leave you to your party.” At the last second, he leaned, pressing a lingering kiss to the spot just below her ear, a reminder of what they’d had. He was gone soon after, but she didn’t move until his car was out of sight. In that moment, she didn’t feel the anger or the betrayal, only a feeling of completeness.

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In the beginning, every stupid decision seemed like a good one, at least until you were faced with the reality of it. As Lauren entered the downtown Manhattan club, she couldn’t remember why she thought meeting Mishca alone was a good idea.

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It wasn’t fear of him that had her hesitant about seeing him, more of a fear of what they would discuss. There was so much between them, too much, things that she would never forget…even if she sometimes wanted to. There was a cleaning crew inside the club, all in blue uniforms, wiping down every visible surface of the interior. There were at least a dozen men and women on the floor and with the rate that they seemed to be working, they would probably be done in a couple of hours.

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At the base of the staircase leading up to Mishca’s private office, Vlad stood. Lauren tried not to smile as he watched the workers hesitantly move around him, giving him side-long glances. “Is he up there?” Lauren asked after shaking Vlad’s hand—he wasn’t much of a hugger. Nodding, he stepped to the side, pushing open the heavy black door behind him. She took the stairs slowly, trying to ignore the rapid beating of her heart as she knocked on the glass door, waiting for him to

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bark an ‘enter’ before she shoved it open. Mishca was seated behind his desk, a shot glass and a bottle of expensive vodka resting in front of him, Jonathan sitting in one of the armchairs in front of the cherry-wood desk. Lauren had only met Jonathan on a single occasion and he had seemed nice enough, but today he looked stressed, even more than Mishca did. He spotted Lauren first and at any other time, it might have been comical seeing the obvious relief on his face. Standing up abruptly, he drew Mishca’s attention away from

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him and to Lauren, but she couldn’t bring herself to look at him yet. “Good to see you again, Lauren,” Jonathan said shaking her hand, kissing both of her cheeks. Jonathan had perfectly styled brown hair, with warm brown eyes. He obviously worked out, but next to Mishca, he looked like a child. “Jonathan.” “I’ll just leave you two to talk…”

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He made his exit quickly and without him in the room, Lauren couldn’t avoid looking at Mishca any longer. It was like a punch to the gut. That night in the club, she must not have really seen him. To be quite honest, he looked like shit. His hair was a touch too long, his eyes were bloodshot—thanks in large part to the bottle of alcohol on his desk, no doubt—and instead of his standard three piece suit, he was wearing a white T-shirt, slim dark wash jeans, and heavy looking boots. It reminded

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her of the first time they met, a day that seemed like it was only yesterday. As she moved further into the room, the change in his demeanor was so subtle that if she hadn’t been looking for it, she might not have noticed it. A sort of…desperation filled his eyes, something she didn’t understand. He

stood,

always

the

gentleman,

gesturing for her to take a seat in one of the warm, brown leather armchairs as he took the seat that Jonathan just vacated. As they both sat, the temperature in the room seemed to increase as they faced one

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another. When he reclined back in his seat, drumming his fingers against the arm of the chair, she folded her hands in her lap. He swept a hand through his hair, she tapped her foot on the floor. But neither of them were willing to break the silence. With a measured smile, he said, “You look good.” She glanced down at her attire: tank top, jeans, and flats. “Thanks. You look…well you always look like that,” she grudgingly admitted, looking away when his smile grew wider.

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“I’m glad you came. I thought you might not.” She shrugged. “It’s not every day two family members of the man that killed my father request a meeting with me. How could I say no?” The words came out lacking any real emotion, but she almost felt guilty when he flinched slightly, shifting in his chair. Clearing his throat, Mishca said, “My father told me he spoke with you, but not about what.” “He told me the truth about.”—She waved her hand—“well everything, at least his part

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in it all.” She couldn’t keep the bitterness out of her voice if she tried. With Mishca, she didn’t know what to feel at any given time. One minute she liked him, the next she hated him. She wanted him to feel guilty for her father, but she also hated that she made him feel that way. It was exhausting. “When exactly were you going to tell me you knew my father?” He scrubbed a hand down his face. “I would have told you eventually, when I was sure you could handle it.”

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“There was no reason why I wouldn’t have been able to,” Lauren said, “you said you didn’t know anything about his death, I would have assumed you were one of his patients, which turned out to be true.” “I can’t tell you what I was thinking at the time.” “I can. You were worried about protecting your father and your organization.” “Nyet. When I first found out about the connection between the two of you, there was no reason for me to suspect that we had anything to do with his death.”

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“Right,

because

your

physician

is

murdered, that doesn’t send off any warning bells?” “I never meant to hurt you, Lauren. You have to believe that.” “No?” She remembered his words in the hotel room, how callously he spat them at her. “You blamed me. I think you made that point quite clear when I talked with Mikhail” “I never blamed you for any of this. I blamed myself. It was an impossible situation that even I didn’t fully understand. I

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was trying to protect you. I would never let anything happen to you.” Protect her. Protect her? She clutched the arms of the chair, feeling that familiar rage she was growing accustomed to take over her.

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“Oh right, and I’m supposed to believe that? Did you forget that your father sent two, big ass thugs to kill me, and I had to talk my way into a meeting with him? Then,” she stressed when he thought to interrupt her, “I confess the truth—because he demanded it—and you have the nerve to get mad at me because I hurt your sister!” Mishca was pissed. Pissed that his father went behind his back although he promised to handle the situation, but more pissed at himself for hurting Lauren more when she had probably

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been reeling from the information she had learned about her father. He didn’t know what to say to make this better for her, but he had to do something. “Lauren—” “You think I meant to do that?” Lauren asked like he hadn’t spoken, glaring at him. “For all I knew, family didn’t mean the same thing in the Bratva.” She was right…again, but what she didn’t understand was that because of their lifestyle, Alex hadn’t had a conventional childhood, neither of them had. Realistically,

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Mikhail didn’t know how to be a father, his only familial sentiment towards his fellow Vors, and Anya was too narcissistic to care about anyone other than herself. Mishca was all Alex had growing up and seeing her cry—even if it was for someone like Anya—made him angry, but he had never meant to take that anger out on Lauren in the process. “I’m sorry,” he said when she paused to take a breath. Those two simple words seemed to take all the steam out of her.

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“Okay.” But it didn’t sound like she believed him. “What could I have said?” Mishca asked desperately. “You asked me months ago if I knew about him, yes I lied and said I didn’t, but I couldn’t tell you the truth. It would only lead to more questions that I couldn’t answer, not because I didn’t want to, but because I didn’t know.” She was shaking her head, tears pricking her eyes, but he wasn’t done. “I asked you to trust me, to let me help.”

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“How the hell was I supposed to do that when you were part of it? Not only that, but I had just found out you were in the fucking mob! Can you even comprehend what that was like? This was a bad idea.” Grabbing her bag, Lauren was up and hurrying to the door, pulling it open, but Mishca shot up after her, refusing to let it end like this. A strong arm shot past her, slamming it shut again. She spun around, ready to give him a piece of her mind, at least until she saw the look on his face.

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“Don’t run from me again,” he said softly. “I won’t let you run again.” His hand came up to cradle her cheek, tilting her face up so she would look at him. His words weren’t convincing her, no matter what he said. He had to make his point before she left this office because if he didn’t, he doubted he would see her again. Leaning into her, he crowded her space, breathing in the floral scent that clung to her. Their foreheads touched, Lauren’s

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hands going to the front of his shirt, clutching the material in trembling hands. “Stop punishing me,” he whispered, “please.” He didn’t wait for a response. He titled her face up and pressed his lips to hers, silencing whatever protest she thought to give him. Lauren wasn’t hearing him, or at least she was trying to talk her way out of it, but he wasn’t going to let her. If it took him until the end of time to fix this between them, he would fight for her, or burn the city down trying.

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For several heartbeats, she didn’t respond, remaining passive beneath him, but finally, it was like her entire body melted as she sighed, kissing him back, wrapping her arms around his neck. His heart sang. It was everything he needed, that empty hole in his heart finally disappearing. She was everything to him and he couldn’t let her go. When words failed him, he showed her his heart through his kiss. A promise to her that though she may have doubts, he wasn’t ready to give up.

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One chance was all he needed to prove it all to her. Not pulling away from her for an instant, he drew her back into the room, practically carrying her over to his desk, sitting her on top of it. Nothing else mattered to him in this moment but her. Nothing else mattered to him anymore but her. “Wow that was fast.” Lauren lurched back away from him, looking back to the door where Jonathan stood eyeing them with wry amusement.

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“Get out!” Jonathan threw his hands up, leaving back out. Knowing the moment was officially over, Mishca sighed, looking back at Lauren. She was just as affected as he felt, her cheeks flushed, and her hands trembling as she tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear. “I have to go.” “Lauren, wait.” “I…I’ll call you, Mish.” She hurried out before he could say anything more. He was tempted to break

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something else, mainly Jonathan’s face, but there was no point. At least she said she would call. That was all he could hope for, and if she didn’t, he would reach out to her.

As she climbed into bed that night, Lauren didn’t have the energy to feel guilty

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for how she felt about Mishca. In fact, she was tired of fighting herself about it.

“You are terrible with women,” Vlad commented as he stepped into Mishca’s office, eyeing his boss angrily moving folders around his desk.

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Lauren had been gone for a few hours and Mishca was burying himself in his work, needing the distraction. “Yea?” Mishca asked sarcastically, throwing down the stack of financial records he was thumbing through. “I’ve never seen you with a woman.” “Because I know very little about them, but I do know accusations will not help. You have only dug yourself into a deeper hole.” “Then what do I do?” He would accept all the help he could get. “Show remorse.”

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Two weeks of zero contact, zero contact that was going to end today. Mishca had given her space, but now he was done with waiting. If she couldn’t come to him, he would go to her, and this time, there wouldn’t be any walking away.

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But first, he had a promise to keep. After getting the address from his father, Mishca showered and dressed, Alex already waiting for him in his living room. She hadn’t gone back to France, choosing to stay in New York in his apartment. Besides having her clothes all over his apartment, he didn’t mind her presence. Most nights he was out until the wee hours of the morning anyway. They rarely saw each other. When he came out of his bedroom, he couldn’t help but think she looked like a little girl. She was trying her best to appear calm,

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but she was constantly checking her watch, sighing in aspiration as he took his time. Mishca was afraid of what would happen when he took her to see Anya. He never wanted to tarnish her mother’s image in her eyes, but he knew how Anya would react to her. He knew women like her. “Ready?” “What the hell took you so long anyway?” Alex murmured as she followed him out the apartment, down to his car.

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They didn’t talk about that night at the club, but he did notice that she refrained from drinking as much around him and she hadn’t come back to his club since then. Mishca had given Vlad the day off, not knowing what to expect after Alex’s visit. If it went badly, he knew Alex wouldn’t want an audience seeing her cry, even if they were as close as Vlad was. He turned the radio down, briefly glancing over at his sister before facing the road again. “Aleksandria, I just want you to know that whatever happens, you still have me.”

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Huffing out a breath, she rolled her eyes. “You’re like the only person that calls me that, you know. Makes you sound old. Besides,

mum

only

hates

you

and

that—Lauren.” “I’ve told you before, Lauren has nothing to do with this.” “Andddd Imagine Dragons is playing.” She turned up the music, almost to an uncomfortable volume, singing even louder. Mishca understood that her anger towards Lauren was frustration for the whole situation, and he couldn’t fault her for it. She

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was only seventeen and didn’t understand the delicate nature of the Bratva. While she had too grown up in the lifestyle, she was still sheltered from the extremities of it. It was one thing Mishca and Mikhail had agreed upon. They rode in silence, each lost in their own thoughts as they drew closer to the person Alex loved unconditionally, and the woman Mishca had always despised. He was always careful with hiding his feelings from Alex. It wasn’t her fault that his mother had been forgotten long ago, just a

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distant memory for him alone. He actually cherished that, something pure that he could look back on when he needed it. He also had Lauren…if she accepted him. Now more than ever, he thought of his mother and the reasons behind why she had stayed with Mikhail all those years though she secretly abhorred everything there was about the Bratva. He wished he would have been older when he lost her, so he could understand how to be better than his father.

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Arriving at their destination, Mishca parked the car, pulling out his phone to answer business inquiries while he waited. “How long do I have?” Alex asked holding the door handle. “Take as long as you want.” She smiled, a real one that he hadn’t seen in a long time. Leaning over, she kissed his cheek. “Thanks, Mish.”

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Alex took one last look back at the car before heading across the parking lot to the apartment building, making her way up to Anya’s apartment. As she got off on the right floor, she was surprised to see that it was fairly vacant, none of Mikhail’s soldiers guarding the apartment door. But for all she knew, Mishca could have called them away before they got here. This was the moment she had been waiting for since the day they had taken her away. No one would tell her anything about Anya, not that she had many people to ask.

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In her hand, she carried a basket of Anya’s favorites: a bottle of vintage wine, decadent

cheeses,

as

well

as

various

perfumes. Raising a hand, she knocked tentatively, hearing the soft clicking of heels. Alex’s smile grew as she nervously smoothed her hair, happiness blossoming in her chest as she anticipated seeing her mother. Anya answered the door in a flurry of motion, the skirt of her dress billowing out. At first she looked hopeful, but spotting Alex at

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the door, her face quickly morphed to annoyance. “What do you want?” Alex was momentarily taken aback at how angry she sounded. She’d thought her mother would have been happy to see her, but if anything, she sounded like Alex was the last person she was hoping to see. “I came to visit,” Alex called after her as Anya disappeared down the corridor without actually inviting Alex in. Since she had left the door open, Alex assumed that was invitation enough.

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The apartment was large, though lacked any of the elegance that could be found at the manor. White walls, minuscule furniture, and a kitchen that looked like it was last renovated in the early thirties. Wincing, Alex felt guilty that the only thing she had thought to bring was a small gift basket when she clearly needed more. Maybe she could appeal to Mishca to bring her back on another date, then she would bring everything Anya could possibly want. “So why are you really here?” Anya asked lighting a cigarette.

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Alex hadn’t know she even smoked. “I told you. I wanted to see how you were doing. Mishca—” “Bah! Don’t speak his name in my presence. It’s all his fault I’m in this wretched hellhole anyway, him and that American bitch.” Alex frowned at the vehemence she heard in Anya’s tone, not for Lauren—she could care less about her—but the way she talked about Mishca. It wasn’t his fault at all. Deciding to change the subject, Alex presented her with the basket. “I didn’t know

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what to bring you, so I brought a little of everything. If there’s anything you want, I can get it for you.” Sighing, Anya accepted, looking at it disdainfully as she dropped it on the island, uncaring of the glass bottles inside. “I suppose I’m meant to thank you, no?” Alex was too flabbergasted to even agree. She was just now realizing that some of Anya’s disgust was aimed at her as well, but she wasn’t ready to give up yet. “How are you doing?”

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“How do you think, stupid girl? Can you not see this deplorable apartment that I am being forced to live in. God, even dogs live better than this.” “Is there—” “Stop sniveling!” Alex’s throat was tightening as tears threatened to fall. Never in her life had Anya treated her so coldly. At least not that she could remember, but Alex had weak spot where Anya was concerned. “If you really want to do something for me, you’ll get rid of that girl.”

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“Get rid—you want me to kill her.” She might have hated her, but she didn’t wish Lauren dead. “It’s the least you could do after what you’ve done.” “I-I can’t do that.” She didn’t think she had it in her to kill another person. “That would hurt Mishca. He’s my bro—” Rearing her hand back, Anya landed an open-palmed slap to Alex’s face. “What about me? Where is your loyalty? He’s not your brother. He should mean nothing to you.”

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No tears would form despite the radiating pain in her face, nor could she think of anything to say. She could do no more than stand there, holding her palm to her cheek, staring at her mother. “I should have gotten rid of you,” Anya spat angrily, ignoring the look on hurt on Alex’s face. “You’ve ruined me!” Spinning on her heel, Alex walked out of her mother’s apartment, Anya’s insults carrying out with her. With the door slammed shut, and Alex alone once again, she

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crouched down, glad for the dim light so that anyone walking by wouldn’t notice her. It was in this cold and dirty place that she allowed herself to cry for everything she had lost. When she could cry no more, Alex wiped the tears away, grabbing the compact from her purse to hide any traces of her weakness. She walked slowly back out to the car, remarking on how short and bitter the meeting with her mother had been. She also needed that time to get herself together, knowing that if she didn’t, Mishca would notice she’d

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been crying, and she didn’t want to think about what he would do if he saw it. Back in the car, she buckled her seatbelt without a word, pasting a cheery smile on her face when she felt Mishca staring at her profile. “How did it go?” She looked over at him, noticing for the first time the differences in their appearances. She had never felt more distanced from him in her life. He was the one that had taken her to the park when her mother was busy, bandaged

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her scrapes and cuts, offering words of wisdom on every little thing she asked of him. “Fine.” She didn’t care that he was not her brother. In her heart, he always would be.

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Lauren sighed in relief as she arrived home, exhausted from her night at work. She longed to just take a shower and go to sleep, but with a test tomorrow, she had to stay up for a few hours to study.

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Letting herself into the building, Lauren headed upstairs, coming up short when she saw Mishca sitting in front of her door, his jacket lain across his lap. His tie was loosened, the top button of his shirt undone. His eyes were bloodshot, but he merely looked tired more than drunk. “What are you doing out here?” He gave a half smile, jerking his thumb back at the door. “Amber thought it would be best I wait out here. She wasn’t sure whether or not you wanted me here.”

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“How long have you been here?” She asked pulling her keys from her purse. Glancing down at his watch, he shrugged as he said, “Couple hours.” Lauren bit back a smile, realizing that Amber had never sent her a message letting her know he was here. Maybe this was her way of punishing him. Shifting on her feet, she asked, “Would you like to come in, or are you here for something else?” He climbed to his feet, moving out of the way to let her past. “I came to see you.”

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Nodding, Lauren unlocked the door, letting him pass her before she closed and locked the door behind them. The apartment was quiet, the light beneath Amber’s door off. Not bothering to turn on a light, Lauren led the way to her bedroom. “Let me just take a quick shower then we can...talk.” When he nodded, she left him in her room, taking a change of clothes into the bathroom. In the fifteen minutes she spent in the shower, she thought of what she would say and what he would possibly bring up.

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She couldn’t think of what else there was to talk about, but she couldn’t bring herself to turn him away, not when she had been yearning to see him since that day at his club. That explosive conversation hadn’t brought her any closure, merely made her want him more. She stood in front of the mirror, brushing her wet hair, pulling it up into a bun as she stared at her reflection. It was time for her to make a decision once and for all or else she would never be able to move on with her life.

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Turning off the light in the bathroom, Lauren stared at her bedroom door, fiddling with the hem of her old T-shirt. She thought of the last time he had been in her room, a night of remembrance. He had held her, allowing her to cry out her pain about her father, a man he had secretly known. Deciding not to go back to that place, Lauren took a deep breath, pushing the door open, pressing her back against it, and feeling the cool wood through her clothes. Mishca was sitting at the edge of her bed, his suit jacket thrown across the back of the

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chair at her desk. He was staring out the open window, seeming to watch the rain patter against the windowsill. When his eyes found her, they swept over her, lingering on her bare legs for a fraction longer than necessary before moving up to her face. At least she wasn’t the only one affected. Pushing away from the door, she crossed the room, sitting on his opposite side at the top the of the bed, crossing her legs. Only the sound of the falling rain filled the room, the noise once peaceful, but now it just added to the tension in the room. It was

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difficult being in the same room as him, like his presence took her breath away. “I thought it was over,” Mishca began looking down at his hands. “When you left that day, I thought I would forget you and move on like I’ve done in the past.” That…hurt, but she couldn’t fault him for feeling that way. She had believed the same thing. “But no matter how hard I tried, you were the only thing on my mind.” He turned to face her, his eyes soft and sincere. “Words cannot express how sorry I am for what I

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said to you that day. I don’t think, in all this time, that I ever truly apologized.” She shrugged, not wanting him to know how much that meant to her. “I understand how you felt.” “But that still didn’t give me the right to hurt you, especially not with everything that was done to you.” “I never meant to hurt Alex in the process,” Lauren said quietly. “I wasn’t thinking about her.” He nodded, but that seemed like it was the furthest thing from his mind at the

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moment. “That still does not excuse my actions.” “How did you know I was being brought in for questioning?” Lauren asked suddenly, remembering the expensive lawyer. Mishca blinked at her. Right, she forgot his family had connections in the NYPD. “You didn’t have to do that though.” “I did. With the…arrangement in place, I knew they would look at you as a suspect eventually. I needed to make sure you were protected.”

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She didn’t know how to feel about that. Was she supposed to thank him? “Then it wasn’t a mugging,” she stated though it sounded more like a question. “I can’t answer that, Lauren.” That was all the answer she really needed. “I don’t understand. Why would he have…gotten mugged because of that?” Mishca sighed, turning so he was facing her. “You have to understand, there are rules in my world. Rules in place to prevent the very thing that brought you to that room. For my father, it was a respect thing. They were

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brothers, not by blood, but by code. He broke that.” “And for you?” This time he met her gaze head on, refusing to look away. “Doc wasn’t just a physician to me. He was like the f—” He cut off immediately, realizing too late what he’d been about to say. Lauren smiled, not entirely forced, nodding her head. “You can say it.” “He was like a father to me when my own was too busy in a world that I had no part in. He was honorable, more than any other man

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I have ever known.” Mishca shoved a hand through his hair, seeming anxious. “You have to understand, we are not all monsters. There are many, yes, but I like to believe I am not one of them. I would never condone taking a father from his family, especially not from you.” A lump formed in her throat, tears pricking in her eyes. She didn’t speak for fear that she would break down. “I know I am guilty by relation, but I’m begging you, please forgive me for what my family has done to you.”

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That was all it took to make the tears fall. She reached for him, practically sitting in his lap as she wrapped her arms around his neck. When she felt his arms around her, she squeezed her eyes shut. “I don’t blame you, Mish. Not anymore.” They stayed like that for some time, lost in their embrace, but Lauren soon pulled back, though not leaving her place in his lap. “What does this mean? I don’t think you just came here to apologize.” “I meant what I said. I’m not giving you up.”

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This time, she did crawl off his lap. “Mish—” “Lauren.” She hadn’t doubted it the first time he said it, but she really didn’t doubt it. He had that look in his eye, the one where he wasn’t giving up without a fight. “We can’t.” “Why not? Is it not what you want? “I didn’t say that. Before everything got…well before everything came out, we were happy, but I don’t know if we can make it work now.”

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“Again, why not?” It was such a simple question, but the answer was far more complicated. “Because our families will never accept it. Your father—” “Is no longer a problem.” He said it with so much conviction that she believe, but he wasn’t the only problem. “And Alex hates me.” “She’ll come around.” “And Ross is a detective,” she argued still. “Retired.” “You’ve been keeping tabs on me?” Signature smile.

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Rolling her eyes, she asked, “Why aren’t you worried? We—” Mishca grabbed her, pulling her forward until he could mesh his lips with hers, easily making her forget her argument for the time being. She was so used to him being a gentleman all the time that she was surprised by the raw passion she felt as he easily coaxed her to accept what he was giving. By the time he pulled back, gazing at her, she was holding onto him. “You’re all that matters to me. If I have you, that’s all I need.” She tried to draw

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away, but he held fast, blue eyes trained on her. “The only thing I want to know is whether you feel this too.” “But would I be enough?” She asked her fears finally spilling out of her. “We’re so different and I only know pieces of the world you’re involved in. I just…I don’t know.” “Try. For me, please.” He cupped her cheek, forcing her attention on him. “I would do anything to prove to you that this—” he gestured to himself, to one of the stars, “—is not all who I am.”

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She could see it in his eyes, the thought at the tip of his tongue. He would give it all up if she asked it of him, but how could she demand that of him? If she were going to accept him, work to make their relationship work, she knew she had to accept every part of him, not excluding the parts she didn’t agree with. “You,” she said before he could say the words. “I just want you, Mish.” That was all the confirmation he needed. Instead of pulling her to him, he came to her. As he loomed over her, she fell back against

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the pillows, her breath catching as he came down for another kiss. This one was far more controlled as he took his time exploring her mouth, gently biting at her bottom lip. Her hands found the front of his shirt, feeling the muscles in his abdomen flex beneath the material. Without thinking, she pulled his tie free, dropping it over the side of the bed. His hands slipped beneath her shirt, his fingers sliding over her heated skin, spanning over her stomach to the curve of her hip where he squeezed possessively, pulling her into him.

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Lauren wanted to remember why this was a bad idea, but he overwhelmed all of her senses, leaving her aching for his touch. They

were

content

with

that,

but

something snapped inside them both, making them desperate to get each other’s clothes off. It was easy enough slipping Lauren’s shirt over her head, but they had to slow down to unbutton Mishca’s shirt, both fumbling with the buttons. Never in her life had she hated buttons more. “Hey L, Mishca was—oh, sorry!”

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Lauren shot up, shoving Mishca to the side as Amber quickly slammed the door back shut, her soft laughter carrying through the door. Covering her face with her hands in embarrassment, she could just imagine the smile on Amber’s face. “Glad you decided to make up!” She called out, her feet echoing on the floors until she disappeared to the other side of the apartment. Mishca was on his back laughing up at the ceiling. In the short time that he had

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been here, he already looked better, more lively. Groaning, Lauren looked to him. “Maybe later?” “I’ll hold you to that.” Clearing her throat awkwardly, Lauren laid back, turning so she was facing him. “If we’re going to do this, I have to know some things.” It had been on her mind, what his job was specifically in the Bratva. She would be lying if she said she didn’t want to know the details. Everything she had read online seemed

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terrifying, but she had never seen Mishca acting like what she had researched. In fact, she had never met any of the men he was in charge of although she knew he had to have soldiers. Rubbing his jaw, he said, “I’ll answer what I can.” “What do you do…exactly?” Smiling, he answered, “I own a club.” “And…” “That’s it.” She smirked. “But you’re a Captain, right?” She tapped one of the stars on his

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chest. “Shouldn’t you have minions that are shaking down business owners.” “And you complain of Susan watching too much television.” She giggled. “I think that’s a valid question.” “To put it simply, I do a little bit of everything.” “Have you ever killed someone?” “Plausible deniability,” he said and she didn’t ask him to answer. She didn’t think she really wanted the answer.

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Moving on. “Since you’re like a Captain, do you have people that you rule over?” “Not in so many words. There are men that follow my direction, yes.” “How many?” “Scores.” “And they all just follow you?” She asked, snapping her fingers as she said, “Just like that.” “Some yes, others just follow the stars.” Meaning the twin eight-point stars on his chest. They were tattooed in faded black ink. She couldn’t even remember what answer he

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had given her when she asked him what they meant. “What—” “We have plenty of time for questions, moya globushka.” The endearment made her smile. She missed it more than she knew. She settled closer to him, resting her head on his chest, closing her eyes. “I’m glad you’re back, Mish.”

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And just like that—besides Amber and Rob—things were back to how they had once been. Mishca came over for Friday night dinners

when

obligations.

he

wasn’t

busy

with

his

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As Amber popped her head in, Lauren slammed her laptop shut, staring up guiltily though she tried for the life of her to look innocent. Sadly, she didn’t get a chance to mute it, so Amber heard the last few seconds of the flick she was watching. Looking amused, Amber asked, “Should I come back later?” Clearing her throat—trying to will the blush staining her cheeks away—Lauren said, “Nope, what’s up? Did you need something?”

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“I was going shopping, thought you might want to come…unless of course you’re hoping to be alone.” “Okay, shut up,” Lauren said over her laughter. “I was trying to get some tips.” “Tips?” “Well…yea.” “Seriously?” Huffing out a breath, Lauren quickly explained her predicament. “I wanted to surprise Mish with a weekend to ourselves and I’m pretty sure we’re going to…well you know.”

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Biting her lip, Amber tried to restrain a smile. “No, I don’t think I do.” Trying to fight down her embarrassment, she whispered, “Have sex.” “Why are you so red? I’m surprised the two of you haven’t done that before now.” Lauren shrugged, looking away. The opportunity had come up on plenty of occasions, but it seemed like Mishca had been waiting on something, and after all that had happened later, she doubted sex was a top priority on either of their minds.

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“Yes, well since it’s my first time, I want it to be special, but I also want it to be good for him,” she hastily added. “Remember that time Tristan was complaining about that girl being a lazy bottom?” Sometimes Tristan had a knack for telling them about his sexual exploits, not caring whether it made them uncomfortable or not…or even if they knew the girl—like that time he was telling them about a girl from Amber’s art class. “Tristan was just being a dick. Don’t ever take sex advice from him.”

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“Then teach me, oh great one.” “Be ready in ten.”

Lauren wanted to check her account balance first before they headed into the shops, wanting to ensure that her paycheck had arrived. When she stuck in her debit card and

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punched in her pin, she definitely wasn’t expecting the amount shown. She blinked once, then blinked again, wanting to make sure she was reading the screen correctly. She even exited out, reentering the information just to be sure, but her eyes weren’t deceiving her. As she wondered where the money could have come from, she had a sneaking suspicion. She dialed Susan. Listening to it ring, Lauren tried to decide how she would go

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about this, knowing that it wouldn’t be easy for either of them. When Susan finally picked up, Lauren asked, “Mom, did you rob a bank?” “I don’t think so,” Susan said confused. “What are you talking about?” “I checked my bank account today and there’s

more

money

in

my

account

than…well ever.” Susan was quiet for a long time and what Lauren had assumed, she knew for sure now.

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“Your father set up a trust for you, your portion of his life insurance. Once you turned twenty-one, it went into effect.” “But why is it so much…” Then she remembered

the

payment

from

Mikhail,

Susan’s hush money. Now she wished she had never bothered to ask. What more could she say when there was nearly half a million dollars in her account. “Sweetie, do you want to talk? I know this may be a little hard for you…” “It’s not a big deal. I can handle this.”

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But she kind of was having a mild panic attack. If her paycheck hadn’t been in her account, she would have cancelled this entire trip out. She didn’t feel right spending that money, knowing why it was there, but she had no idea what she would do with it. “How’s school going?” Susan said in a bid to change the subject. “Tiring. I absolutely hate economics.” “I’m sure you’re doing just fine.” “Of course you do, mom,” Lauren said laughing. “Anyway, I’m out shopping with Amber. I’ll call you later.”

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“Be careful while you’re out, okay? I love you.” “Love you too, bye.” She briefly thought about calling Mishca, wanting to tell him about it, but thought better of it at the last minute. When Lauren turned around, Amber was off talking to a pretty attractive guy that looked a bit artsy. He had dark hair—not as dark as Mishca’s—and blue eyes that had the same aquatic shade that Mishca’s were, but they were missing a distinct of silver—

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She was doing it again. Now, she saw similarities between Mishca and random men, but they were always lacking in comparison. Not wanting to interrupt, and glad that Amber was talking to someone, she looked through the display cases at the mannequins posed in colorful lingerie. They all struck dramatic poses, the underwear only adding to the absurdity of it all. “See anything you like?” Amber asked walking up next to her, a big smile on her face.

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“Friend of yours?” “His name is Justin. He modeled in one of my art classes before, pretty nice guy.” Lauren waited eagerly for her to go on, waving her hand wildly when Amber just smiled. “He wanted to meet for drinks next week. I said yes.” “Awesome! You’re back in the game.” “Yea, and I at least know he’ll appreciate my art…no, I promised myself I wouldn’t talk or even think about Rob. Back to my

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question, do you see anything that speaks to you?” “That one,” she responded pointing to one of the mannequins on the far end, wearing the most modest attire of all of them. “You can’t wear that. It’s your first time, it’s supposed to be memorable. Come on, let me show you how it’s done.” Amber dragged her in, immediately pointing out frilly and tiny things that she thought were to die for. “What about this?”

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Amber held up a crotch less bodysuit made of lace that had Lauren shaking her head before she had it all the way off the table. “Why not something simple? Something white? Cotton?” Amber looked so alarmed by that, Lauren laughed. “You’re not in jail, L. How about these?” She dragged her over to another table filled with lacy undergarments in different colors. These weren’t so bad. “If I pick these, is this all I need?”

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“Sweetie, we’re just beginning.” Two hours and four stores later, they were finally getting home. Lauren tossed her bags on the couch, collapsing beside them as she rested her aching feet. She had forgotten what it was like shopping in New York. “You have everything? You remember everything I said?” “Yep. No biting unless he’s into that kind of thing, no candle wax because it never ends well, and finally no slapping, unless, of course—”

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“He’s into that kind of thing,” Amber finished. “I don’t think Mish would be though. He’s seems too…domineering to be the sub.” Lauren laughed though she agreed. Everything was ready for her special weekend with him and she could hardly contain her excitement. Now, all she had to do was get him to agree.

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When Lauren had everything ready, and her clothes packed, she called a cab, heading over to Mishca’s to surprise him. She had paid close attention to his schedule, noticing a pattern. During the week, he was constantly business, time spent between the

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Bratva and his club, and on the weekends, just the club. Since Jonathan was the head of operations, he handled everything that Mishca did. It only took a single phone call to get him to handle everything for the weekend. Mishca pulled the door open, his solemn expression morphing into a grin as he reached for Lauren. “Moya globushka.” “Forty-eight hours,” Lauren said without preamble, holding up a sealed envelope with

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his name on it, her suitcase resting by her feet. As she waved it in front of his face, he plucked it from her hands, preparing to open it when she put her hands over his, stilling his movements. “Not yet, you have to agree first.” “What exactly am I agreeing to?” He asked as he led her into his apartment. “Alone time with me for forty-eight hours with no phones,” she stressed when his phone buzzed. “Jonathan already agreed to oversee everything and I’m sure your, uh,

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partners can handle a couple days without you.” At least that’s what she hoped. His brows drew together as he looked from the envelope to her, making her fear that he was going to decline. “We’ll still be in the city,” she rushed to say. “And if you need to, you can always phone Vlad or whoever.” Silence…then he smiled, nodding once. “What do I need?”

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With only two bags between the two of them, they checked in, Lauren handing over her credit card to keep on file. She chose to ignore the frown he shot her. The en-suite was everything she hoped it would be. The room actually resembling more of an upscale apartment than a hotel

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room with its impeccable design and fantastic view of the city. “You paid for this?” Mishca asked looking around, his eyes troubled. Oh, no. She recognized that look. “I did, and I don’t want you going down there and paying for it behind my back either.” Smiling unabashed, he carried their bags into the bedroom while she took a look around. There were two bedrooms, both with queen-sized beds and luxurious bathrooms attached.

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In one of them, there was a sauna off to the side, a note resting on the table on how to properly use the tools inside. There were also a set of French doors, opening out onto the balcony, several tall, potted plants providing privacy while also dense enough to allow light to pass through them. “So,” Lauren began as she joined him in the bedroom where his back was to her, “I have reservations at the restaurant downstairs for dinner and…” She trailed off when she realized he was on the phone. She didn’t interrupt, letting

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him finish his conversation. When he was done, and he turned to face her as he pressed the end button, he quickly explained himself. “Last minute details, promise.” He even handed her the phone. She might not have realized it at the time, but that phone held more information about the Bratva than any other piece of technology he owned. If it ever fell into the wrong hands, they would be able to take him down with relative ease. “You were speaking of dinner, no?”

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Lauren was waiting for Mishca in the sitting area. She was peering up at the night sky when a spider dropped from the ceiling. She screamed, more out of surprise than fear. Mishca came running out of the bathroom, stopping just short of her as he noticed what she was looking at. With a smile, he picked up the delicate creature and set it outside.

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She was prepared to thank him, but was immediately sidetracked by the view of him in the tiny towel that barely reached his midthigh. In fact, if he wasn’t holding it in the right way, she might have seen more than he had intended. There were some things she would never get used to and Mishca’s bare body was one of them. His chest was lean and toned, the identical stars just below his collarbone and the epaulettes on his shoulders a constant

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reminder of his station, but in this moment, Lauren could care less about that. Clearing her throat meaningfully—noting that smirk of his growing after catching her staring again—Lauren asked, “What were you doing in there?” His skin was slightly damp, but not enough to indicate that he had been in the shower. “Was just drying off.” She nodded along though she barely heard a word he said, too busy watching a

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drop

of

water

descending

down

his

abdomen. Never. Got. Old.

Around the rim of her glass, Lauren smiled, watching Mishca narrow his eyes on the bartender. That muscle in his jaw was working restlessly, and she couldn’t help but

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feel a thrill at what was happening. When he finally turned back to her, his glare melted away at her amusement. They had decided to get drinks before dinner, wanting to get out of the room for a bit. “What?” “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you jealous before. It’s kind of nice.” He grumbled something along the lines of, “I’m not jealous,” but when the bartender returned with Lauren’s drink, Mishca slid his hand beneath the fall of her hair, his thumb

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stroking the nape of her neck, an undeniably possessive hold. “Tell me again how you’re not green with envy, Mish.” He was spared answering by the arrival of their hostess, leading them to one of the few empty tables in the center of the room. She smiled graciously and said, “Your waiter will be right with you.” Lauren looked over her menu, already deciding on the striped bass, but was momentarily distracted by Mishca’s sudden outburst.

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“Now you’re just fucking with me.” She didn’t have to ponder long what he meant because their waiter was fast approaching, and judging from the way he made a point to briefly stop by his other tables—all occupied by beautiful women, some with male companions—he was a bit of a flirt. Laughing softly, Lauren shook her head. “I swear I didn’t plan this.” “Vy budete menya v mogilu—You will be the death of me.”

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“Dah.” she said confidently, loving the way his eyes lit up. “Where did you learn all of this?” “I bought a pocket edition of the Russian dictionary. Sometimes I can guess what you’re trying to say, other times—like now—I just assumed you said something sweet.” He laughed, drawing the attention of the couples next to their table. “Good to know.” Uncaring

of

their

surroundings,

he

grabbed hold of the arm of her chair, tugging her closer until she was within arm’s reach.

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His hand dropped down to her lap, his fingers curling around her thigh. “I’m never going to let you live this down,” she whispered just as the waiter arrived at their table.

Dinner

proved

a

quiet

affair

after

Mishca’s display of jealousy. Lauren was

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laying on her stomach, flipping through channels, stopping when she got to a movie she had seen for the first time about a month ago. “I used this for research,” she said as she dug her spoon into the crème brûlée Mishca had sent up to the room for her. Mishca regarded the movie silently, just as the scene of the little diary burning in the bucket played. She felt him looking at her, trying to decipher how she felt about it. When she didn’t think about, it didn’t hurt as much.

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She still missed reading his thoughts, loving the way her father viewed the world, but it was the sacrifice she had to make. “I have something for you,” he said abruptly, hopping out of the bed to look in his suitcase. Whatever he had, he kept hidden behind his back as he came back over. “For a kiss.” Laughing, she climbed up to her knees, pressing her lips to his softly, waiting for him to get into it before she pulled back. “Show me.”

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With a chuckle, he presented his present. At first she didn’t believe it, thinking he had gotten her a replica, until she flipped it open and read the first page. She was dangerously close to crying, Mishca’s image wavering. “I thought you would enjoy this,” he whispered. “I didn’t mean to make you cry.” “No, this is the greatest thing you could have ever given me.” How could she have gone so long without him?

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Mishca was at ease, his thoughts peaceful for once. This had been the longest he had gone without answering a call. There were days when he went from the club to his father, then making his rounds around the city to check in with his men. Technically, this would be the first vacation he’d taken in years.

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Vlad, as his second-in-command, was in charge while he was away, another of Mishca’s test runs to prepare him for a bigger role in the Bratva. While he had no doubts that the older man could handle the work, it was the way Mikhail preferred it. In quiet moments like these, Mishca wondered how different his life would be if he had opted out of the life. It might have been highly frowned upon, but it was doable. While Catja, Mishca’s mother, had been alive, he knew he would never follow in his father’s footsteps, not wanting to add to the

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pain she already suffered from, but with her death came an empty hole in his life. He had thought to fill it with the Bratva, find a family that might not have been blood, but were supposed to Bratva, find a family that might not have been blood, but were supposed to be closer than. Mishca hadn’t realized just how empty his life was until Lauren stumbled into it. It had amazed him how quickly he had fallen for her and he soon found himself living for the moments when she smiled, how that simple action could light up her face. And

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when it was he who put that expression there, he felt complete. It was the reason he’d held back from her for so long. That night at the manor, when she would have gladly accepted more than what they’d done in her bed, he couldn’t do it. There were too many secrets, secrets that would, and ultimately did, tear them apart. And that fear was what kept him from uttering three little words. He was a rational man and he wouldn’t pretend that he hadn’t been terrified of him

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telling her how he felt and she not feeling the same way. Infatuated men were blind to the emotions around them, so while he might have felt strongly for her, she might not have shared the same emotion. Even now, after all they’d been through, he still hadn’t been able to say it, not that it hadn’t been on his mind. He needed to say it, not just so she would have no doubts about the way he felt, but a reminder to himself that he wouldn’t always lose everything he loved.

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Lauren shifted in his arms, resting more comfortably against his side. One thing he always liked when they slept together was the way they fit. No matter how they turned at night, they each adjusted to the other’s position. Mishca opened his mouth, the words poised at the tip of his tongue, yet he was unable to say them. For a moment, he thought of her leaving again, walking out of his life, but this time, never returning. Could he live without her a second time?

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“Ya tebya lyublya —I love you,” he whispered, the words soft in the silent room. They were just as much a declaration as they were a promise. This time, he wouldn’t be giving her up without a fight, even if she thought to leave herself. More seconds of silence, reaffirming his thought that she might have been sleeping. He would say it again in the morning when they were both awake, and in English so he was sure she understood him. It was just a matter of time.

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Mishca closed his eyes, letting his thoughts wander to other things, at least until he felt Lauren’s lips curl against his neck. “Ya tebya lyublyu slishkom—I love you too.” It was his turn to smile. Her pronunciation was only a touch off, letting him know she had practiced saying it correctly. He felt whole for once in his life and he would kill anyone who tried to take this away from him.

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Lauren sifted her fingers through his hair, enjoying the feel of the silky strands. The palm of his hand was resting against the curve of her hip. In the silence of the room, the vibrations from his cell phone were loud. But neither of them paid it any mind.

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All morning, they lazed in bed, just enjoying the peace and quiet together. She even noticed the difference in him when it was just the two of them. Here, he let his guard down, allowing her to see the man beneath the surface. “You would hate Russia,” Mishca was saying, idly stroking her hair, letting the strands fall between his fingers. “The cold would be unbearable.” And they both knew how much she hated the cold. “Maybe we could plan a trip to like

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Spain or the Caribbean. I’ve always wanted to go there.” “I could take you there tomorrow if you wanted,” he commented thoughtfully. Lauren never really discussed money with Mishca since they’d gotten back together. She had never bothered to ask how much money he had, not that she cared, but she also wanted to do things with him as opposed to him always footing the bill. She knew they would never be equal, unless she won the lottery or something, but as

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long as she wasn’t a ‘kept’ woman, she was okay with that. “How about spring break next semester?” That would give her enough time to save for the trip. “I’ll set it up.” She glanced over at the clock on the nightstand. “What do you want to do today?” “Stay here.” “In the room, you mean?” She asked searching his face. “You’re all I need.” And he was all she needed.

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Mishca had ventured out sometime earlier, promising to be back shortly, but it had been a little over half an hour. Her first thought had been to be upset, thinking he might have been contacting Vlad or one of the others, but she understood that there might have been an emergency.

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Alone, she’d undressed heading into the steam room, pouring water over the heated rocks, steam filling the room. Imitation tea light candles were placed in intervals along the benches, making the room glow. Folding her legs beneath her, she closed her eyes, relaxing back. In the short time they had been together, she felt closer to him than the entire time they’d spent together previously. Perhaps it was because there were no longer any secrets between them and now it felt like they could be honest with each other.

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Of course he didn’t tell her everything, she noticed the way he carefully chose his words, but he shared more each day and she appreciated his effort. More importantly, she wanted to take their relationship to the next level. He never pressured her to do anything more than she was willing, but she did want more, she just didn’t know how to go about it. But that was the reason she brought him here, to experience it with him alone without worry that someone might interrupt.

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A blur moved outside the sauna door, a distinctive shape. “How long have you been in there?” She smiled, pleased to hear his voice. “Not too long. Where’ve you been?” “Can I come in?” She sat up on the bench, her question forgotten. Holding onto the front of her towel where it was tucked beneath her breasts, she looked at the frosted glass, where his hands were pressed against the door as he awaited her answer. It was now or never.

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“Yea.” She watched him as best she could as he stripped out of his clothes, grabbing one of the towels from the counter. When he opened the door, steam billowed out, cool air briefly blowing through the room before they were enclosed together. Even as he studied her, she studied him like it was the first time all over again. She remembered what he’d told her about his tattoos, but she had learned their true meaning later.

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Twin eight-point stars were inked on either side of his chest, just below his collarbone, a sign of his station. As a Captain, he was rewarded those stars, the only thing she didn’t know was what he had done to gain them. On both shoulders were epaulettes, similar to those found on the uniforms of Russian armed forces. They signified the same as his stars. On his left arm was a rising sun, a mark for freedom, and this was the only one she didn’t doubt had another meaning. He’d told

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her it was for his mother and maybe it was a sign that she was free from his father. She had never asked. Above that, written along his forearm was a line of script. A fronte praecipitium a tergo lupi, Latin for ‘A precipice in front, wolves behind.’ His family motto for their surname. All of his tattoos only enhanced his physique,

highlighting

his

masculinity.

Mishca only did mixed martial arts at a gym, but he had to do it often to stay in the shape he was in.

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The towel he wore hung low on his waist, revealing the sharp V, a dark trail of hair disappearing beneath the material. He was incredible, simply put. She could only wonder what he saw when he looked at her. Mishca didn’t sit beside her on the bench, choosing to sit across from her instead, his legs spread out before him as though he had not a care in the world, but the towel hid most of him from view.

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The intensity of his gaze made her feel alive, her heart hammering in her chest. She couldn’t look away. It wasn’t just lust that heated the air around them--not even the rocks--it was something more, something greater than she could attach a name to. For a little more than a year, they had managed to stop just before they’d gone all the way, reasons unknown to her, but she doubted there would be any stopping now. Lauren realized she’d still been clutching her towel--his eyes focused on it--and as she

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pried her fingers free, she loosened the towel as well. She hoped he wouldn’t deny what she wanted again, she didn’t think she could bear it. But before they got to that point, she wanted to do something for him first. Standing, she let the towel fall, almost smiling as his tongue swiped out to wet his bottom lip. She was mesmerized by the captivated look in his eye as he drank her in, but she couldn’t be distracted by that. When she was close enough to touch him, she started with his shoulders, trailing her

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fingers along his skin, doing the same thing to him as he always did to her. She could understand why he did it, feeling the change overcome him, the muscles clenching beneath her touch. As she drifted lower, she slowly went down to her knees, causing Mishca to blow out a breath as he watched her curiously, waiting to see where she would take this, but he didn’t have to wonder long as her hands stopped on his towel. She met his eyes only briefly, just to be sure this was okay before

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she tugged it loose, pulling the two halves apart. He was already hard, no doubt from the show she had just put on, and with that image, she met his eyes and said, “I want to try it.” If the dark curse he muttered in Russian was anything to go by, he knew exactly what she way saying, and from the look of anticipation glowing in his eyes, he was all for the idea. “I don’t…I want to know what you like,” she said breathlessly as he sat up.

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After shoving his hands through his hair, pushing the damp strands back out of his face, he reached for her hand, drawing her closer a few more inches. He gave a single definitive nod, acknowledging what she had said to him, then easily wrapped her fingers around the base of his penis. She remembered this much from their last time together, how to hold him just a little bit tighter than she normally would have. He hissed in a breath, making her relax her hold, but he quickly let her know that she had been doing it correctly.

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She thought of the flicks she had watched in preparation for this, but in the moment, every tip she thought to remember was forgotten. Staring down at it, she tried not to psyche herself out, knowing that it couldn’t be as difficult as she thought it would be. The fundamentals were simple enough, but she didn’t want to disappoint him. Not wasting another second--or her nerves had gotten the better of her--she tentatively leaned forwards and took him into her mouth, just the head, enough to elicit a

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reaction out of him, one that sent a shiver down her spine. He was on edge, his thighs taut, his hands resting on either side of them, his knuckles blanched from the force. When she took a bit more, he cursed again, this time in English, a long drawn out word that let her know he was enjoying this as much as she was. Starting a slow rhythm, she carefully went about it, not daring to take too much in case she choked. His hands drifted from their positions on the bench to her hair, his

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fingers gliding through the strands before fisting. She lost herself in it, enjoying the fact that she was pleasing him, more pleased with his reactions. The further she went down on him, his hands would tighten reflexively before going slack when she hollowed her cheeks. When she slowly, albeit a bit awkwardly, moved her fist in the same movement as her mouth, he groaned a harsh, broken sound that turned her on more than she ever thought possible.

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Just as she was getting into it, however, Mishca was being rather careful with her. Even in this, as he was normally, he was in complete control. She wanted to break that. She wanted to see him unrestrained. Inspired Lauren did everything she could think of to illicit a bigger and greater reaction out of him...and that’s what she got. When she thought to tease him, swirling her tongue around the smooth underside, he said her name, almost like a prayer, and the

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power she wielded in that moment was heady. It seemed, he couldn’t take it anymore. He tugged on her hair, not enough to hurt, but enough to get her attention, pulling her up from her knees and onto his lap in one smooth movement. His mouth slammed down on hers, stealing her breath away as his hands drifted down to her butt, squeezing possessively. If she had any doubt that he’d enjoyed what she had done, he had no quelled them.

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That control she thought she had, he took that as well, but she loved this side of him. “Lauren?” It was enough, just her name said in his gravelly tone that let her know it was about to happen, but there was still a question in his voice, as though he needed confirmation from her before he started. “Yes.” Hauling her up, he carried her into their bedroom without breaking his stride. Now, Lauren could see what he had been doing earlier.

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There was a cart near the foot of the bed, filled

with

silver

covered

trays.

She

wondered what might have been in them, but she was too captivated with Mishca to care. He dropped her onto the bed, quickly following her down as he began kissing his way down her body at an almost feverish pace. He sucked a taut nipple into his mouth, laving his tongue around it, coaxing a moan out of her as she reached for him, needing to feel him.

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By the time he got to her splayed legs, she was panting and he had slowed down, his attention on her becoming more reverent as he approached the one place she desperately wanted him to be. Now, she was the one squirming beneath his onslaught, trying to get him where she wanted though he purposefully avoided it, nipping at her inner thighs instead. But when she thought he meant to torture her further, he surprised her by setting in immediately, his tongue delving into her folds with unmasked hunger.

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“Oh God, Mish.” The words burst from her without her actually meaning to say them, but he only took that as encouragement. His hands came to rest on her thighs, keeping them open as he forced her to accept what he was doing to her. He pulled back, just long enough to say, “Keep your legs open,” before he set in again, this time, adding his hand to the mix. Carefully, he eased a finger inside her, working it back and forth before he added another, stretching her.

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The sounds coming out of her were embarrassingly loud, her moans echoing in the room. As she was sure she would cum like this, he pulled his fingers free and climbed completely off the bed, leaving her in the middle looking after him. Like any girl, she’d thought about how she would lose her virginity, who it would be with, but she never thought it would be with someone like Mishca. It was a strange fear she felt as he tore open the condom wrapper, making a show of

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rolling it on, an act that had her squeezing her thighs together wanting to relieve the pressure. She wanted him more than she had ever wanted anyone in her life. Returning, she no longer saw the desperation in his eyes that she’d seen when they were in the shower. Now, he was back in control. Grabbing hold of her ankles, he pulled her towards him until she was just at the edge of the bed. His hands slide up her calves, the back of her knees, spreading her legs as he went. He stared at her face rather than her body, as

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though her reactions to what he was doing was more important, but his touch did all the seeing for him. When she was positioned as he wanted, he loomed over her on straightened arms, the hard length of him pressed against her. She thought to look down, wanting to watch him put it in, but he cupped the side of her face, forcing her attention back on him. “Look at me,” he whispered, his voice raspy and deep. She felt rather than saw him move and his hand drifted down the center of her body

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until he fisted himself, slowly rubbing up and down until he was poised at her entrance. “I’ll be careful,” he promised. With only the slightest movements of his hips, he was inside her. Just the head, but enough to make her cry out in surprise, but she couldn’t focus too much on that for his hands were everywhere at once. First it was just the gentle swipe of his thumb over her cheek, then he was cupping her breasts, his breathless whispers in her ear making her arch up against him, sliding him in deeper.

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She was too busy focusing on what he was doing to her to grasp what he was murmuring in her ear, his words like a physical caress. He wasn’t shy about his appreciation for her body , but even more, his words made the ache between her legs grow though he was already inside her. “More?” He asked with an amused smile though it did look a bit strained. Words failed her. The only thing she could do was nod. He grabbed hold of one of her legs, pulling it higher around his waist. The new

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position allowed him better depth, but it also brought pain. Her hands flew to his hips, forcing him to stop as she trembled beneath him. “I know,” he said capturing her wrists in one hand, pulling them over her head, pressing them back against the bed. She didn’t know if she could take much more. He felt…too big, like he wouldn’t be able to fit entirely inside her. “Mish--” She thought to tell him to stop, the pain almost too great, but as he eased back out of her, then back in again, while it

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still didn’t feel amazing, there was just a slight feeling of something. “Do you trust me?” He asked, his blue eyes unmoving. “Yes,” she answered, without a doubt in her mind. He pressed a kiss to the curve of her neck, then bit down gently on the cord there, his hips moving in earnest now. “Say it again.” “Yes.” As quickly as the pain began, it started to dwindle

away,

replaced

with

an

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indescribable feeling that had her pulling her hands free, wrapping them around him, drawing him closer. She wrapped her legs around his waist as he tilted her up, putting them flush against one another. Gasping his name, she felt his hands flex on her thighs in response to her. If there was a happy medium between gentle and rough, Mishca was best at it. After just easing in and out inside of her, giving her the opportunity to get used to his size, he slipped an arm beneath her, pulling

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her up and practically holding her weight as he pressed her back against the headboard. She wrapped her arms around his neck, returning as best she could what he was giving to her. Words failed them both and opportunities for revelations eluded them both, but in this moment, they conveyed their feelings, their passion for one another. The sound of their heavy breathing was loud in the room and no matter how Lauren wrapped her legs around his waist, she couldn’t get close enough to him.

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When he was as deep as he could get, he groaned, dropping his head to the crook of her neck. She could practically feel it in him, the restraint he was using with her as he waited for her body to grow used to his size. Pressing feather light kisses along her neck, he finally took her mouth, the gentleness slowly bleeding away to something much different, not that he was only thinking of himself. Without breaking their kiss, he reached between them, using his thumb to rub her intimately, loosening the constrictive hold she had on him with her thighs.

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Mishca didn’t stop, not even as he pulled his hips back, slowly sinking back inside her again. He didn’t stop even as she gasped against his mouth, his lips curling in satisfaction at her reaction. At first she hadn’t understood how anyone could enjoy sex, but now as he expertly moved inside her, she understood perfectly. “Please…” Her plea was enough for him to understand what she needed and he willingly gave it to her, cursing in Russian as she went tight around him. He could feel it, that tingling

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sensation creeping through his body as he tried to last, but when she said his name, softly, almost like a prayer, he was done. Mishca shuddered as he came, still managing to hold his weight on his arms. He looked down at her with so much love and adoration shining in his eyes that she couldn’t help smiling back, though she was embarrassed

that

her

legs

were

still

trembling. “Give me a minute, love.” He kissed her forehead, pulling out of her gingerly as he

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headed into the bathroom to dispose of the condom. The water ran for a little bit before Mishca returned, holding a damp washcloth in hand. Lauren’s eyes widened as she shook her head adamantly. “I can handle it.” “Don’t be shy now,” he said dropping onto the bed, drawing the sheet back to expose her lower half. “No, seriously I—” He cut her off with a kiss, silencing any further argument she thought to give. She

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was too preoccupied with the way his lips moved over hers to pay attention to what he was doing between her legs. When he was done—taking one last trip to the bathroom—he came back, pulling her to his chest as he turned the lights off. He kept his hand on her lower stomach, fanning his fingers out to cover more of her. His touch was hot, branding, and she loved every minute of it. “Was it what you hoped?” He asked softly.

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She yawned, surprised by how tired she was. “Better.”

Late into the night, long after Lauren had fallen asleep, Mishca was standing on the balcony, almost oblivious to the cooling temperature, thanks, in part, to the tumbler of whiskey he was drinking. For once, his mind

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was at ease, his thoughts not constantly focused on the work he had to do for the Bratva. He relished the time he spent uninterrupted with Lauren. She made him feel whole, like he was more than his position in the organization…like he was more than his name. It was a feeling he hadn’t felt since his mother. Looking up at the starlit sky, he narrowed his eyes on the flimsy line of light he saw across the sky, just barely there, but enough that he recognized what it was. With a smile,

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he walked back into the room, over to the bed

where

Lauren

was

still

sleeping

peacefully. The sheet was wrapped around her, shielding her nudity, but doing nothing to hide the outline of her body beneath it. She looked so peaceful as she slept, but he knew she would love what he was about to show her, even if it meant she had to wake up for it. “Lauren?” He gently touched the curve of her hip as he called her name, unable to resist the

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temptation of curling his hand around her side, watching in satisfaction as she sighed, arching into his touch. Yet, she still didn’t move. Chuckling softly, he slipped an arm beneath her knees and another around her shoulders, easily lifting her into his arms. She gasped, immediately clinging onto him, wrapping her legs around his waist. “Mish,

what

are

you

doing?”

She

whispered sleepily, burrowing her face in the curve of his neck. “I want to show you something.”

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Pushing open the French doors, he stepped out onto the balcony, laughing as Lauren cursed him, gripping him harder as though she could escape the cold. “You have to turn around to see it,” he explained as he set her down, holding most of her weight up though her bare feet rested on his so they wouldn’t be on the cold concrete. Keeping an arm wrapped around her waist, he used the other to point up and well past the water where a strip of green light was hovering in the atmosphere and if one

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were to look close enough, there would be distinct shades of blue in there as well. She followed his direction, looking out. He could tell the moment she saw what he pointed to, her gasp of shock making him smile. “I always sleep through it,” she said smiling up at him. “Is there anything you forget?” Not when it came to her. If it took him the rest of his life to do it, he would give her everything she had ever asked of him, not because of the guilt, but because she

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deserved it and he wanted her to be happy with him. She turned in his arms, her eyes warm and awake. “Thank you, Mish.” Leaning forward, he pressed a quick kiss to her forehead. “Diya vas v mire—For you, the world.”

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“Do you have everything?” Mishca asked as he shouldered their bags the next morning. Lauren gave the room one more look over, checking in the bathroom and next to the bed for their phone chargers. Mishca headed down before her, going to give their ticket to the valet. At the front counter, she retrieved her card from the clerk. Smiling, Lauren said, “Have a great day.”

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As she was walking away, the clerk called, “Please tell Mr. Volkov his invoice will be sent to his email.” Dammit Mishca.

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Mishca was in an uncharacteristically good mood as he stood in a warehouse surrounded by large wooden crates, but it wasn’t the man standing across from him in all leather that had him rather calm in the middle of an arms deal.

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Since Viktor had supplied most of the guns to their clientele, Mishca and Mikhail had split the list. Mishca had a few motorcycle clubs as well as businessmen looking for military grade weaponry. Mikhail’s were similar though his included men that were seen in the public eye and were more willing to work with someone of Mikhail’s age. Mishca was happy that he finally had something to look forward to after he was done. He could never have imagined this, having someone that knew him, inside and out, and not just the parts he chose to show.

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The gruff looking biker, along with a select number of his club, were perusing the automatic weapons Mishca had brought, testing them on dummies Mishca’s men had set up in the back. They had only been doing business together for the last six months, and after a rocky start—mostly the president’s surprise at Mishca’s age, which never got old—things had gone steady since. There had been a few negotiations on the price when Mishca first approached them with the new deal, and Mishca were in their position, he might have

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tried to pull one over on someone as young as him, but Mishca wasn’t the average twenty-five-year old. “Fifty thousand for the AK’s, ten for the handguns,” The Pres said holding up a duffle bag full of wrapped bundles of cash. Nodding absently, Mishca signaled for Sergei to collect the money, distracted by his chiming cell phone.

<$img:median;w=150;h=100>

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Since the hotel, Mishca had wanted Lauren around more, much to her joy. Her things were now split between the brownstone and Mishca’s apartment in the city. Realistically, she had nothing to complain about. She— “Well…I

guess

some

things

never

change.” Lauren dropped the shirt she was hanging, turning to face the girl that stood in the closet doorway. In a skintight blue dress,

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she was beautiful with wavy blonde hair that was darker at the roots. “Are you here for Mishca?” She asked, not knowing what else to say, her gaze focusing on the gold key dangling from a chain in her hand. “Come up with that on your own, did you?” Lauren frowned, watching her run manicured fingers through her blonde hair. “He isn’t here. How about you leave and call him?”

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“It’s cute that you think you can tell me what to do.” She had nails like claws, painted a deep maroon color that was only lightly lighter than the shade she wore on her lips. “What’s your name, dear? He always loved little girls with common names.” She had an accent, a stronger one of the version Alex had. Maybe she was French. Lauren didn’t doubt that Mishca had relations with the girl, not when she was acting proprietary though Lauren had never heard

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of her…not that she even knew what her name was. “I don’t think my name matters. Who are you.” The front door opened and closed, the sound carrying to the closet, but Lauren stood where she was, refusing to take her eyes off of her. She was secretly glad Mishca had come back early. “Lauren?” “In here.” He appeared in the doorway some moments later, his gaze straying between two of

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them, his entire demeanor shifting as he focused on the girl. “Naomi.” She wiggled her fingers at him and without a word, closed the distance between them and proceeded to stick her tongue down her throat. Mishca didn’t react at first, but a heartbeat later, firmly set her away from him. “Ne nachinayte eto der’mo—Don’t start this shit.”

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At least he wiped his mouth with the back of his arm. She couldn’t believe the nerve of this girl. “Could you excuse us,” Mishca asked looking directly at Lauren. A little hurt, no, a lot hurt, she asked, “You want me to leave?” He shook his head, frowning at her. “Of course not, Naomi is leaving, now.”

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It had been ages since Mishca had last seen Naomi Le Feuvre, but even that time seemed too short. Once, he had gladly welcomed her as a distraction from his father’s betrayal so long ago, but after she had walked out on him, he had grew to understand that she was a toxic addition to his already unhealthy lifestyle. He would be

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damned if she came in now trying to destroy what he had built. “What do you want, Naomi?” She trailed her nails down the center of his chest, digging in slightly with a serene smile. “I came for you. Come now, Mishca. Haven’t you missed me at all?” “No.” That wiped the smile off her face. “That wouldn’t be because of that naïve little twat that’s playing house, would it?” She didn’t wait for an answer, reading his expression. “She is. You can’t possibly feel something for her.”

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“Doesn’t matter, she doesn’t concern you. Walk away, Naomi, before I forget that you crossed me.” “It’s not over between us,” she murmured in a silky voice, pressing her breasts against his chest. She grabbed his hands, forcing them around her until they were pressed against her lower back. “Or have you forgotten that?” “I tend not to forget my mistakes lest I repeat them.” “Can she really give you everything you need, Mishca…or do you restrain yourself

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with her? How long will it be before you accidentally show her the beast resting inside you?” Mishca ground his teeth, ready to shove her away when the door at his back gave way. He cursed beneath his breath, dropping his hands and turning to face Lauren. There

was accusation

in

her eyes.

“Mish—” “Mish? He actually lets you call him that? The Mishca I remember hated pet names.” He readied to respond to her barbed comment, but Lauren beat him to it.

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“People change.” Whether she was just tired of the game, or leaving it for another day, Naomi turned away. “I’ll see you soon, Mishca.” When she was out of sight, Mishca immediately turned to Lauren. “I can explain.” “Please do.” “First, never let her in this apartment again.” “Oh, I didn’t let her in,” she said when they were back inside his bedroom. “She has a key.”

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Fuck. He needed to get the locks changed immediately. “I’m assuming you two had to be close for her to have a key.” He rubbed the back of his neck, awkwardness filling him. “We lived together at one point, but it wasn’t like what we have. I believe we were both only in it for the sex.” And for what Mishca could do for her, but he hadn’t known that at the time. “How long ago was this?” “From the time I was eighteen until I was twenty-one.”

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“That’s a long time to just be friends with benefits, don’t you think?” He shrugged, a bit ashamed of his past. “It was what I was into at the time.” Mishca just noticed that she was now wearing her jacket. “Are you leaving?” “I’ve got school tomorrow, Mish. Can’t miss another day of class.” “D’you mind if I stay the night with you?” “Of course not, but you don’t have to. I’m not freaking out or anything about Naomi.” But he didn’t believe that. Grabbing his keys, he followed her out of his apartment,

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taking his car back to her place. Lauren was surprisingly silent on the drive over, making him worry more about what she was thinking. Inside her apartment, he stripped down, climbing into her bed as she did the same. She kept her back to him, not that he let that deter him. He pulled her towards him, relaxing when she settled against him with a contented sigh. “There’s nothing for you to worry about,” he promised. “She’s in my past.”

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“I know.” Later, as he was dozing off, he wondered why Naomi had come back, knowing she didn’t care enough about him for this to be about their relationship, or lack there-of. Now she wasn’t above petty jealousy. He could see it all over her face when he walked, and she would do everything in her power to screw with Lauren’s head because of it. He would have to find out why she was here and soon. The faster he got this done, the faster he could force her to leave, holding

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the one thing over her head that he had as leverage.

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Mishca rubbed his eyes tiredly as he came awake, his phone’s insistent buzzing already grating on his nerves. He accepted the call without checking the caller ID, waiting until Lauren settled in his arms before placing the Blackberry to his ear.

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“Yea?” “The Albanians are in town.” His hand tightened on Lauren’s hip and the constant headache he had hoped to quell came back with a vengeance. While the Irish—Declan

in particu-

lar—were a nuisance, the Albanians was a different kind of problem, one that stemmed back years. “The Pakhan?” Vlad grunted. “From what I head, they are here for you.” “Where?”

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“The Den.” “Give me twenty minutes.” Hanging up, Mishca slipped out of bed, hunting the floor for his pants, jerking them on. “Work?” Lauren was on her side, hugging the pillow he had just abandoned. He wished he could stay here with her, forgetting about Naomi and now the Albanians’ sudden arrival in New York. He had a sudden suspicion that the two were connected somehow, but he couldn’t figure out why.

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“Yes, but I won’t be gone long.” He leaned down, kissing her forehead, seeing the smile light up her face. “Hurry back.”

First, a pit stop by his apartment to change clothes and get himself together, then Mishca was off to Brighton Beach where he

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would have the meeting with a few of the members. The Den was one of many Russian cuisine

restaurants

in

Brighton

Beach,

though not located near the pier, but despite its owner’s shady dealings, it was a place free of any criminal activity except for the occasional business meeting. Mikhail had owned the restaurants for two decades and poured his earnings into it, making it a quality destination. The walls were made of white stone, mosaic tiles lining the floor, with warm champagne colored

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chandeliers. There was a stage towards the back of the eating area where performers sung in their native tongue, an experience unmatched by any of his competition. When he wasn’t conducting business, Mikhail was in the kitchen, overseeing the chefs as they prepared the day’s selections. It was here that Mishca found his father wearing a stained, white apron tied around his waist, a large silver spoon in hand as he tasted what looked like beets.

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Mishca had barely entered the kitchens when Mikhail called out, “I hear the Albanians are in town.” He really shouldn’t have been surprised that his father had heard, hardly anything went down in this city that he didn’t know about. “It’s why I’m here.” Territories were in place for a reason, primarily to ensure that whenever a neighboring

organization

intruded,

they

an-

nounced their presence. Before Mishca had even joined the ranks, it had been common practice to shoot first and question later.

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After a few awful, bloody accidents, the Bratva made it clear to anyone who thought to near them that an invitation was required. For the Albanians, however, the arrangement was entirely different. They were never allowed on the Russians’ territory. Ever. “What have you done now?” Mikhail asked wiping his hands clean. “Nothing that I’m aware of. I try to steer clear of them after the incident.” He didn’t have to elaborate, Mikhail knew exactly what he was talking about. “And I assume I’m not needed?”

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“I can handle it.” Mikhail studied him, finally nodding. “So be it. I trust you will have this wrapped up quickly.

I’m

entertaining

guests

this

evening.” “Senator Torres?” Mishca smirked as his father looked back at him. He wasn’t the only one that heard things. Mishca left the kitchens, returning to the dining room, finding a booth away from the front windows. Now, he needed only wait for them to show up.

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He hadn’t come unprepared however, Mishca had called a few of his men to meet him here, just to ensure everyone’s compliance. Vlad was already stationed nearby, as well as Donald and Raj who often worked security at his club. Then there was the other. He walked through the front doors, yelling out at a man that mistakenly bumped into him on his way in. He had a head full of curling blonde hair and blue eyes, but his rather pleasant look contrasted with the psychopath he truly was.

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Luka Sergeyev was another of Mishca’s enforcers, a fact that many others didn’t understand. They thought, because of his age, he didn’t deserve the position, but that mattered little to Mishca--he too was disregarded because of his age--and mattered even less to Luka. He had zero regard for authority besides Mikhail, and when he was in the mood, for Mishca as well. While others wore suits, Luka only owned jeans and T-shirts. He routinely turned up late for meetings--if for no other reason than to piss Mishca off--

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hardly spoke, and had a warped sense of humor. It didn’t mean that he didn’t respect Mishca and the work he did, he just wasn’t as traditional about it. It also didn’t help that he could be a bit…unpredictable. Men in the Bratva came from various walks of life, but Luka came from several different backgrounds, ones that Mishca didn’t truly know since Luka refused to talk about it. The only thing Mishca knew for sure was that Luka’s parents had been Albanian.

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Mishca didn’t even know Luka’s real name. He plopped down in the chair beside Mishca, taking a big bite of the green apple in his hand. “What’s doing, Boss?” Vlad rolled his eyes, the only thing anyone did when Luka was around. Glancing down at his watch, Mishca noted the hour. “I’m surprised you’re on time,” Mishca said undoing his cufflinks to roll his sleeves up. Luka shrugged, talking with his mouth full. “Natasha was busy.”

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Rubbing the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger, Mishca didn’t bother to respond, not wanting to attempt to broach the subject of Luka with one of the girls from The Gilded Room. Instead, he waited in silence, trying to prepare himself for the men he knew were coming. There was one thing Mishca knew about the Albanians. They were volatile. The organization as a whole lived by their own set of rules that dictated how they handled their business, and if they even

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thought they were being disrespected, the Albanians—namely

the

ones

Mishca

knew—made sure to send a message in retaliation. Which

would

ultimately

end

in

something bloody. Only one other time had Mishca had the misfortune to come across the Albanians, an incident that was forever seared into his memory because of the consequences of that single day. Just a single error, one that no one could have predicted, except for a select few

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individuals, had saved the Albanians from a war that would have ended in hundreds of deaths, with more than a few innocent bystanders. To this day, the truce between the two families was shaky at best and events like this—even ones that Mishca couldn’t control—could tip the balance in the wrong direction. The Besnik Family was one of the few Albanian crime families that were located in London as opposed to Albania itself. Mishca hadn’t had the misfortune of meeting

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everyone connected with them, but he had met the brothers once before. Jetmir and Brahim Besnik. Brahim was the youngest of the two and looked it with his boyish face that lacked any real facial hair, even though he was two years Mishca’s senior. Jetmir was the oldest, and by far, one of the most powerful men that Mishca knew. It could be said that the older fellow had a natural born hatred for Mishca because he, like so many others, incorrectly assumed that Mishca was just given his position as

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Bratva Captain, a similar position as to what Jetmir held himself. Another thing he hated was having to address Mishca as his equal when he was several years younger. In his territory, he would never have allowed such acts to transpire. In his eyes, Mishca was still just a boy. The bell at the entrance sounded, in walking men Mishca hoped he would never see again. He recognized Jetmir and Brahim immediately, forever connected to them. For that reason, there could never truly be a truce, not when they were both constantly

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thinking of killing the other, and the last Mishca had heard, someone was picking the Albanians off one by one. No doubt that would be blamed on them as well…Mishca was more responsible for that than he cared to admit. Mishca climbed to his feet as the men entered, forcing himself to remain unfazed by their appearance in his city. He wasn’t the same person he’d been four years ago, not even a little. “Gentlemen, what brings you to New York?”

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Despite their local branch, the Albanians rarely frequented Manhattan and because of a ‘misunderstanding’ they made it a point to announce their presence when they came to Mishca’s territory. Mishca gave them a chance to sit, get comfortable, and even went so far as to pour drinks as they were cohorts instead of enemies. “A spontaneous trip,” Jetmir responded with his thick accent. “It seems a mutual acquaintance of ours has come to the city.”

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He looked at Mishca expectantly, but Mishca knew better than to respond to that. His best option was to play the part. “I don’t speak in riddles,” Jetmir went on. “Naomi Le Feuvre is here and I want her.” “For?” “We have no business with you, Russian,” Jetmir said, a flash of annoyance sparking in his eyes at being questioned. “It is none of your concern.” “You would not be here if it weren’t.” Because of a rash decision years ago—one that

he

didn't

truly

understand

the

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significance of until much later—Mishca was now in the middle of a fight he had nothing to do with. It was his responsibility to right the situation and only if they acted against the Bratva as a whole would Mikhail step in. “Tell me, what has Naomi done?” Jetmir snapped his fingers, one of his men producing a photograph, handing it to Mishca. It was of an orange diamond, fire diamonds he thought they were called. “She stole it from me. I want it back or you can give her to me as collateral.” “What makes you so sure she has it?”

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Jetmir smiled, telling Mishca all he needed to know. Someone had died, painfully, giving up Naomi. “If she has it, I will force her to hand it over to me and I will give it to you. Once I deliver

it,

you

will

not

touch

her,

understood?” He scoffed. “You think to order me, boy?” Jetmir was too focused on Mishca to notice when Luka was lumbering to his feet, ready to dive across the table for the man’s throat. Jetmir was being purposefully disrespectful and Luka had grown tired of it.

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Yet, when Mishca held his hand up, Luka stopped. Despite his predilection for rash anger, he wouldn’t strike out unless Mishca ordered it. At least most of the time. Thankfully, this was one of them. “Careful. We don’t want a repeat of the last time we crossed paths,” Mishca said darkly, smirking when he saw Jetmir’s hand fist, resisting the urge to touch the scar on his face. “I will call you in one week to set up the meeting. You’re dismissed.”

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Surprising even to Mishca, Jetmir and his crew left without another word, though Mishca knew this wasn’t the end of it. Luka sat back with a contented smile, rubbing the back of his neck. “Are you ready?” Sighing in agitation, Mishca gulped down the shot of Vodka in front of him, grabbing for Luka’s as well. “Ready for what?” “You drew the line, Cap. Jetmir has no choice but to retaliate or he’ll lose face,” Luka said rubbing his hands together, a manic gleam entering his eyes despite his

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ominous

words.

interesting.”

“It’s

about

to

get

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There were some neighborhoods most people feared to tread in, where there was a look-the-other-way policy in place. Because of this, no one paid much attention to the massive men sitting on the stoop in front of a rather rundown brownstone, and when the

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six-figure car pulled up along the curb, with a cursory glance, it was dismissed as well. The men snapped to attention when Jetmir climbed out of the car, his reputation preceding him. No one paid much attention when the younger and smaller version of him followed. To the Albanians, power wasn’t granted to those who bore a famous last name, but to those that knew how to wield it. Blood, both innocent and guilty, stained Jetmir’s hands, not that he gave a second thought to his victims. The guilty ones

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deserved

their

fate,

and

the

inno-

cents…wrong place, wrong time. Brahim, on the other hand, had never killed a man in his twenty-eight years, though the opportunity had presented itself many times. No one would ever say it to them—not if they wanted to live—but behind their backs, whispers of the brothers was common nature. Jetmir was the tyrant and lived to make an example of anyone who thought to

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challenge him. A dozen or more men had lost their lives for the simplest of things. Brahim was another story all together. As much as Jetmir was feared, Brahim was shunned. Most were careful never to speak their thoughts aloud, too afraid that their words would reach Jetmir’s ears. What little Brahim had accomplished in his life of crime was belittled or overlooked because of Jetmir’s notoriety, and this only made Brahim want to prove himself more, with disastrous results most occasions.

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Inside the brownstone, men were seated around a poker table, stacks of money and chips in the center. A few women walked around, their eyes glazed as they went from man to man. The place itself was little better than a hole in the wall. Jetmir was disgusted. He was used to a certain way of life and this was not it, but it was only for a week, two tops and he would be back in his home in Albania. Fucking Naomi. He should have known she would run to the Russian when she was in trouble. During

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their time together, she often spoke dismissively of him, but Jetmir didn’t miss the look on her face…nor the way she proudly showed off the stars on her back. But she would learn. “Who’s in charge here?” Jetmir asked in a booming voice, the sound made even louder by the silence that permeated the air. No one spoke, each looking at another as though they too didn’t know the answer to that question. Losing his patience, Jetmir brandished his gun. “Thirty seconds or everyone dies.”

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Immediately, they all pointed to a man hunched over in a corner, as though the position would help him disappear. Jetmir didn’t tolerate men with no backbone. “Tell me of your business,” Jetmir said pulling up a chair to face the man, resting his foot on his knee as he regarded him. The soldier cleared his throat, trying to look in control as he talked to his commander. “I’m not able to do much,” he tried for the honest approach, “the Russians do not allow us near their territories.”

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“Yes,” Jetmir agreed nodding along. “I can see why that would be troubling for you.” He gave a relieved smile, that expression frozen on his face for all time as Jetmir plugged a bullet into his skull. “You do not allow any Russian, Italian, or anyone else to control you. If you want it, you take it. Consequences be damned. Më kuptoni?—Do you understand?” They nodded quickly, too afraid to do anything else, else they succumb to their once leader’s fate.

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Jetmir dropped his gun onto the table, facing them all. “I’ve got a job for you.”

When Mishca heard the knock at his door, he was expecting to see Lauren come in, but when Naomi entered with a breezy hello, his good mood was shot to shite in a nanosecond. He really didn’t have time for whatever she was trying to pull, especially not with

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Luka in the room with him. It wasn’t that he was going to do anything wrong, but Luka was an expert at making an uncomfortable situation worse. After his meeting with the Albanians, he knew the real reason she was back in New York, and while she had been honest about her being there for him, he knew it was more about needing his protection. When she reached for his face, he slapped her hand away, frowning. “What do you want, Naomi?”

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Unfazed by his temper, she plopped down on his desk crossing her legs so the hem of her skirt drew up, revealing the tops of her silky thigh-highs. Luka was whistling the 1812 overture...like that was normal. “I missed you.” “Feeling isn’t mutual. Leave.” “Oh, Mishca. Is that anyway to treat a lady?” “Of course not, but you are no lady. Tell me, were you ever going to tell me you stole Djegia Flaka from the Albanians. They want your blood.”

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“I did no such thing,” she replied airily. “They just assume it was me because I no longer wanted to live with that brute, Jetmir.” She pouted, touching his shoulder. “He used to beat me. I remember once you would have taught him a lesson.” That much was true, but not any longer, not with all of the drama that came attached with Naomi. He was already risking too much for her, all because he felt an inkling of something. It was not love, it was hardly any like, but she had meant something to him once and he didn’t want to see her killed.

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Not in the way the Albanians would do it. “You,” Naomi said pointing back at his enforcer, “Luka, yes? Can you give us ten minutes alone.” “Nyet. Speak your piece and leave.” He didn’t want to be alone with her for a moment, knowing what she would try to do. “If you want him to stay, so be it.” She shifted on top of his desk, spreading her legs, offering him a view of what he was missing out on. She expected him to look, even if it was just a glance, just to prove that she still held some power over him.

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When he didn’t, she sighed, but refused to give up. Withdrawing a plastic hotel key from her cleavage, she tucked into the front pocket of his shirt. “If you want me,” she whispered next to his ear. “All you have to do is ask.” “Seriously?” Everyone in the room looked up at Lauren as she stood glaring at the two of them, anger quickly replacing the hurt in his expression. Without meaning to, Mishca jumped out of his chair, appearing far more guilty than he meant. He hadn’t thought to

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consider whether or not she even thought he was guilty of something in the first place. Seeming satisfied, Naomi gingerly stood, making a show of fixing her skirt. “You know where I’ll be,” she said with a wave of her hand, blowing him a kiss. Lauren watched her the entire time she took to exit his office. Without another word, Lauren walked over to his desk, rifling through the drawers, probably in search of the binder she’d left at his apartment. “Lauren.”

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She didn’t even acknowledge that he had spoken, at least until he touched her. “Get off of me!” “It wasn’t what it looked like.” Laughing through gritted teeth, she looked him up and down. “And how many girls have you said that to?” “Not as many as you would think,” Luka chimed in happily, looking far too amused. “Luka.” His name was enough of a warning. “I would never do anything to hurt you.” “I think I heard him say that once or twice,” Luka added.

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“Otvyazhis’!—Fuck off!” Mishca shouted back at him, feeling the violent urge to shoot him. “I need your keys. I have homework and I really don’t have time for this.” “You’re not leaving.” He didn’t want her stewing in her anger with him, that would only make it harder for him to fix later on. “Oh really?” She asked sarcastically. “Watch me.”

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“You want to be angry with me? Fine, ponyatnyy—understandable. But you’re going to be pissed here.” “And you think you can tell me what to do?” He arched a brow as if to say, ‘why not?’ Luka’s phone rang. Loudly. He apologized, and this time, Mishca looked back at him. The only times Luka was serious was when Mikhail was involved...or if he needed to kill someone.

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After answering and listening to what Mikhail had to say, Luka looked at Mishca. “Pakhan wants you.” He didn’t have time for this, not when so much was at stake. “Tell him I’ll be there when I’m able,” Mishca told him in Russian. “There’s no point in trying to keep me here,” Lauren said when he was looking back at her. “You’ll have to go to your father eventually.” Narrowing his eyes on her, he might not have wanted to admit it, but he liked the

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challenge he saw in her eyes, as though at any minute she would defy him. “Just know I will drag your ass back.” “Weren’t too concerned about my ass when you were looking up Naomi’s skirt.” That drained some of his frustration away because despite her best efforts, the hurt she felt leaked through her voice. “I didn’t. I swear on my stars.” She knew he would never make that proclamation easily. “How about I grab my book later, when you’re not preoccupied?”

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It was as much as he was going to get from her. Kissing her cheek, he allowed her to leave, finally snatching the phone from a grinning Luka.

When Lauren walked in and saw Mishca with Naomi, she was about to blow. It didn’t help that her die hadn’t gone well either, partly her fault since she hadn’t studied for

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that quiz. She just wanted a little peace. Was that too much to ask for? “I was hoping you would be gone by now, seems I was wrong?” “I bet that wasn’t the first time.” If she thought Lauren was backing down from her, she was sorely mistaken. She refused to take this girl’s shit. “He will grow tired of you, you know. I’ve watched it happen to countless girls before you.” “Was that before or after he left you?”

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Naomi laughed lightly, clapping her hands. “Is that what you think? Mishca didn’t leave me, I left him. I’d grown bored of him and needed a change.” “And yet here you are, going after him when he doesn’t want you.” “He will always want me, that was the kind of relationship we had. Love is cute, but it is for children. What do I need with love when there is lust? That’s what Mishca needs, not a pretty little girl that’s gotten way over her head.”

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Lauren propped her hands on her hips. She didn’t want to believe Naomi’s words, but she couldn’t help but think that maybe she needed to do more. She doubted she had nearly the amount of experience Naomi had, but...no, it didn’t matter. Mishca loved her and she wouldn’t doubt that. “If you’re done, I’ll be going now,” Lauren said jerking her thumb over her shoulder, pointing at the staircase. “I have one last question for you,” Naomi said. “Do you know what these mean?”

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She turned, lifting her blouse to show off the tan length of her back, but Lauren’s eyes zeroed in on the twin stars on either side of the girl’s spine that were all too familiar. “I don’t,” Lauren lied, swallowing, “but I’m sure you’re going to tell me.” “Do you know what these mean?” Naomi asked showing Lauren the twin stars on her back that were all too familiar. “I don’t,” Lauren said closing her book, “but I’m sure you’re going to tell me.” “It seems there are many things Mishca never mentioned. These, my dear, are a

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message to everyone that I’m his. In the world we live in, these are what people would kill to possess. But I haven’t told you the best bit yet” Naomi whispered, curling a finger beneath Lauren’s chin to force her gaze up. Slapping her hand away, Lauren faced off with the sole individual in all of the city that could get beneath her skin without even trying. Logically, she knew Naomi did it on purpose just to get a rise out of her, but she couldn’t help it. “You can pretend you’re so much better than me, but remember this, the next time

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you climb into that bed of his, remember he had me bent over it as he tattooed those stars on my back. I don’t think I have to explain what happened after, you get the picture.” Lauren was not naïve enough to think that Mishca had been a virgin when they met, had assumed scores of women had spent time with him, and she was okay with that, but now that she had the rather unpleasant thought of him and Naomi together, she didn’t think she would ever be able to sleep there again. “Lauren, what are you—Shit.”

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Naomi laughed cruelly when Lauren looked disgusted at the sight of Mishca. He was still calling her name when she ran down the stairs.

Heavy pounding on the door had everyone’s heads snapping up, looking at each other, but Lauren had a pretty good idea who was on the other side. He had promised that if she ever left, he would drag her back.

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She almost smiled. Matt was up and at the door, not giving her a chance to warn him who would be there. Only thing she could see was Mishca’s furious eyes as he walked into the apartment, the muscle in his jaw working. “Amber, gentlemen.” The greeting was barely that, his attention solely focused on Lauren. “I need a minute of your time.” He didn’t give her a chance to respond, walking past her to her bedroom. Amber gave a thumbs up, looking far too excited about this turn of events; Tristan waggled his

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eyebrows, and Matt actually made an 'O’ with one hand, using his index fingers as a crude representation of what he thought was about to come next. “Dude,” Tristan said with a soft laugh. “You’re about to get the D.” “Get out,” Lauren hissed at him, shoving him when she walked past him. If she had wondered whether Mishca was angry or not, one look at his face told her he had grown angrier in the short span from the front door to her room. She pushed the door

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closed, trying to feign nonchalance as she faced over six feet of irritation. He stalked towards her, uncaring of the small noise she made when he picked her up, setting her on her desk, papers crinkling beneath her. Her hands curled around the edge of it, but he didn’t stop there, keeping an arm around her waist as he tugged her forward, bringing them flush against each other. Her heart kicked up a notch. “I neither know nor care what she said to you because she doesn’t matter, but you have

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to stop running from me. Talk to me, I would have handled it.” “I’m sorry, Mishca.” He actually had the nerve to glare at her for using his full name. “I can’t possibly remember why I didn’t feel like talking to you when...oh, right...your ex fuck-buddy tells me the details of how you did her in the bed I sleep in most nights.” She gestured at his chest. “And the matching stars? Cute.” He shoved a hand through his hair, trying to grapple for control of his temper though it wasn’t aimed at her. “She likes to start

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trouble. And is that why you were so upset? The stars?” “It’s more than that,” she said exasperated. “I accepted you and the mob, I didn’t know she was part of the package.” “She’s not.” “Maybe you should tell her that…or should I?” She meant that too. She was tired of Naomi’s behavior and the way she hung all over Mishca as though Lauren didn’t matter. He was just staring at her, a small smile on his face before he had her face in his hands, kissing her forcefully. She kissed him

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back with every ounce of frustration she had, wanting him to know exactly how she felt. It turned into something more as she started pulling at his clothes. He drew back, looking down at her with lust in his eyes. He grabbed both of her arms, pinning them behind her with one hand as he tugged her panties down her legs, letting them fall to the floor, then pushed her skirt up, leaving it bunched around her stomach. Since their night together in the hotel, sex between them had always been undeniably romantic. Now, she was getting a side of

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Mishca she had never seen before, but that wasn’t to say she didn’t like it. In fact, she thought she liked this side of him more. He was always careful with her, making sure she was with him every step of the way. This was about possession. And though she would never admit it aloud, Naomi had been right about Mishca restraining himself with her, but no longer would she allow him to do that. She wanted all of him, the good and the bad.

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His hand was between her legs next, a sound of masculine pride at how wet she was for him rumbling in his chest. She ached for him in a way that didn’t fully make sense to her, but she was entirely okay with that.

He didn’t bother trying to get out of all of his clothes, just undoing his pants, and pulling his cock free, the hard length resting against her thigh. With the hand at the small of her back, he held her steady as he positioned himself at her entrance, pushing her legs wider as he

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slipped inside of her, his gaze immediately lifting to her face to see her reaction. There was nothing more beautiful to him than her in that moment. Her mouth was slightly parted as she gasped, her eyes focused on what he was doing to her. He twined his fingers in her hair, pulling on the strands until her head fell back, a moan escaping her. He could feel her heartbeat pulsing as he lightly traced his tongue over the smooth column her neck, biting just hard enough to make her go tight around him, his name

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falling from her lips. Gripping her hip with bruising force, Mishca kept her steady as he pounded into her. It was almost too much, like everything he felt for her was trying to burst out of him at once. He pulled back, not wanting to push her too far too fast, but she didn’t let him go far, yanking him back by his tie, kissing him as though it was the last time, the heels of her feet digging into his back to keep him in place.

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Breaking the kiss, he forced her to look up at him, wanting to see her eyes as she came. He could tell that she was close, the way she grew less self-conscious of how she looked to him. Grabbing her hands, he placed them on her breasts, keeping his there as well as he tentatively squeezed, showing her what he wanted her to do. “Keep them there,” he said when she thought to drop them to her sides. Her pupils were dilated, her entire body writhing as she neared the place he was

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desperately trying to get her to. Before, Mishca could be considered selfish with some of his lovers, using them as a means to an end, but he made it a point to get Lauren there. “Fuck, Lauren cum.” That was all she needed. He cupped his hand over her mouth, muffling her cries as she came apart in his arms. If possible, she grew tighter, nearly preventing him from going any deeper. That feeling, as well as the tingling sensation that

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raced up his spine made it impossible for him to last any longer. Two thrusts later, he was groaning into the curve of her neck. They were both breathing heavily, still clinging to each other as they came down. He felt her laughing quietly. “I think you made your point.” Mishca laughed, making her shiver in response, feeling him still inside her. As he pulled out of her he nearly cursed, realizing too late that he hadn’t bother to use protection at all.

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“I’m on the pill,” she said as though she could read his thoughts. “Do you think they heard us?” “Hell yea!” Tristan yelled from the other side of the door. “God, have you been standing there the whole time? Fuck off!” Lauren shouted back. His laughter died down as Tristan drifted off. “I don’t think I’ll ever live this down.” “No worries.” She straightened her clothes, blushing prettily as he tucked himself back into his pants.

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“I haven’t made my point yet,” he said when he had her attention again. “Naomi was with me for many years, yes, but I have never felt for her an ounce of what I feel for you. When I tell you I love you, they are not just words, they’re my promise to you. Don’t let Naomi’s bitterness detract from what we have.” Her answering smile was all he needed to know that everything would be alright.

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Lauren was in Mishca’s office, sitting on his desk as he looked over plans for the new club he was opening. She had never been in here while he was working, letting him work in peace, but tonight he had invited her,

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wanting to have something beautiful to look at, he’d said. She thought it might have been because of their blowup last week. If he were trying to prove that Naomi meant nothing to him, he was doing a good job of it. Since that day, he had made it a point to spend all of his free time with her, even bringing her along when he went to Brighton Beach for Bratva business, though she hadn’t actually went in with him, staying out on the pier to look at the water.

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Naomi hadn’t made any unplanned visits either. In fact, Mishca hadn’t mentioned her once. Either that meant she was done trying to stir up trouble, or she was—in Lauren’s opinion—trying to think of what to try next. Earlier, Mishca had shown her the switch that turned the frosted glass to clear, giving her a view of the entirety of the club. Leaving her book on his desk, she jumped down, going over to look out. “This is a really nice view,” Lauren said absently, going over to the glass to peer out at the dance floor.

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She canted her head to the side, staring at the odd group of men that were stealthily making their way through the club. She couldn’t say what made her pick them out from the scores of people surrounding them, yet her gaze was drawn to them. It might have been their attire, too formal for the place. There were three of them, all dressed in black, but one walked slightly ahead of the others. He, unlike the others, was wearing a large black coat. “Mish?”

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When he crossed the room to stand behind her, one arm sliding around her waist to pull her back against him, she pointed them out. There was this misconception that time slowed

when

something

traumatic

happened, but that wasn’t how this went. It all happened in the blink of an eye. Mishca leaned forward, narrowing his eyes as he tried to make out the men, but at the same time as the leader in the pack of men reached into his coat.

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Lauren had only seen the handle of something black before Mishca was shoving her to the ground, covering her body with his as gunshots rang out. Glass shattered, raining shards pelting them. The sound of the shots was deafening, but even louder were the screams of the people below them. More shots. More screams. Lauren was trembling beneath him, covering her ears to block it all out, though that

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only helped to muffle it. There was no escaping the chaos. Then it all stopped, at least the bullets stopped. People were still screaming for their lives and when Mishca levered up to give her room to breathe, she immediately looked below. He reached down to help her up, careful to keep her from cutting herself on the broken glass.

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“Are you alright?” He whispered next to her ear, the chaos below them making it hard to hear. “I’m fine.” At least she thought so. There was minimal damage to her person besides a few nicks to her palms, and her ears were ringing from the gunshots. Mishca pulled the walkie-talkie from his belt, pressing the button on the side. “Checkin.” A series of replies sounded and with the last one, Mishca told them all to do damage

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control. Grabbing her hand, he led her out of his office. The damage was far more serious than Lauren had realized when she was upstairs. From what she could see near her position at the bar, nearly all the bottles of alcohol were broken, the liquids dripping onto the floor. Most of the glass surfaces were shattered, coating the floor in shards of it. She tried to stay out of the way as Mishca shouted at his men in heated Russian, the words flying way over her head. It couldn’t have just been a handgun, she knew, there

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were too many bullet holes in the walls for that. Her heart was racing, the adrenaline flowing through her veins making her jittery. She saw a couple of EMTs rushing in with a stretcher, going over to a woman holding her arm, blood leaking between her fingers. She was leaning against a man of the same approximate age who looked more panicked than she did. That was how Lauren felt. She should have been freaking out, probably hyper-ventilating in a corner, but besides the rush of

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emotions going through her, she didn’t feel any different. She hated to think she was getting used to this type of violence. The police arrived moments later, securing the scene, blocking off the exits with yellow ‘Caution’ tape. There were at least six of them, two trying to keep the people that were still

outside

calm,

the

others

taking

statements. When Mishca noticed them, he looked back at Lauren, seeming to weigh a decision before coming over to her. He brushed the

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few strands of hair that stuck to her forehead back, shrugging out of his jacket to wrap around her arms. He must have thought she was cold. “Is there something you want me to say?” Lauren asked carefully. Talking to law enforcement was strictly forbidden—even she knew that—and she didn’t want to do anything wrong. “Tell them what you saw. This had nothing to do with me.” But she didn’t believe that. When he said it, his eyes flickered to the left, a move she

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might have missed if she hadn’t been looking for it. That meant, he had to know who those men were, and if not, at least why they came. She didn’t have time to question him about that, Detective Rodriguez had just walked in. Rodriguez was one of the detectives working with Ross months ago when he’d come up as a consultant. He had been kind, with bronze skin and dark eyes, but Lauren knew that once he saw her, he would be telling Ross.

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He was talking to a shorter woman with shoulder-length blonde hair when he spotted her standing next to Mishca. His eyebrows drew together as he silently said her name, immediately sidetracked. She could see the suspicion in his eyes as he crossed the room, glass crunching beneath his dress shoes. He didn’t stop until he had a ginger hold on Lauren’s arm, guiding her away. She was willingly walking with him, but that didn’t seem to matter to the giant that was now blocking their path.

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He was glaring down at Rodriguez, folding massive arms across his equally massive chest. “It’s okay, Igor. Leave them.” At Mishca’s command, he stepped to the side, huffing as he returned to whatever he was doing before. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Rodriguez hissed, eyeing her, then Mishca and back again. “It’s hard to explain.” “Try.”

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“Couples fight and they make up,” she said easily, knowing that that was the best she could do. “That isn’t how this works. With them, there is no out.” He grabbed her wrists, turning them over. “At least you didn’t let him mark you.” He couldn’t have known that the stars were a sore subject with her, but the mention of them had her snatching her arms back. “Detective, can I help you?” Mishca asked appearing at her side.

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His voice was low, menacing and because he was standing with his body almost angled in front of hers, his men paid close attention to what he would do next. The officers must have been warned about Mishca’s background because they wasted no time focusing their gazes on Rodriguez and Mishca, their hands hovering over their belts. Rodriguez stood up straighter, his chin rising as he looked down his nose at Mishca. “I need to take Lauren’s statement if you don’t mind.”

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“None at all. I can assist since she and I were together at the time.” Rodriguez was grinding his teeth, but he had no choice but to comply, not wanting to make a scene. He withdrew his notepad, taking down everything Lauren volunteered, and though he hated to admit it, Mishca’s view of the shooting was better since Lauren was beneath him at the time. When he was done, flipping his notebook closed, he looked to Lauren. “I still think you should come by the station…if you remember

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anything.” He withdrew one of his business cards and handed it to her. He disappeared back out into the crowd, leaving Lauren with a slightly irritated Mishca. “I’m fine, Mish,” she promised when he turned her hands over to look at her wrists. “He didn’t grab me that hard.” “Still.” He brought her hands up to his face, pressing a soft kiss to both. Despite the craziness around him, he made an effort to make her feel okay.

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“Seriously, I’m good. Do I need to stay for anything else?” She figured he would want her to leave since there was no need for her to hang around, but he surprised her when he shook his head. “Stay, I don’t want you leaving by yourself and I need Vlad here for the time being.” “But won’t I be in the way? I’m kind of just standing here.” She trailed off when she noticed Mishca was no longer listening, his attention back at the entrance of his club where she could see

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a black Explorer pulling up with flashing blue lights. Two vague shapes climbed out of the truck, flashing their credentials before ducking beneath the yellow tape and walking inside. One was female, one was male. The latter wore a traditional black suit and tie, his dress shirt pristine. He had eyes like a hawk, immediately zeroing on Vlad and the men, then to Mishca and Lauren. His partner, though, only had eyes for Mishca.

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She was tall, made even taller by the heels she wore. Her hair was long, cascading down her back, pin-straight. She also had the smile of a woman that was used to a position of power. There was a difference between her and the man that was trailing behind her, and the detectives already present. She held her head high, cutting through the crowd with considerable ease. Mishca cursed beneath his breath, his entire demeanor changing as he took a step forward, wanting to cut her off before she could

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get too close and notice Lauren with him. Judging from the expression on his face, he already knew the woman quite well. “Special Agent Tabitha Green, always a pleasure.” Despite the rather content smile on his face, Mishca couldn’t have sounded more condescending if he tried. The Agent smiled, placing a hand on her hip as she stopped some feet away, the gold badge at her waist glinting in the low light. “Volkov.”

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“I doubt this was the act of a terrorist, what do I owe the honor of having the FBI in my club?” She grinned, all straight white teeth. “Only the best for my favorite Captain. I thought I could lend my expertise in case it might be a new syndicate in town trying to send a message.” Lauren couldn’t see Mishca’s face since he was turned away from her, and since he lowered his voice, she couldn’t make out what he was saying either.

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Whatever he’d said made her laugh. “Nonsense. Now, how about you give me your statement and I’ll corroborate it with my other witnesses.” How can she have witnesses if she just got here? Lauren wondered still looking at her. “Fine,” Mishca said raising his voice. “We can step over here.” He was deliberately trying to keep her attention off of Lauren, but he should have known that by doing so, she would find it suspicious.

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Before she could say anything to Lauren, however, Lauren turned her back and began walking to the back of the club. She’d said everything she saw and telling another person—especially an FBI agent—would not help. Just as quickly as the agents had arrived, more people were entering the club. This was supposed to be a crime scene and the tape was meant to keep everyone out to prevent any further contamination of the scene, but even if they tried, and they didn’t, the police couldn’t hold back their latest guest.

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Mikhail had arrived. It was the first time since their meeting at Diego’s that Lauren had seen the Russian mob boss, but today, he didn’t have his usual easy, albeit a little arrogant, smirk. He looked pissed. He still spoke cordially to all of the officers, even the men and women that were digging bullets out of the walls and photographing them. If he hadn’t shown up, Lauren might have believed that this was a random incident, but to call in his father, Mishca had to know who had done it.

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He smiled when he noticed Lauren off by herself. Without a word to any of his men, he walked over, his hands clasped behind his back, his angry expression melting away. “This is not a place for you. My driver will take you home,” Mikhail offered, gesturing to one of the three men he arrived with. Even if the man hadn’t given her a sly, predatory gaze when she looked over at him, she still wouldn’t have gotten in any car with him. “Mishca wants me to stay.” “Hmm…and is that what you want?”

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She blinked, surprised that he would even care—if he did. “Yes, I’ll just wait for him.” Mishca glanced at her, his eyes narrowing when he noticed her with Mikhail. He spoke quickly with Agent Green, rolling his eyes when she tried to continue her pseudo-interrogation. He pointed to Vlad, a secret message to the enforcer that only they knew. “Go ahead,” Mikhail said when Mishca looked to Lauren first. “I can wait.” Instead of going out the front, Mishca led her to the back entrance with a hand at the

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small of her back. He tossed his keys to Vlad who immediately went to start the car. “I’ll call you as soon as I can.” She wasn’t ready to say goodbye to him, not when she had questions, but she knew she could ask them another time. “Promise?” He smiled gently, meeting her eyes. “Promise.”

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“You’ll look out for him, won’t you?” Lauren asked as she scooted across the seat to get out the car. “Of course.” Vlad didn’t pull off until she was safely inside her building. Rubbing her forehead, Lauren felt a headache coming on. This was…all of it was crazy.

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“What the hell happened?” Amber asked when Lauren had only a foot in the door. Since it was Friday night, Tristan and Matt were over, both holding plates of food. “What do you mean?” “It’s already on the news,” Amber said pointing at the television where a newscaster was already reporting the shooting at the club. “No idea,” Lauren replied honestly. “I was in Mishca’s office at the time.”

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Tristan and Matt shared a look, the one they were famous for when they were both thinking the same thing. Lauren couldn’t help but ask, “What is it?” “What did you say that Russian did again?” Tristan asked taking a big bite of burger. Her brows drew together as she regarded him. The question was innocent enough, but it was the way he asked it that made her suspicious.

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“He owns the club. I thought I told you that?” “Right. Right. But you also said he owns a penthouse apartment in Manhattan, has what—like three cars?” “His club does well?” But that didn’t even sound convincing to her. “Is he in the mob?” Matt asked pushing his glasses up his nose. The question was asked so abruptly that Lauren was too startled to think of an answer immediately, giving them their answer by default.

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Tristan grinned, pointing at Matt. “You owe me fifty bucks.” “You didn’t even give her a chance to answer!” Matt retorted. “Shut up, both of you. Are you alright though, seriously?” Amber asked and there was true worry in her eyes. “I’m fine.” Lauren wondered how many times she would be saying that while she was with Mishca, even if it was a lie.

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Lauren was running on fumes by the time she left class. Work. School. Study. More work. Time with Mishca. More school. How she was able to accomplish this fall semester last year was beyond her.

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“Why don’t you take a day off?” Mishca suggested, his voice crackling over the phone. “You deserve it.” “Maybe. How are the renovations going?” He sighed. “Got a quote today and it’s going to take at least three weeks to prepare the damage, even longer to restock.” She frowned, her thoughts taking a turn for the worst as she tried to decipher why he sounded like he was in such a bad mood. She understood that it was stressful trying to repair the club—especially when it was riddled with bullet holes—but she thought there was

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more to it than that. They hadn’t talked about the shooting and with the news coverage, she assumed it had been a random event. Ever since Naomi had arrived in their lives, she felt like she was experiencing a side of Mishca she had never seen before. He was irritable and always seemed on edge, but with her, there was something entirely different about the way he acted. “What’s wrong?” She asked slipping inside one of the local eateries close to campus,

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holding her phone between her ear and shoulder as she readjusted her bags. She found a semi-private booth with cracked vinyl on either side, the sight of it bringing a sense of nostalgia for her and Ross’ favorite diner in Michigan. “Work,” he responded simply, moments after barking orders to someone in the background. “If you want, I can drop by later—take your mind off of it for a bit.” Now, she could almost hear the smile in his voice. “I’ll send Vlad.”

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“You know, I can always drive there.” “He drives faster and is less prone to road rage.” “That was one time.” Two weeks ago, Mishca had let Lauren drive them, but since she had only driven to work a couple of times, she was unprepared for the sheer chaos that was New York traffic. Two hours, furious yelling, and one amused Mishca later, he swore he would never let her drive again. “So you say.”

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“Yea, yea, whatever. I’ve got some studying to do. Call you when I’m done.” “Ya tebya lyublya.” Smiling, Lauren said, “Love you too.” Hanging up, Lauren pulled out her books and engulfed herself in Biology.

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Lauren took a bite of her pastry, scanning over the last of her notes for the test she would be taking in a couple of days. For the past twenty minutes, she had stayed diligent, forcing herself not to look up when the bell chimed as a customer entered. She didn’t know what made her look up this time, but the five men entering one after the other was a good indication. More importantly, these five were walking directly towards her.

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Lauren had only spent a limited time around the Volkov Bratva, but she could tell which of these men were in charge. The two in front. One was shorter, with curly brown hair and kind eyes. He had his hands tucked into his pockets, his gaze focused downward. Unlike the other man he was walking with, he didn’t appear menacing. The other, he carried himself differently, like he knew he was in charge. This one was tall with a cropped haircut and had a stocky build, but the one thing that stuck out about

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him was the scarring on the left side of his face. However he had gotten it, it affected his eye as well. The right was a dark brown, but this one was milky white. She couldn’t tell if it affected his eyesight since both eyes were trained solely on her. Without a word, they both sat across from her, the man with the scars signaling for the men following him to sit at the tables nearby. The waiter hovering towards the back came over, looking from the men to Lauren, his question clear in his eyes.

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Scars said, “Coffee, black.” The waiter looked at Lauren. “I’m fine, thanks.” When he hurried off to fill the new order, Lauren looked to them both. “Can I help you?” “Lauren Thompson. I’ve been searching everywhere for you. I am Jetmir, this is Brahim, and our associates,” he said pointing to himself first then the others in turn. “Yes, you can help me.”

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She blinked, shifting in her seat as she slid her purse onto her lap, slipping her hand inside to grab her phone. “It seems,” Jetmir went on, “that a mutual acquaintance of ours has something I need.” “I’m not sure what I can do to help you.” Despite what little she knew about the Volkov Bratva, she knew that Jetmir wasn’t a part of it. He lacked the distinctive tattoos she had grown accustomed to and his accent was glaringly different.

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“How much has Mishca told you since the alluring Naomi came into town? Very little I would imagine from the expression on your face.” Refusing to rise to the bait, Lauren said, “I still don’t see how I can help you.” “It seems,” Jetmir said with a smile as his gaze skirted to the windows, “you already have.” Lauren followed his gaze to the newest member to their little party. While Jetmir’s grizzly visage garnered a few stares from the other patrons in the café, the newcomer had

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everyone craning their necks to get a better look. In many ways, he reminded Lauren of Mishca with the same blue eyes and arrogant demeanor. It seemed she was just part of a testosterone battle because the newcomer hardly bothered with a glance in her direction as he sat beside her in the booth. With his presence, she was quickly forgotten. He folded his hands on the table, the tattoos covering him standing out. One, Lauren noted, was the symbol of Anarchy, inked like a ring on his middle finger. She couldn’t say

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for sure if he was under Mishca, but she could assume he was part of the Bratva from the way he stared rather blankly at Jetmir. “I expected him to show,” Jetmir said casually, “not send his loyal lapdog.” “Happened to be in the neighborhood,” he said grabbing the salt shaker from its place in the tray, unscrewing the top and setting it down on the table. For reasons only known to him, he began sprinkling the salt on the table. His accent was far grittier than Mishca’s, but no less hard to understand. He had a

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rather roguish look to him, a pronounced jaw that was clean-shaven, and curly blonde hair that was in messy disarray as though he ran his fingers through it constantly, but he also had plenty of scar to take away from what could be considered ‘pretty’ features. One was just beneath his jaw, another dissected his right eyebrow, and when he moved his hand, she could just see where burns warped the flesh of his palm and wrist. “Your time is running out,” Jetmir said ominously, tapping the face of his expensive watch.

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The newcomer smirked, shrugging one broad shoulder. “We’re working on it. There’s no need for threats.” Then his face grew serious, all humor wiped away. “You know how I respond to those.” He lifted his chin just enough, holding up the peace sign before curling those fingers, pressing them against his neck. Whatever that gesture meant, it offended Brahim. He exploded out of his chair, lunging across the table, but Jetmir grabbed the collar of his shirt, forcing him back down, all while the

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boy laughed like this was the most amusing thing in the world. Gritting his teeth, Jetmir gestured to Lauren. “Perhaps more incentive is needed.” “Give me a reason.” They stared off for several moments until the corner of Jetmir’s mouth tipped up. “We will speak soon.” Jetmir and the others stood, leaving without a single glance back. It was dead silent in the café, but Lauren couldn’t focus much on that, the newcomer was grabbing her arm, pulling her up.

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“We need to go.” He grabbed her backpack from the seat, tossing her books inside then zipping it closed. He tossed a twenty dollar bill onto the table, hauling Lauren out with little care to the onlookers. “Not to be rude, but I don’t know you either.” “Luka.” It was the only answer she got from him before he was pushing her into an idling car, climbing in behind her. Luka gave a command in Russian as they pulled off.

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“Uh…do you work for Mishca? Or are you…” She didn’t know whether she was even allowed to ask, but she couldn’t say whether he would even answer. “We are family, yes.” “Oh, okay.” She guessed that answered the question. It was quiet in the car and Lauren was at a loss as to what to say to him. Luka didn’t make it any easier for her. While Mishca’s silence was comforting, Luka’s was unnerving. From the door of the car, he pulled out a pear, then a pocket knife.

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He cut a piece, and as he lifted it to his mouth, he hesitated, extending it to Lauren. Surprised, she still shook her head no. “You might want to call the Boss.” Not taking her eyes off him, Lauren dialed Mishca. He answered after the second ring. “Moya globushka, what can I do for you?” “I’m with Luka. He’s—” “What happened?” Even she felt uneasy by the anger she heard in his voice. “Well I don’t know where

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he came from, but he showed up after those men talked to me—Jetmir or something. Mish, what the hell is going on?” “Give Luka the phone.” She handed it over, wishing she could understand what they were saying as Luka talked unhurriedly. “Yea, yea, keep my hands to myself. Got it, Boss.” Lauren could hear Mishca’s angry yelling as Luka passed her the phone back. “What’s—”

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Mishca cut her off again. “He’ll bring you to me. We can talk then.” Giving up for the moment, Lauren conceded. “Fine.” Fifteen minutes after she’d hung up with him, fifteen minutes of traveling with Luka, in that time, he hadn’t moved an inch, nor had he said a word to her. “I’ve heard plenty about you,” Luka said quietly as he studied her like a scientist might a test subject. “Our Captain doesn’t trust easily yet here you are.”

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How was she supposed to respond to that? “I haven’t heard much about you.” Luka shrugged like he expected that. “I’m his forbidden secret. Only time my phone rings is when he wants me to do something dirty.” Both of Lauren’s brows shot up, but she was more amused than anything else. “Good to know.” As the familiar sight of Mishca’s apartment building came into view, Lauren sighed in relief, ready to see him and get an

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explanation for what was going on. Yet, they kept on. Eyeing her, Luka said, “Boss wants you at the safe house.” “Safe house? Is that really necessary?” Luka flexed his fingers, tossing the knife he held end over end. “Not my place to answer.” Since he was being so talkative, she thought she might ask about the confrontation back there. “Who were those men back there?”

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“Albanian businessmen,” he answered smoothly…and a little too quickly. “Businessman like you?” He shrugged. “And this has something to do with Mishca or all of you?” She questioned trying to understand. “Is that why he came to me?” Lauren knew she should have been more afraid, especially since it had been so easy for him to find her, and with that knowledge came the thought that anyone in the complex network of underworld crime could, in fact,

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do that same, but she didn’t feel fear, not for herself at least. “You’ll know soon enough.” They took the bridge out of the city, and towering skyscrapers faded into beautiful scenery, the colors of Fall showing proudly in the leaves that clung to the trees and littered the ground. It was only a short while later that they reached their destination. With just a glance, everything Lauren thought she understood about the Bratva changed.

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In the city, besides Vlad—and now Luka—Lauren very rarely saw much security around Mishca, but outside this property, at least a dozen or more men stood around the wrought iron gate, all holding assault rifles. They stopped at the call box first, allowing the men to check the perimeter of the car before allowing them entry. Lauren peered behind her, watching the gate close behind them. It didn’t feel much like a home, but more like a prison. The house itself was a smaller version of the manor with what looked like a small

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army manning it. The car had barely rolled to a stop when Luka was opening the door, scrambling out, reaching back to offer her a hand. As she passed, a few of the guards nodded in her direction, the rest just stared. She didn’t have time to take in her surroundings as she was rushed inside and down a flight of stairs to a basement that was just as big as Lauren’s apartment with Amber. Mishca’s back was to her as she entered, barking instructions in Russian to the men

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standing in front of him. Judging from the fury she heard in his voice, he wasn’t happy. “Mish...” He cut off abruptly, turning to face her, the relief in his eyes making her think that whatever was going on with those Albanians was far more serious than she thought. She hurried over to him, enjoying the feel of his arms as they closed around her, his lips to her temple. “I’m sorry,” he whispered as he drew back. “Are you okay?” “I’m fine, just tell me what’s going on.”

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“Later. I can’t explain it all now. Until I get this straightened out, you’re going to stay here. If you need anything, Vlad will be here.” “Wait, Mish, I can’t stay here. I have school...and work.” He waved that way. “I’ll handle it.” “No, you can’t just tell me what to do. This isn’t--” “Lauren!” She jumped, her eyes grown wide as she faced his anger.

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“This isn’t negotiable. You do as I say without argument, ponyal? I’ll be back later. Luka will show you to your room.” Snapping his fingers, he brushed by her, followed quickly by the others in the room, leaving Lauren standing dumbfounded with Luka. Looking uncomfortable, Luka bounced on the heels of his feet, whistling a jaunty tune.

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Mishca was in trouble. He’d known that before leaving Lauren hours earlier, but he knew for sure when he entered the bedroom. She didn’t look away from the book she was reading when he entered, but he saw her fingers tighten slightly around the cover. He could blame it on the stress, between the constant back and

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forth with the Albanians and trying to get straight answers out of Naomi, but there was no excuse for the way he treated Lauren earlier. After issuing a not so subtle threat to Jetmir after his little display with Lauren, Mishca had thought of an apology that would help smooth things over with her, but looking at her now, when she refused to even acknowledge his presence, he knew that it wouldn’t be sufficient enough. He didn’t think he had ever seen her this angry with him, not like this, and he almost

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wished she would yell at him, hit him, anything but ignore him. Sighing, he flipped the lock on the door, dropping his bag in front of it as he crossed the room, climbing onto the bed beside her. Still, she wouldn’t look at him. He made an attempt to reach for her, but she pulled away, turning onto her side as she brought the book closer to her face. “Lauren, I’m sorry.” She smirked, the only acknowledgement she gave to his words.

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“I overreacted earlier. I—well, I can’t say it won’t happen again, then I would be lying to you.” “And we all know the great Bratva Captain never lies,” she muttered dryly. “Never intentionally.” “You know, I didn’t even know there was an Albanian Mob.” Now he was the one sighing, reclining back against the mountain of pillows on the bed. “Who told you?” She closed her book, tossing it to the foot of the bed. “No one told me. I guessed. Luka

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said

they

were

Albanian

businessmen,

seemed reasonable enough.” He laid back against the pillows, watching her out the corner of his eye. “Yes, the men you met were Albanian Mob.” “And that penis measuring thing…that was aimed at you.” He chuckled, coughing when she glared at him. “I don’t think I’ve heard you say coc—” She punched him in the arm, making him laugh harder. “I’m being serious, Mish.”

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“And I’m taking this seriously.” Rolling her eyes, she threw her pen at his head, missing him by several inches. “And what the hell was that earlier?” That sobered him up as he reached for his hand. She noticed that when he was trying to express something to her, he often touched her hands, bringing them to his lips. “I apologize, sometimes I speak before thinking. Can you forgive me?” When he looked at her with big blue eyes, she instantly forgave him, but he didn’t have

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to know that. Sighing dramatically she picked back up her book. “You never make it easy for me, do you?” She yelped as he rolled over, tugging at her leg as he rolled back into his original position, with her now on top of him. He kept his hands on her thighs as she used his chest to push up, his thumbs caressing the skin there. It was hard to stay mad at him, especially when he was groveling, but that didn’t mean she would accept half-truths from him.

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“You can’t just expect me to do what you say without any kind of explanation.” “I can’t keep you safe if you’re not with me.” “You’re not listening, Mish. What do you need to keep me safe from? I was pretty sure you weren’t the only mob in town, but that didn’t seem to make a difference. What is it about them that has you worried?” His gaze had drifted downward, his mind already sidetracked by the fact that she wasn’t wearing any pants.

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“Mish?” She said using her finger to lift his head. Laughing softly when he resisted. “Are you going to tell me?” He sighed in defeat laying back, staring at her for several heartbeats before nodding. “There’s a diamond that they want, runs in their family, I believe. They think Naomi stole it.” “And did she?” Though he shook his head no, Lauren could see he wasn’t too convinced of that fact.

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“They were the ones that shot up your club.” It wasn’t a question. It explained why he had been acting so weird afterward, refusing to talk about it. “What are you going to do about it?” “Either hand over Naomi or threaten to kill her if she doesn’t give me the diamond.” “Bit morbid, but I’ll let you handle that.” “So will you stay here for me? Please?” “Fine. One week, Mish. I’ll stay for one week.”

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He drew her down for a kiss, a silent thank you for complying to his wishes. She needed to tell him that it wouldn’t always be that easy getting her cooperation, but at the moment, she didn’t care. He smiled against her lips. “No one is on this floor,” He whispered, kissing the curve of her throat. Laughing, Lauren leaned her head back, giving him better access. “Like no one was on the floor at the manor?”

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He laughed with her, but their laughter soon stopped when they lost themselves in each other.

Mishca was gone the next morning, but the lack of his presence beside her wasn’t what woke her.

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It was the sound of a girl’s furious screaming. Slipping out of bed, Lauren hurried over to the door, cracking it open so she could see out into the hallway. What she saw there had her swinging the door open, her mouth agape in shock. Luka was marching down the hall, a girl tossed over his shoulder, his arm banded around her thighs to keep her from falling as she flailed.

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It didn’t seem to faze him as she pounded at his back, or the fact that she caught him more than once with her foot in the stomach. “Put me down!” Lauren blinked again, recognizing Alex’s voice. More surprisingly, Luka seemed not to care that he was manhandling his boss’ sister. As he was passing her, Luka saluted her with two fingers, smiling unabashed as he traveled down the hall. Alex looked up at the last minute, spotting Lauren still standing there watching them.

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Lauren expected her to start yelling insults, flip her off, or something similar, but Alex just stared, her expression unreadable until the both disappeared around the corner. Instead of addressing it, she silently closed her door back, going to take a shower before searching for breakfast. Some of the clothes she had left at Mishca’s were neatly hung in the closet, her undergarments in one of the top drawers of the dresser. After her dresser, she dressed quickly, checking her phone for any messages from

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Mishca. Zero. Leaving it for the time being, she ventured out into the rest of the house, taking in her surroundings as she went. It was not nearly as big as the manor, but it still had a homey fell that the manor had been lacking. It was decorated in cool shades of blues and grays, just like Mishca apartment in the city. She would have to ask him about that when he got back, how many residences he actually owned. Finding the kitchen took no time at all, especially with the helpful guards standing around. Every time she rounded a corner,

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there was another one, staring down at her intensely as though if they dared look away, she would disappear. All the appliances were state of the art, an island diving the kitchen in half. A bowl of fruit sat in the center of it, and on the stove top, multiple pots were bubbling away. It smelled good though she couldn’t identify what it was that was cooking. “Hello, girl.” A man had just entered the kitchen, the gun at his waist on display, a white T-shirt with sweat stains straining against his chest.

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He wasn’t particularly imposing, but it was the way he looked at her that made her feel underdressed, despite her wearing jeans and an over-sized shirt. He didn’t cower away from her like the others did, instead he made a point to move into her space. But she had no reason to fear him, not when he worked for Mishca. “You are girl, yes. Mishca’s?” One thing she found weird, he didn’t call Mishca Cap, Captain, or Boss like some of the others did. Was he purposefully trying to

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be disrespectful, or did he have the same rank? His shirt was nearly transparent, but she could see any sign of stars on his chest or arms. He did have a few tattoos, one of a rabbit in a hat, a web with a spider crawling, and a bloody dagger. Lauren had no idea what those meant. He blocked her way, smirking when she tried to move around him again, not sure what else to do, already having lost her appetite. His teeth were yellowed and terribly crooked.

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“Excuse me,” Lauren said politely though there was a hard note to her tone. When she tried to walk past him again, he gripped her arm with bruising force, forcing her to stop, hurting her more when she tried to jerk free. He spoke slowly, but in Russian so she had no idea what he was saying. Lauren was ready to knee him in the balls when they were interrupted. “Ostavlyat’—Leave.” The girl had dark hair and even darker eyes that were made up with black eyeliner

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and smoky shadow. She stood eye to eye with Lauren, but had curves she could only dream of. More importantly, she didn’t cower in the face of this man, despite the warning he was sending her with his eyes. Shoving Lauren away, muttering more words she couldn’t understand, he retreated from the kitchen. She watched him go, sighing when he was finally out of sight. “Thanks,” Lauren said gratefully, rubbing her arm.

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“I apologize for his behavior. Sometimes they forget their place. I’m Natasha, by the way.” “Lauren,” she replied shaking her hand. Natasha smiled kindly. “I know who you are. Mishca sent me to keep you company. I assume he didn’t like you alone with Mikhail’s goons.” So that explained that one guy’s problem. “You said Mishca sent you?” “Yes, I’m one of Luka’s girls.” “Girls?” Lauren sputtered. While she might not have thought he was a relationship

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type of guy—from the ten minutes she was in his presence—she didn’t think he had multiple women. Natasha

laughed

earnestly,

noticing

Lauren’s surprise. “I work at The Gilded Room.” When Lauren just stared blankly at her, she went on to explain, “It’s a brothel.” “Oh, I—Mishca doesn’t make you work there, does he?” Would she even tell her if he did? There were many things she was willing to look past, but this…this wasn’t one of them.

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“There is no need for a guilty conscious. We are no longer forced to do anything we don’t want.” So did that mean she enjoyed having sex for money? Lauren didn’t look down on the girl because of it, it just made her more curious. If she had any doubts, Natasha did look well taken care of, better than she did at the moment. “How about I fix you porridge, yes? Then we talk some more.”

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By the time Lauren left the kitchen to go back to her bedroom—not wanting to chance another encounter with Lyov—she’d learned that Mishca was as mistrusting of the men here as she was. He’d chosen to take Luka with him, leaving Vlad to watch over her, a fact she found surprising. Before, she had never seen the two separated, but now that she was here, he was sending his best enforcer to look after her. She couldn’t help but wonder whether or not Vlad resented the new position.

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And he was worried about her and Alex being under the same roof. Lauren didn’t know how Alex would react to her now that Mishca wasn’t here to be a buffer, and for that reason, she stayed scarce over the days she spent at Mishca’s house. He hadn’t come by once, though she did finally talk to him. He asked the routine questions, but when he asked how she was being treated, she hesitated. Her mind immediately went to Lyov and his unnecessarily grabby behavior.

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Despite Natasha’s warnings, and the few Vlad issued when he caught him at it, Lyov continued to harass her, forcing her to stay locked in her room the entirety of her stay. It also didn’t help that she had figured out what he had been calling her and Natasha—casually inquiring one of the guards. Shlyukha—Whore. As far as she was concerned, his opinion of her and Natasha didn’t matter, so she put it out of her mind. It wasn’t so bad, being alone, since she was able to watch her fill of movies on

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Netflix—Natasha

occasionally

dropping

by—but she didn’t tell Mishca any of this. With what he had told her, he had so much to deal with and she didn’t want to add to it. Maybe after this was all over would she tell him about it.

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Despite their relative proximity to one another, Lauren hadn’t seen Alex since Luka had carried her in, not that she’d had much of a chance. She was also unsure of what she would say on the day they finally saw each other. Part of her wanted to say, ‘look what your family did to me,’ but the bigger part of her understood that as young as Alex was, she wouldn’t understand why Lauren did what she did, not when it had caused her to break up their family.

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It was on this day that instead of waiting for a chance meeting, Lauren went in search of her. Alex wasn’t in the room Luka had dragged her to, nor was she anywhere Lauren could see, at least until she ventured outside, and by chance, looked up at the roof. How in the hell did she get up there? She was laying on her back, a cigarette dangling in one hand. She looked relaxed despite the incline, swinging her foot back and forth to a beat only she could hear. “Alex!” Lauren shouted.

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She sat up, looking down at her, shielding her eyes from the sun. Alex could have responded, said anything, but she didn’t. Lauren waited there, trying to see what she would do next, but when Alex didn’t bother to even acknowledge her presence, she ventured back into the house. She couldn’t force Alex to talk to her, just like Mishca hadn’t forced her. It was what she wanted and until she was ready, Lauren couldn’t force Alex. Hopefully Mishca would be back soon and she wouldn’t have to stay here much

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longer, already missing her friends. Now, she liked to think she preferred her limited exposure to the Bratva. “What did you want?” Alex was waiting for her in front of her room door, arms folded across her chest as she kept cold green eyes trained on her. It reminded her of the way Mishca could stare people down when he was angry. “I just wanted to say I’m sorry, for everything. It’s no excuse, but I didn’t think about how it would affect you. I was trying to hurt Viktor and Mikhail, but not you.”

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Lauren didn’t expect a response, and the one she got was definitely not what she was expecting. “You seemed okay at first—made my brother happy.” Alex said, looking at the wall. “Then you pulled the rug out from under Mikhail.” “I—” “Nope, not done yet. I have every right to be fucking pissed because I can no longer see my mother—not that she gives a shit anyway—but despite all of this, how shitty I’ve been to you, and what Viktor did to your

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family, you’re apologizing to me. What’s wrong with you?” Alex actually paused like she really wanted an answer, but as soon as Lauren opened her mouth to respond, she continued on. “And God, Mishca has been moping around like a lost puppy for months, then you show up and bam, the slow descent into alcoholism is prevented. Do you have like a magic…” She gestured to Lauren’s lower half with a wave of her hand. Unbidden, Lauren laughed. “Doubt it.”

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“Look, we have one thing in common. Our love for Mish. You’re what makes him happy and I accept that. I want that for him. Can’t say I won’t call you a bitch if I’m drunk, but I’m not going to give you a hard time. Okay?” “Okay.” Alex frowned, pushing off the wall. “You’re not one of those huggy people, are you? ‘Cause I don’t think I’m ready for all your feels.”

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Mishca was already on edge when he arrived back at the manor. Though he had originally assumed it would take a week to handle his escalating problem with the Albanians, he was back early, not that it had been his choice. Despite Mikhail agreeing that he should handle the issue, the Albanians were now

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encroaching on his territory as well which didn’t settle well with the Pakhan. Not only had they shot up Mishca’s club—bringing new heat from the Feds—but they had now stolen a shipment of guns and ammo from one of Mikhail’s contacts, an infraction that would be dealt with soon enough. Mishca was exhausted, had barely slept in the three days he’d been apart from Lauren, but he had also had a nagging feeling in his gut, one that made him to make a spontaneous trip to the house to check on her.

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It wasn’t that she had complained to him, in fact her texts to him were all relatively normal, but it was what wasn’t there that worried him. Vlad’s updates to him had been contradictory to what she had told him. Walking into the house, with Luka close behind him, Mishca surveyed the guards that were station near the front door. They were set here by his father, and while they did usually drop their gaze from his in a sign of respect, this time he thought he saw something else there before they looked away.

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Without questioning it—knowing they would lie to protect one of their own—he moved past them towards the voices he heard in the dining room. Lyov was sitting at the table, a plate of food set in front of him. Since he thought himself in charge of the men here, they all flanked him like dogs to a bone as he spoke in a hushed tone, his words not loud enough for Mishca to make out, yet even the sound of their laughter grated on his nerves. When they finally noticed Mishca and Luka’s presence, they fell silent, attempting

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to slip away, but Mishca raised his hand with a single command, “Stay.” Even if he were not there—either he or Mikhail—there were two seats that were off limits to everyone. They were symbols. And the fact that Lyov would blatantly disrespect Mishca was the last strain on Mishca’s nerves. Mishca pulled out the chair next to Lyov, plopping down with little care as he regarded the enforcer. It was hard not noticing the rising tension in the room, but no one spoke

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on it—or attempted to flee—just exchanging nervous glances. Without looking behind him, Mishca said to Luka, “Bring Lauren to me.” For a room full of killers and thieves, they could hardly hide their thoughts well…or their guilt. Mishca still hadn’t said anything to anyone, and Lyov had long since abandoned his food, sitting up straight in the chair, his hands on the table. It wasn’t far to the room Lauren slept in and soon enough, he heard their feet echoing in the hall but Mishca was practiced with

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patience, and an uncanny knack for searching the expressions for a confirmation. Out of his peripheral, he saw Luka and Lauren enter the room—Vlad coming behind them to block the door in case anyone tried to leave. When attention shifted to them, Mishca lipped the nine inch blade he kept in his vest pocket out. He kept his weapon out of eyesight, rubbing the tip of the blade against his pants leg. The seat beside him was pulled out and Mishca could smell the faint fragrance of Lauren’s perfume as she sat. It lightened the

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red haze he was under, but enough that he would stop this particular demonstration. Then, he saw what he was looking for. Lyov tried to look down quickly, hiding his expression as he picked up his fork, pushing the food around on his plate, but Mishca didn’t miss it. It was a twitch of his mouth, the slight mocking curl of his lip that told Mishca everything he needed to know. Sighing, he looked to Lauren, seeing the confusion on her face as she watched him. He had once told her that this life was full of

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violence and he would do everything he could to keep it away from her, but she had to understand that sometimes it was necessary. And now? Now was one of those times. “Forgive me,” he whispered to her and before he could watch the confusion in her face deepen, he lifted the blade in his hand and thrust it down into Lyov’s hand, twisting it mercilessly until the man cried out. He then stood, knocking his chair back a he palmed the back of the enforcer’s head, shoving it down into the plate of food, not

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caring that the prongs of the fork were stabbing him in the face. “I’ll explain this once,” Mishca said over his cries, speaking rapid Russian so Lauren wouldn’t understand. “If I hear of any of you treating her with less than the respect that she deserves, I won’t make your death painless. Head my fucking warning.” He let go of the enforcer’s head so he could come up for air, grabbing his blade to yank out, the metal coming out in a spray of blood. “Get out.”

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The men scattered like mice, all except Lyov. He knew he hadn’t been dismissed yet, but he had enough initiative to stifle his cries. Placing his own hands on the table, still clutching the bloody knife, Mishca said, “Apologize,” this time in English. He mumbled something unintelligible, but quickly spoke up when Mishca raised his hand. “I didn’t mean any disrespect to you,” he forced out between gritted teeth like that would be enough.

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Mishca stabbed him in the other hand. If it were his pride he tried keeping, there would holes riddled all over his body before he left that table. “Sorry!” He shouted, fighting past the pain to speak clearly. Satisfied for the moment, Mishca jerked his knife free and sent the man on, sending Luka after him. The demonstration might have been over, but his punishment was just beginning. With the room empty again, Mishca finally, truly, looked at Lauren, quickly

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scanning her to make sure she was okay, no longer trusting what she had told him. He didn’t know for sure whether it was fear that kept Lauren from telling him of the problem with (Name), but he needed her to know that she could tell him anything. She was surprisingly silent and more surprisingly, she wasn’t looking at him as though she had never seen him before, a fact that he was currently grateful for since he had no idea when it would change. He sat across from her this time, dropping the knife on the table to wipe his hand

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with one of the linen napkins resting there, the blood staining it. Her eyes drifted from it to him. “Vlad told you?” She asked. “If anyone bothers you, anyone, you tell me.” “Is that what you’ll do?” She didn’t sound upset, just curious. “Depends on the offense,” he answered evenly. Which, to both of them, mean if they did something to her? “Why did you want me here?”

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“So you would understand,” he said leaning forward to rest his elbows on the table. “I have always been worried that I would scare you away, and they took my precaution as a sign of weakness. I needed to show them how wrong they were, and I needed to show you that I would never allow anyone to harm you.” This hadn’t just been punishment, but a declaration. “I have a professor that’s being a pain in the ass about homework, is there like a special order for that?”

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Lauren shot Mishca a quick message, letting him know she would be dropping by the club to pick up a textbook she left there. Since he was usually in his office overseeing the repairs, she figured she could ride back with him after he was done for the night.

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She hadn’t seen much of him since the week she spent at his house and she knew that whatever was going on with Naomi had him stressing out, even when he tried not to show her. Surprisingly though, his car wasn’t outside in the back parking lot, but a guard at the rear door, reaching for the handle as Lauren approached. “Is Mishca here?” “He will return soon.” The man had a weird look when he said that, but Lauren didn’t have time to question

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it. She went up to the office, rooting around in search of her book. She found it in the bottom drawer of his desk. Grabbing it, something clattered to the bottom. It was a gold and white iPhone, very similar to the one Naomi carried. It had to be a coincidence, however, there was no reason for him to have her phone unless…unless they were together right now. A sharp noise sounded downstairs. Assuming it was the guard, Lauren ignored it, grabbing her phone to call Mishca.

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When he didn’t answer this time, she left him a voicemail. “Mish, when you get this, call me. I’m at the club and—” “Look who it is.” Lauren dropped the phone, turning to face the man that had come into the restaurant with Jetmir. He was in black, wearing heavy looking black boots, and black ski mask. Except, it wasn’t really needed. She remembered his voice. “What are you doing here?” “I hoped to find the thief. This is where I tracked her phone to.”

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She was right. It was Naomi’s phone. “What do you want with her?” She had to play dumb, not give anything away. “Let me worry about that.” Squaring her shoulders, Lauren said, “She’s not here.” She might have despised Naomi with every fiber of her being, but she wasn’t going to help any of them find her. She looked past him, expecting Pete to appear at any moment. “The guard will not be helping you.”

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It was then that Lauren noticed the gun in his gloved hand. That hadn’t been a random noise she’d heard, but a gunshot. Her eyes shifted from him to her phone on the ground, the screen lighting up, Mishca’s name appearing. “No, no.” With the gun trained on her, he stomped on the phone, shattering the glass face. “He knows where I am,” Lauren said boldly, taking a step back. “He’ll be here at any moment.”

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“Doesn’t matter. Still plenty of time to do what I want.” He grabbed her with his free hand, slinging her to the floor. The office had yet to be renovated since the shooting and there was still pieces of glass on the floor. He came down on top of her, but she grabbed a large shard tightly in one hand, slashing at him. He howled in pain, a line of blood appearing on his face. He growled words she didn’t

understand,

snatching

her

only

weapon away, searing pain sparking to life in her palm. Drawing both knees to her chest,

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she used both feet to kick him in the chest, knocking him off balance, the gun falling from his hands. Lauren scrambled out from under him, crawling towards the gun, adrenaline making her movements jerky. A heated palm slapped down on her calf as he started hauling her back, her fingers just inches from the gun. She fought with everything she had, but he was far stronger and bigger than she was, and her strength was waning.

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“No, no, no,” she kept saying the word over and over again, making him laugh harder as he easily overpowered her. “Can’t help you now, can they?” He taunted as he wrenched the down underwear her legs, as far as they would go with the limited space between them. She couldn’t see. She couldn’t think. She could hardly breathe. But the more he taunted her, the more she heard Viktor’s voice as he said that damning phrase, Ivan as he callously spoke about her father’s death.

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It all came rushing back. A surge of strength filled her, enough for her to lurch up and bite his ear. She didn’t give until she tasted blood, rearing back with the torn flesh, spitting it out as he fell backwards, reaching for his wounded ear. Scrambling

backwards,

she

finally

grabbed the gun and pointed it at him. Her hands were trembling, furious tears burning her eyes, but she refused to look away from him. “You won’t shoot me, you stupid whore.”

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She could have stopped there, could have grabbed Naomi’s phone and called the police, because after all, she had the gun now. Then, she remembered she was not dealing with ordinary men. People like him bought the police to stay out of prison, hired six figure corrupt lawyers to drag the case on, and people like him would never stop. People like Mikhail. People like Viktor. People like Mishca. She pulled the trigger.

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She had been aiming for his head, but managed to catch him in the neck, the recoil sending her flying back a few steps. Blood sprayed everywhere, getting on Lauren’s clothes and skin, and as the heated liquid hit her bare thighs, she thought of what he had been planning to do to her. She fired again. And again. And again until the gun clicked. The longer she pulled the trigger, the more she sobbed.

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She was still sobbing hen rapid footsteps carried men up the stairs, Mishca appearing first in the doorway, his eyes wide with horror as he took in the scene in front of him. If she had not used every bullet to kill the Albanian, Mishca would have been shot as well.

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Fear was such an ugly emotion, one that Mishca rarely felt. He had no need, but when he heard the voicemail Lauren left for him, and the unmistakable masculine voice in the background, the dark emotion that flooded him felt something akin to that. He abandoned his task, breaking several traffic laws as he sped to his club, but they still hadn’t been in time. “Otstupit’—Back off,” Mishca said so only they would hear though he doubted Lauren could hear anything at the moment.

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She had the gun trained on him, though he had no fear. He’d heard the click of the glock and she was shaking so badly that she could hardly aim it correctly. She was covered in blood and her jeans were bunched at her ankles, sticky red liquid coating her thighs. His heart beat faster. Mishca had to stay calm, for her. He called her name, waiting for a reaction, anything that would let him know she hadn’t checked out completely, but she didn’t respond to him, her mouth moving

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soundlessly. Tears spilled from her eyes, tracking down her cheeks. It broke his heart. Calmly, Mishca held his hands up, palms out, trying to get her to focus only on him. Her expression brought a pang to his chest. It wasn’t the fear—he expected that—but she looked so broken, reminding him why this life was too much for someone like her. He carefully took a step towards her, touching the top of the gun, lowering it before taking it from her, tucking it into the waistband of his pants. “Lauren, are you hurt?” He asked.

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It took a moment for her to answer, but when she did, she shook her head no. “Did he r—” the word caught in his throat as his eyes went to her bare legs again. It was then, he felt it. The rapid flutter of his heart, the way his mouth went dry. He was terrified of her answer and more afraid for her. She understood his question without him having to complete it, relief flooding him when she shook her head again. Crouching down, he pulled her jeans up. There was nothing he could do about the

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blood for now. Picking her up, Mishca carried her down the stairs, Luka taking up the rear. It had been a strategic move, not just because they would move faster, but also to shield her view of the other body downstairs. For once in his life, Luka had nothing smart to say a they got in the car and headed towards the safe house. There was no way for Mishca to get her to his apartment without raising any questions. It was like she had checked out mentally. Her head rested in his lap, his fingers drifting over her hair. She didn’t speak the entire

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drive there and if it weren’t for his constant checking, he worried that she had passed out. At the house, Mishca carried her in the house, directly into his bathroom. He cut on the shower, trying to get the temperature right. Lauren made a noise that had him spinning around in worry. She was tearing at her clothes, not caring that she was hurting herself in the process. “Lauren, stop!” He reached for her hands, but she slapped him away, managing to yank her

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shirt

off.

She

was

crying,

mumbling

something that sounded like, ‘get it off.’ It wasn’t the clothes she was trying to get off, but the blood coating her skin. Not knowing what else to do, Mishca hooked an arm around her waist, hauling her into the shower with him. His own clothes were soaked through in seconds, but he was too worried about her to give that much thought. Mishca held her wrists with one hand to keep her immobile, using his other to rub at her skin, showing her as it washed off. “It’s okay,” he whispered in her ear. “It’s over.”

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“I-I was looking for my book and I thought you were there…I tried calling but you didn’t answer.” She was looking at him, but he didn’t think she was actually seeing him. “I didn’t…he was going to…I had to shoot him.” “It wasn’t your fault,” he promised, still holding her as the water rained down on them. It was his fault for putting her in harm’s way. “I’m sorry.” But that would never be enough. She fell silent again, helping him pull off her jeans

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and undergarments. He was careful with her, washing her off thoroughly without making the act sexual. She didn’t need that right now. Out again, he dried her off, dressing her in one of his shirts, leaving her on the bed as he went in search of a first aid kit. Finding it beneath the sink, he carried it back into the bedroom. He carefully wiped her hand down with antiseptic, bandaging it as best he could. Shifting the covers back, he helped her in, going to change his own clothes before

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climbing in beside her, pulling her into his side. He rested his chin on top of her wet hair, rubbing soothing circles on her back. From experience, he knew there was nothing he could say to make her feel better. Only thing he could do at this point was to keep her calm and hopefully she would be willing to talk about it when she was ready. Several minutes passed as he listened for her breathing to even out. He wished he could read her thoughts, wondering whether or not his presence with her was helping at

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all. He wished he could do a number of things to make this better for her. Mishca couldn’t help the pang of anxiety he felt at the thought of losing her all over again. As much as it pained him to admit, this wouldn’t be the last time something like this happened, that would just be wishful thinking, and he loved her too much to lie about the dangers she would face by being with him. He had been selfish, only caring that she was finally with him instead of heeding his father’s warnings. He had foolishly thought

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he could protect her from anything, but how could he protect her from himself. When he finally felt her go lax, he silently slipped out of bed, tucking the covers around her. He had a job to do. Grabbing a garbage bag from the kitchen, he filled it with his own clothes and began placing hers in there as well. When he tossed her jeans in next, a flash of gold slipped from the pocket. Looking down, he spotted the gold wedding band on a delicate chain.

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Brows drawn together, he picked it up, turning it over in his hands. He knew who it belonged to with just a glance. Mishca watched as Doc stitch up the brigadier’s bullet wound, the ring of his finger curious. He knew what it was of course, but he didn’t understand why Doc wore it. His mother had worn one, but he had never seen Mikhail with one, not even when they were in the privacy of their home. Once he was finished, Doc clapped the man

on

the

shoulder,

giving

him

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instructions on how to properly care for the wound. Alone with him, Mishca asked, “Why do you wear that?” Doc looked down to where Mishca was gesturing, holding his hand out to slip the ring off. He was used to Mishca’s questions, attributing it to his unconventional upbringing. Despite only being nine, Mishca was tall for his age and carried himself like he was far older. Showing him the ring, he turned it so that he could see the engraving within the

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interior. “It’s a symbol of my love for my wife.” “My father doesn’t wear one,” Mishca said reasonably, “but he loved my mother.” The way his eyes flickered down to the floor for just a moment told Doc that he didn’t necessarily believe that. Sighing, he tried to describe it the best way he knew how. “I wear it for my family, to show others that I value them.” Mishca shook his head, turning the ring over and over in his hands. “Families are a

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weakness. You’re letting your enemies know how to hurt you.” Doc liked to think he didn’t have enemies, though with the way his life was going now, he wasn’t so sure anymore. “One day, you’re going to fall for a young lady who will make you want to give her the world. You won’t care about the danger that your life may pose because you know you’ll protect her from anything. “This,” he said slipping the ring back on his finger, “is my way of telling my enemies

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that yes, I do have a family, but I’ll die before I allow anyone to harm them.” Mishca frowned. “Hubris, is it not?” “Not when it’s true.” Mishca had fucked up. Unlike him, Cameron Thompson had did what he’d said so many years ago. He had given his life for Lauren and the only thing Mishca was doing was putting that sacrifice in danger. For a while, he leaned against the bathroom counter, staring at it, but the longer he held it, the more resolute about the decision he was about to make.

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It was time to end this, once and for all. He placed the ring on the bedside table, kissing the top of Lauren’s head as he left. Luka was down the hall, flipping the top of his lighter. “Something you need, Boss?” “Whatever she needs, get her. If she wakes up, call me immediately.” Nodding, Luka got that calculating gleam in his eye. “You sure you don’t want me with you?” “I can handle it.”

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“How is she?” Vlad asked as he snapped on a pair of latex gloves, tossing Mishca another pair. “I don’t know,” Mishca replied honestly. “She hasn’t said much. Once we’re finished here, we’re going to meet with Jetmir.” Vlad shot him a curious glance, but didn’t question him.

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It took a few hours and a couple of calls to get rid of any evidence connecting Lauren to anything at the club. Once the job was done—and

double

checked

by

Mishca—Mishca sent his men home. “Let’s go.” Mishca and Vlad drove some ways out of town, to a cemetery that was closed to the public at night. Jetmir was waiting, his men with guns at the ready. He raised a brow when Mishca exited the car, his other brow joining the first as Mishca went to the trunk, opening it.

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He gestured at the body. “You sent your hound to my door.” Gritting his teeth, Jetmir’s hands flexed. “And this is what? A challenge?” “No, this ends. You want your property, I want you out of New York. Give me three days to either get the diamond for you, or I’ll hand Naomi over myself.” Jetmir laughed coldly, shaking his head. “This was my suggestion from the beginning. Why accept now?” Because then, Mishca wasn’t willing to hand

Naomi

over

knowing

what

the

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Albanians had planned for her. She might have been a conniving bitch, but no one deserved that fate. But now that Lauren was caught up in this? He would happily hand her over without a single regret. “My reasoning is none of your concern. Do you agree to this? You don’t send your men with any messages and you do not go near anyone I care about. Understood?” Jetmir looked like he wanted to argue, but he had the good sense to nod, extending his hand. He might have been relentless in his pursuit of what he’d lost, but he was not

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blind enough to see that this Russian was a man of his word. “Same place.” Jetmir barked an order to his men and they came over, removing the body from the trunk. Mishca didn’t complain, even if they thought to use him as blackmail, there was nothing on the body to connect it with him or Lauren. Now that he was done with him, Mishca had one more stop to make.

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As he stepped into the hotel room, Naomi reached for him, sliding he arms around his shoulders, pressing her breasts against him, her lips to the underside of his jaw. “I’m glad you came,” she whispered. Mishca pulled her arms down, setting her away, making a frown appear on her lips.

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He stepped past her, seating himself in the armchair away from the window. Before he sat, however, he made a show of withdrawing the gun from the waistband of his trousers, resting it on his knee. A corner of Naomi’s mouth tipped up as she untied the sashes of her robe, letting the two sides fall open to reveal pale skin, complemented by blue lace. “Is this the game you want to play?” She asked sweetly as she disposed of the robe, dropping down to her knees to crawl towards

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him,

the

sway

of

her

hips

almost

hypnotizing. A lesser man might have been tempted by her performance, but Mishca was not an average man. When she was kneeling between his legs, her hands sliding up his inner thighs, he reached for her then, his fingers closing around her delicate wrists, squeezing enough that she knew he was serious. She gasped in delighted joy for a moment—there were times during their lengthy affair that things got rough between them—but she realized

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quickly enough that this wasn’t anything like that. He let her go, just long enough to place the gun on the table beside him, drawing her up to her feet as he stood. “Choose carefully what you say next,” he said slowly, without an ounce of humor in his voice. “Where. Is. The. Diamond?” She wrenched free from his hold—only because he let her—now glaring at him as she rubbed her wrists. “I told you. I don’t have it.” “Naomi—”

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“Don’t use that tone with me!” She snapped, sneering, “Is that how you get your way with her? Does she do your bidding like a well-trained whore? Or is it you that does the mewling?” She asked, her entire demeanor changing as she fingered a button on the front of his coat. “Do you have to hide your true nature? Would she run away from the real man lurking behind the surface?” Naomi tsked. “Don’t forget, the nice ones never last long in this life, Mishca. I’m sure you can remember that.”

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She smiled coyly, knowing she had hit her mark

when

he

almost

imperceptibly

flinched, but she also knew she had made a grave mistake when his eyes crackled like blue fire. Mishca felt a coldness wash over him, the same coldness he had learned to rid himself of to keep from losing himself to this life completely. But right now, he forgot all of his renowned self-control. Grabbing her by the hair, he threw her into the chair, the force of the movement sending it back on its hind legs. As she made to

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get up, he snatched up his gun, shoving the barrel of it against her throat, keeping her in place. She cleared her throat, forcing a smile. “That’s the Mishca I remember.” “Tell me where the diamond is.” “I don’t—” “Do not lie to me,” he warned as he cocked the hammer back, “or I’ll paint these walls with your brain.” Smirking, she said, “Seems counterintuitive when I wear your stars.”

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“And I’ll burn those fucking stars off your back if I need to.” She remained stubbornly silent, practically daring him to act. So be it. If he couldn’t hand over the diamond, they could have her body. Moving his finger to the trigger, whatever she saw in his face made her break. “I’ll have to bring it to you,” she hastened to say, her eyes now following the movement of his finger as he removed it from the

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trigger. “Tomorrow. I have it stored in a safety deposit box.” Lowering the gun, he crouched down until they were eye level. “Two o’ clock, tomorrow. The Fountain. You bring it, then you leave and never show your face here again.” Stashing his gun away, he gave her his back as he headed towards the door. “All of this for her? Why is she so special?” He expected the bitterness in her voice, but beneath it was a sadness he hadn’t expected. He had never thought much of how

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he treated the women that came and went in his life, only thought that since there was a mutual understanding as to what was expected, there wouldn’t be an issue, but as he was seeing now, the lines sometimes blurred. “Because I love her,” he answered honestly. And this time, she was the one who flinched.

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Lauren kept her eyes closed though she felt Mishca move from beside her. He was careful, moving silently around, trying not to disturb her. She had wanted to sleep, but every time she about to drift off, images of the Albanian had her too afraid to succumb to her unconscious, not sure what she would find in her dreams.

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It was easy, pretending like she was sleeping, because she counted in her head. The only way she could keep herself from going back to that dark place was to count aimlessly, thinking of random numbers in various combinations. She could hear him beside her, the sound of something dropping onto the dresser reaching her ears. He pressed a tender kiss to her forehead, the act taking away some of the anxiety. She had no idea what to feel.

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Guilt mixed with relief. Anger and sadness. Fear and justification. Standing up, she tiptoed across the cool floor, cracking the door to peer out. Luka was laying on the floor with his feet against the wall, staring up at the ceiling as though it held all the answers in the world. “What’s doing?” She didn’t know why she had gotten up, just wanting to move around, but now she felt obligated to answer him. “My shoulder hurts. Is there any aspirin?” Actually her shoulder did hurt, probably

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from the recoil of the gun after shooting it the first time. It had more power than she was expecting. “I could call the Doc for you, have him look it over. Cap might want me to do that, be responsible and all.” “The Doc?” “Shit, I forgot you’re new. We have a doctor on call. Comes whenever we need him.” He didn’t know and the words explaining it to him caught in her throat. The only thought that repeatedly ran in her mind was that there was another doctor.

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She didn’t know what she had thought. It wasn’t like they were not going to need a doctor just because her…but they couldn’t just replace him, could they? “Yo?” Luka was looking at her as though she might be having a panic attack. She felt like she was. “Yes,” she said without thinking about. She didn’t know what she would say when the doctor got there, but she needed to see for herself.

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It was the way he carried himself that brought the first lance of pain, then there was the slight scent of beeswax and rubber that clung to his hands when he brushed her hair back to gaze down at her shoulder. Even in the way his eyes could be caring one moment, but detached the next.

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Just for an instant, Lauren didn’t see the strange man standing next to her. No, she saw Cameron Thompson, at least how she last remembered him. That easy smile of his, familiar golden eyes with laugh lines fanning out beside them. She could almost imagine it was him who was tending to her, but all too soon, that illusion shattered, leaving only the reality of the situation she found herself in and the emptiness she felt at seeing her father’s replacement.

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“You’re—” She needed to clear her throat, “—Doc, right?” “Yes, that’s what they call me.” “What’s your real name?” He seemed taken aback by her question, looking to Luka for an answer though she doubted he would be able to give him one. If he knew about her relationship with the Volkovs, he would have never brought the man here. Mishca wouldn’t have allowed it. She couldn’t help but wonder what else she didn’t know, how many more of his

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secrets would hurt her. She thought the worst thing that could have happened to them was his uncle, but she realized that that was just hitting the surface. “Derek Myers, mam.” She nodded. “Luka, could you get me a glass of water?” He left the room. “Do you have a family, Mr. Meyers?” His hands stilled on her shoulder where they were gingerly pressing against her skin. She realized what that question might have sounded like coming from her.

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To him, she was just another one of them. “I’m sorry,” she said quickly. “You don’t have to answer that if you don’t want.” Whatever he might have heard in her voice had him answering. “I have a wife and two sons.” She squeezed her eyes shut, fighting past the pain in her chest. It was like a raw, festering wound that refused to heal. “I’m so sorry.” “Pardon me?” She shook her head, falling silent, letting him continue his work in peace. When

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Mishca returned, she would do whatever she could to help.

The light shining from beneath his bedroom door had Mishca’s heart skipping a beat, his somber mood lifting. He briefly wondered why Luka hadn’t called him until

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he saw the enforcer coming out of the kitchen with a glass of water. “She’s awake?” He nodded. “Her shoulder was hurting so I called Doc.” “Fuck.” Mishca’s cursed drowned out Luka’s next words, but he didn’t care. Mishca couldn’t blame him for this. He hadn’t known their history, but with each step closer to the bedroom he took, a sense of foreboding filled him. Doc was wrapping gauze around Lauren’s shoulder when he entered, followed by

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medical tape. Lauren’s eyes found him immediately, but she didn’t say anything, her eyes said it all. “You should be fine,” Doc was saying, oblivious to Mishca’s presence. “Take it easy for a while so you won’t further strain the muscle. Have Luka call me in a couple of days and I’ll come by to check on it.” She nodded silently. Patting her knee, he repacked his supplies, heading back out, speaking to Mishca before leaving out. Mishca closed the door

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behind him, hovering near the door, not knowing what to do. He was anticipating what she would do now. Would she scream at him? Would she fight him? Either would be understandable, but she did nothing “How are you feeling?” “How much?” She asked softly. He blinked, surprised, but confused by her question. “What?” “How much does he owe your family? Isn’t that why he works for you?”

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Scrubbing a hand down his face, Mishca sighed going to sit in one of the chairs across from her, knowing she probably didn’t want him near her at the moment. “Lauren—” “Answer me.” “Five-hundred-thousand.” “And when his debt is paid, he can go back to his family, and none of you will bother him again.” “Not in so many words.” “Then explain it to me, clearly, so I can understand.”

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“It’s not just about the money,” he said, the words seeming pulled from him. “But you never answered the question. If he pays his debt, is he free to be with his family?” “In a way, yes.” “I’ll pay it.” “Lauren—” “I have the money, just tell me what to do. Do you need it in cash, small bills? A check?” “I can’t allow you to pay his debt?” “Why not?” She asked looking at him.

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God, it was like her pain was manifesting inside of him, making his heart ache. “You do not have that kind of money.” “Actually, I do. When your father paid for my mother’s silence, my dad had already set up a trust for me that came from his life insurance. I can pay it, just tell me.” “Lauren, you’ve been through a great deal tonight and I don’t want you—” “No!” Her sudden shout made him fall silent. “Do you even know his name? About his family? I can’t let them experience what we did.”

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She was on the verge of breaking down and the sight of that crushed him. This was what it would always be. Something would always remind her of Cameron and there was nothing he could do about that, but he could save her further pain. He had made a mistake chasing after her, blindly believing that everything would be okay. If her happiness and peace meant he had to live without her, he would push her away for her own good. “His debt can never truly be paid off,” Mishca said calmly, turning off the emotions

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that plagued him when she was around. “He borrowed half a million from the Bratva, that’s not including the interest or whatever else Mikhail has tacked on.” “Give me a number.” “Seven-hundred, maybe more. I don’t know for sure.” “Find out.” “It’s not going to make difference.” She got out of the bed, minding her shoulder, coming over to stand in front of him, so close that he could practically feel the rage pouring out of her. “You call your

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father, you find out the amount it would take to sever the doctor’s ties to you and I will pay it. I’ll give you whatever you want.” “And if Mikhail doesn’t agree?” “Then you find a way to make him!” she screamed at him, her voice breaking. “How could you do this? Wasn’t one family enough? You have to destroy another one?” He flinched at her words, but the storm was still raging inside of her, but he continued on. This was for her own good. “The choice is theirs. No one forces them to take the money, nor are there any secrets

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about the way we do business. Don’t lay the blame at my feet.” That had its desired effect. She didn’t attack him like he was expecting, she just stared at him with those uncanny eyes of her. It took everything in him not to look away. “He’s not Cameron,” he whispered. “I know an apology will never be enough, but I won’t stop saying it until you believe me. Even if that means I can’t have you.” The last part slipped out before he could stop it.

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“Mish, I killed someone.” And he could see it eating at her though she tried to stay calm. “I don’t know what I’m doing anymore. I don’t even know who I am, but I can’t just sit back and watch this happen right in front of me.” “You have no say in the matter. Just because we sleep together does not give you the right to question me.” In that moment, he felt just like his father, but if he was going to do this, he had to do it the right way. “Come.”

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She didn’t argue with him. He didn’t even think there was any fight left in her. He only caught a glimpse of her face as she climbed back on the bed, allowing him to pull the covers over her. It hurt. It physically pained him to say his next words. “This was a mistake, bringing you here, pursuing you from the beginning. Once I knew who you were, I should have let you go, spared you all this pain, but I wanted you still.” He cradled her face in his hands, memorizing her features, knowing this would be the last chance he was able.

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“I have to let you go.” He stepped away from her, running his fingers through his hair as he tore his gaze away from her, leaving her on the bed. “I’ll have Luka take you home in the morning. Don’t worry about the Albanians, I’ve taken care of that. I’ve taken care of everything. Just…be happy.” She hadn’t said another word the entire time he was in the room, her back to him. The distance between them never felt so great.

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He didn’t look back as he left, he couldn’t stand the idea of what she might have looked like laying there, crying silently at his callous words. It was the right thing to do, ending things, leaving her to enjoy the life Cameron had left for her. Even if it meant he lost his heart in the process.

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Naomi wiped a stray tear from her eye as she caught sight of one of the men she should have been avoiding at all costs. But she had never played by the rules and after her brief meeting with Mishca the night

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before, she needed to quell that feeling of sadness that plagued her since his rejection. The sadness, the…pitiful emotion was a weakness for her, standing in the way of the only thing left on her mind. Revenge. And there was only one way she could get what she wanted. No, she couldn’t keep the diamond—she valued her life too much—but she would be damned if she was the only one to lose everything. Her plan was fool proof. While she had spent most of her time with Jetmir, she knew

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enough about the youngest Besnik to have him play into his hands. Time to get started. The upscale gambling parlor was owned by a pair of Albanian immigrants. It was once a restaurant, but when money grew tight for them, and they were unable to continue payments to the mob, they were forced to give up the property. The guard didn’t bother asking for her name, judging her by her attire. He knocked twice on the giant door, a signal for the guard on the other side to open it.

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Naomi zeroed in on Brahim, knowing that slumped, defeated frame anywhere. Showtime. “Martini, please,” she told the bartender, boldly taking the seat next to Brahim. He looked up in surprise, blinking twice to make sure he was really seeing her. He began reaching into his coat, but she laid her hand over his. “No need for guns, Brahim darling. I come in peace.” Naomi accepted her drink with a smile, crossing her legs as she withdrew the olive from the glass, tapping it on

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the rim before taking it into her mouth. “Unless you’re into that type of thing, of course.” “What do you want?” “To return what is rightfully yours,” she said with a smile, tossing her hair over her shoulder. “Djegia Flaka.” “I should call my brother,” Brahim stated already reaching for his phone. Naomi tightened her grip only slightly, rubbing her fingers over the back of his hand. “Or you could handle this yourself. Jetmir told me how you long to make a name for yourself amongst your,” —she waved her

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hand to the men around them—“peers. Why not get the diamond yourself? No one could doubt you then.” “What are you talking about?” “I came to New York, not because I wanted to escape your brother, but because I was forced. Mishca forced me to steal it and bring it to him or he would kill me.” “How do I know this to be true?” “Brahim, would I ever lie to you?” He actually seemed to consider this. He really was as gullible as they said. “Tell me where it is, now.”

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She saw the light in his eyes, the need to be more than he was. Checkmate. “Mishca already has it. You know he will never give it up, or even admit that he has it. The only way you can take it from him is by having leverage.” Brahim tapped the bar top with his fist, his eyes following the glass as she brought it to her lips. “We have nothing on the Russian. Are you offering yourself?” “No, no. He would never go for that…” She trailed off meaningfully, waiting for the

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moment she saw the defeat in his eyes before continuing. “But if you took the girl, he would give you anything you asked for.” “She is meaningless,” Brahim counted with a shake of his head. “They both said so.” “Do you truly believe Mishca would have confessed that to you, or even to your brother? He wanted to keep you away from her, to continue to lay the blame on me. He’s lying to you all.” “I thought as much.”

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Naomi had to stifle the urge to roll her eyes. She doubted Brahim thought of anything remotely clever. Taking out a slip of paper, she quickly scribbled an address on it. “She will be here later this evening. She’ll be alone since Mishca is expecting to meet me.” Hopping down, Naomi smoothed the front of her dress. “If you have any men you can trust, get the job done. Imagine what they will say about you? No longer will Jetmir be the leader of the family, you’ll have your own notoriety.”

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She left him there, watching her walk away. Outside, Naomi signaled for a taxi, putting on a pair of opaque sunglasses. Her work was done. With suspicion off her for the time being, she could get a head start out of the country and be off the grid within twenty-four hours. She smiled to herself. Not only would she have her revenge on Mishca, but she would bring about mayhem that could never be subdued.

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Brahim turned the paper over in his hands, memorizing the address before tossing it in the garbage on his way out. He might not have trusted Naomi, but he had to admit that her plan was ingenious. The Russians would never expect it and he would finally have the respect he so

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rightfully deserved, but there was one thing he had to do. He had to tell Jetmir. He wanted to share this with him, as long as it was known that it was his idea. He and his right hand, Marco, drove back to the brownstone where Jetmir was. Brahim could hardly contain his excitement as he hurried inside, nearly tripping over his own feet in his haste. He ignored the laughter echoing behind him, knowing they wouldn’t be laughing for long. Brahim was never under the impression that any of Jetmir’s men respected him. He

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wasn’t remembered for the work he had accomplished, but for the mistakes he had made over the years. Out of thirteen assignments, only three of those were botched, but those three were worth far more. The first, he was meant to intercept a shipment of guns from Sicily to London, but during the theft, communications were scrambled, leaving the only remaining survivor opportunity to escape with the guns and detailed descriptions of Brahim and his men.

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Brahim didn’t think he had ever seen Jetmir so angry. The next time was an assassination attempt on a rival arms dealer, resulting in one of the biggest bloodbaths that Albania had ever seen. Brahim still didn’t know how he had fucked that one up. He found Jetmir in a back room, a whore sitting on his lap, whispering in his ear. Clearing his throat, Brahim looked to his brother, speaking so only he would hear. “Can I talk to you? It’s urgent.”

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Brahim had always had an uncanny knack for reading facial expressions, even if it where there for a second. It was also one thing he wished he didn’t notice. While it came in handy for discussing business arrangements, it was burden when he saw the resignation on his brother’s face. He had only ever wanted to make his brother proud of him, since no one else seemed to think highly of him. Even their father used to turn his nose down at him in favor of Jetmir.

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Staring at him for a while, Jetmir finally pushed the girl off of him, rising to his feet. Brahim followed Jetmir out into the hallway, ignoring the scantily clad whores that rushed past them, sneaking glances at Jetmir. While he was a menace to some, Jetmir was a ladies’ man, even with his scar. “What is it, Brahim?” “The Russians have been playing us, they’ve had the diamond all along. If we strike now, we—” “How do you know this?”

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He didn’t want to give away his source, knowing what Jetmir would think if he told him. “It is a hunch, but I know—” “Leave it.” Brahim scoffed, trying for another tactic. “But—” “I said, leave it,” Jetmir snapped, not bothering to keep his voice down, silencing the chatter in the other rooms, making Brahim to flush in embarrassment. “We have an agreement, the Russians and I, they will deliver as promised.”

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“What agreement?” Brahim asked frowning. “I do not recall you speaking with them.” “I handled it alone.” Brahim felt betrayal at his words. His brother had made a promise to him to never leave him out of the business deals, knowing that Brahim wanted to learn from him when the time came for him to lead the family business. “They are playing you, brother. I—” “Brahim.”

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He hated that condescending tone when Jetmir spoke to him like he was a child. It grated on every nerve he had. “This is no longer up for discussion. Do as your told.” Jetmir cupped his shoulder, trying to lessen the sting of his harsh words. “There will be other opportunities, give it time.” Jetmir brushed by him, returning to the back room. Brahim expected him to shoot down the idea in the beginning, but after revealing everything Naomi had told him, then Jetmir would be all for the idea.

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Yet, here he stood like an idiot, shunned by the only man these men respected.

“She’s refusing to leave until she sees you.” “What?” Mishca was on his third glass of Vodka though the effects had yet to kick in. He

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couldn’t bring himself to even turn off the emotions long enough to focus on anything else. He was so out of it, he hadn’t even known Alex had been standing there for several minutes studying him. “You should probably go talk to her. I doubt you want Luka man-handling her.” Mishca dragged himself from the chair, stopping at the door to look back at his sister. “Don’t look at me like that,” she said rolling her eyes. “It would be no point in

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trying to keep you two apart. True love and blah blah blah.” “We ended things.” She laughed. She actually laughed at him, patting his shoulder. “Even I didn’t believe that would last.” Lifting the glass, he prepared to tip the rest of his drink into his mouth, but Alex snatched it from him, smiling as she drunk it down in a single gulp. “For luck.” He was too tired to rise to her bait.

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It took thirty-seven steps to get from his office to the bedroom. In those thirty-seven steps, he thought of every possible scenario Lauren would say to him once he was in her presence, and each one would break him. Luka shot out of the room, laughing in earnest as he ducked, a shoe flying past him, slamming against the wall. “I like her,” Luka said brushing by Mishca as he disappeared down the hall. Mishca hesitated as he peeked around the corner, trying to discern whether it was safe for him.

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Lauren was sitting, not looking at him as she bounced her leg, a sign that she was agitated. “Luka bothering you?” Mishca asked, tucking his hands in his pockets, leaning back against the wall. She smirked, the action lightening her eyes, momentarily overshadowing the darkness that was still there. “He’s insane.” That much everyone knew. “I thought you would be gone by now.”

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That melted away the happiness on her face. “I thought about what you said last night and I’ve decided that I respectfully disagree. We’re not ending things just because of a pissing match between you and your rival.” What. The. Fuck. It was like he was talking to someone entirely different. Did she not remember what happened the other night? “It won’t just be the Albanians,” Mishca said pointedly. “But I have you.”

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“I won’t always be around.” “Then Vlad or Luka will be there. They follow me around enough anyway.” “There’s always going to be something that will remind you of your father.” She sighed, crossing the room until she was in front of him. Reaching up, she touched his chest, over his heart. “Then I’ll deal with it.” “No.” “Now who’s the one running?” She asked softly, refusing to back down.

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“What are you not understanding?” Mishca asked exploding off the wall. “You could die.” “That’s a chance I’m willing to take.” “I’m not.” “And you think it’ll make a difference now? I may not bear your mark, but everyone knows I’m yours. You can’t just erase that.” She shoved him, making him stumble back a step. “Your enemies, whoever they may be, aren’t going to care that we’re no longer together. They’ll still use me to get to you.”

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Although he hated to admit it—and he hadn’t thought of that—she was right. In her presence, he forgot his position, and he’d arrogantly paraded her around without a single thought to the consequences. But he wasn’t ready to give in yet. “I can still keep you safe without—” “Okay, fine.” She threw her hands up. “Then, I’m free to see whoever I want, right? Johnny did ask me out a few weeks ago, maybe I’ll call him.” Mishca’s arm shot out so fast, Lauren jumped. She had thought to walk past him

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with that parting remark, but Mishca stopped her from going anywhere. He was surprised the wall hadn’t given away. “Nyet.” “Can’t have it both ways, Mish.” “Who the hell is Johnny?” She smirked, knowing she had got him exactly where she wanted him. “This is what I want, Mish. I don’t know how else to tell you that. It’s time you stopped running from this. Isn’t that what you told me?”

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“I don’t run from anything.” “Prove it.” Tilting her face up, he pressed a hard kiss to her lips, conceding to what she was saying. He knew he had been a goner since the first day he laid eyes on her. Mishca couldn’t let her go, even if he wanted to. “Vy budete menya v mogilu—You’ll be the death of me.” Smiling, she said, “Were you telling me how great I am?” Drawing back, he blew out a breath, laughing at the fact that he had been out

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negotiated…again. “Of course.” Kissing her again, he said, “You should get going. My business with the Albanians should be over soon.” “Be careful, Mish.” “You have my word.” He dropped his arm, allowing her to pass him. “I still want to know who Johnny is.”

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It felt odd being back at home, like the events over the last few days hadn’t happened. Dropping her bag on the floor, Lauren collapsed back on the couch, sighing at how relieved she felt at such a mundane act.

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She had only been sitting for a couple of seconds before the doorbell rang, probably Luka bringing her whatever she may have forgot in his car. Opening the door, Lauren gulped, wishing for the hundredth time that she had learned her lesson the last few times she had answered the door without checking to see who was on the other side. She tried pushing the door shut, but one of the men threw his arm out, catching it before it could close. Instead of trying to go for her phone—knowing that she would not be

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able to call for help before they could get to her—Lauren reached for the vase, grabbing the neck of it and slamming it down on the man’s head closest to her, but there were too many of them for her to fight effectively. She took off down the hall, stampeding feet echoing behind her. Just reaching the window in her bedroom, she wrenched it open, halfway out before someone grabbed her ponytail, yanking her back into the room. A bag was thrown over her head, her wrists and ankles bound with ties. No matter her struggles, they were able to restrain her,

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carrying her down the flight of stairs to an unmarked van waiting at the curb. Her heart was racing, but Lauren tried to stay calm. Her restraints were too tight for her to wiggle free, and the booted foot pressing against her back kept her from moving from her position on the floor of the van. It felt like they traveled for hours though it was little more than thirty minutes. The sliding door was opened, the men around her climbing out, shaking the van. Someone grabbed her, tossing her over her shoulder,

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graveling crunching beneath their boots as they carried her into a building. They went up a flight of stairs, the wood creaking beneath their feet. After about another minute, she was dropped down into a chair, her arms cut free momentarily before they were bound behind her back, her legs to the chair. Then, footsteps receded. She was left to her thoughts, the stillness around her causing more fear than the reality that she had been kidnapped. She

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couldn’t even say who had done it since she didn’t recognize any of the men. She didn’t know how long she sat like that before she heard someone coming towards her and the bag was snatched from her head, making Lauren wince at the bright light from the windows around her. She was in a building, large holes in the ceiling pouring light onto the hardwood floors. She couldn’t see much, only what was directly in front of her since several men were currently moving around near the stairwell.

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One was setting up a tripod some feet away from her, another fiddling with a camcorder. There was only one she thought she recognized and only after he turned to face her did she recognize who he was. Brahim Besnik, Jetmir’s brother. When he noticed Lauren’s attention on him, he smiled broadly, his eyes glinting with excitement as he stepped towards her, close enough that she could feel his breath on her face as he leaned forward. “Good to see you’re awake.”

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She couldn’t say much with the gag in his mouth. Laughing when he realized this, he yanked it from her mouth. Not wasting her time, Lauren asked, “What do you want with me?” “You? I want nothing from you, but I need something from that Russian of yours.” “The diamond,” Lauren said. “He doesn’t have it.” “And you know this? He would never share that with you even if he did, just to avoid a situation like this.” “He—”

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“Shut up. Now, this can be easy for you, or—” he reached out suddenly, wrapping his hand around her throat, squeezing just enough to cut off her air, “—I can make this one of the worst days of your life.” When

he

finally

released

her,

she

coughed, breathing in deeply. Again, she asked, “What do you want?” “How about a demonstration? You will read from there,”—he pointed to one of the men holding large cards—“and we will record a lovely video for the Bratva Captain.”

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She looked from him to the other men that were waiting patiently, their smiles making fear course through her. Without a doubt, she knew this was already the worst day of her life.

Mishca had waited at the drop for over an hour, but Naomi never showed. He tried

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calling her, but the disposable phone she had been using was disconnected. “What are you going to do?” Vlad asked as they got back in the car. “Set up a meeting with the Albanians, tell them what I know. I can’t risk protecting Naomi anymore.” That was going to be harder than it sounded. His word was his bond, and now that he had neither the diamond nor Naomi to hand over to Jetmir, they would assume he was hiding her, no matter what he told them.

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Digging out his phone, he called Lauren, wanting to tell her that she would need to get back to the safe house, but it went to voicemail. He wasn’t looking forward to his next call. “I wasn’t able to uphold my end of the deal,” Mishca said to Mikhail, tamping down his pride in asking his father for help. “What should I do?” “Let’s not do business over the phone. I will meet you at your club.” “See you then.”

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Mishca had made it a habit never to involve his father in his business dealings, not just because he didn’t want his men to get the wrong impression of him, but because he sometimes felt like he lived in his father’s shadow and that was a place he didn’t want to be.

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He tried her phone again, but when Mishca got no answer, he cursed, redialing before he could crush the electronic device. It was just a feeling at first, something that was rubbing him the wrong way. From the moment he felt that budding anxiety in his chest, he’d called Lauren, just to hear her voice, but with each unanswered call, that anxiety grew. When he reached her voicemail again, Mishca ended the call, looking around the room for his keys, at least until his phone rang.

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Without looking at the caller id, he answered. “Lauren?” “Mishca, this is Amber.” The fear in her voice made him stand up straighter. “Amber? What’s wrong?” “I need you to come to the apartment. Lauren’s gone.”

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Amber was pacing the foyer when Mishca, Vlad, and Luka arrived. She barely gave his men a glance, focusing solely on Mishca. “I didn’t know what to do,” she said quickly, her eyes red from crying. “I came back and the apartment looked like this.” There was broken porcelain on the floor, paintings strewn around the room, and the further Mishca entered the apartment, he saw the door to Lauren’s room.

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It was open, but the frame on it was splintered, a large footprint on the door itself. “Did you call the police?” Mishca asked. He didn’t have time to deal with local law enforcement if she did, knowing that he would be the first person they went to after the ordeal with them. “No,” Amber answered shooting a glance at Vlad. “Lauren told me about you.” Mishca arched a brow, not bothering to question that at the moment.

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“See that?” Luka asked in Russian, going over to crouch in Lauren’s doorway, picking up the butt of a cigarette. “What do you want to do about her?” Vlad asked inclining his head in Amber’s direction. “Is there somewhere you can go?” Mishca turned to Amber, trying his hardest not to panic. She nodded. “Stay there and wait for my call.” To Vlad and Luka, Mishca said, “Let’s go.”

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They were back out the door as fast as they entered, Mishca already pulling out his phone to call one of his contacts. “Mishca?” He looked back to where Amber was standing looking down on him, her demeanor going from worry to serious. “I encouraged her to go back to you, don’t let her get hurt because of that.”

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With one phone call, every member of the Bratva that answered to Mishca were waiting for him inside his club, and even some that worked for Mikhail. He wasn’t there yet, but his presence wasn’t necessary. From wherever he was, Mikhail had made calls as well, and he had men scouring the streets in search of Lauren.

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“Someone

saw

something!”

Mishca

shouted at them. “Find them.” Only one had the audacity to scoff. If Mishca hadn’t been so wired, he might not have heard it, but once he did, he spun around, finding the source of the noise. Lyov. His hand was still bandaged from Mishca’s last assault, but he still hadn’t seemed to learn his lesson. “Strip him.” That got everyone’s attention. There were only a select few in the Bratva that could

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order a person’s legacy to be removed from them. Mishca was one of them. Having Lyov ‘stripped’ was not as bad as it seemed, it was worse. Mishca watched as several of his men dragged Lyov away despite his protests. In the next few hours, every tattoo he had dedicated to the Vory v Zakone would be sliced with an ‘X’, then torched, rendering the tattoos illegible. “You are not sanctioned to do this!” Lyov growled at him, still being yanked away.

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That much was true—Lyov wasn’t under Mishca’s command—but he would deal with the consequences of his actions later. Twenty minutes passed and still nothing. After the first ten, Mishca had threatened to kill everyone in the room if they continued to just stand there—although he knew there were plenty more out checking around. Vlad had to force him into his office and block the door before he could threaten anyone else. Through chaos, Vlad was the voice of reason. “Who do you think could have done this?”

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A bitter laugh escaped Mishca as he buried his face in his hands. “The list is endless.” He had more enemies than any man should, and probably more that he didn’t yet know about, but he could only think of two that were bold enough to act against him. The Irish and the Albanians. “Where’s Declan?” “Last I heard, he was out of the country.” Which didn’t ultimately mean that he was. “Verify that I’ll—” “Boss?”

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“What!”

Mishca

snapped

at

Luka’s

intrusion. “There’s something you should see.” Luka’s tone made Mishca look away from his phone, up to where he stood with a young boy. The boy was nervous, constantly peeking up at Luka like he thought he might harm him. In his hand he held a video camera. Trying to reign in his temper so as not to frighten the boy. “What is it?” The boy looked from Luka to Mishca, his eyes moving to the stars on his chest. That

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put him on edge. People didn’t immediately look for the stars unless they knew where they were. “Who are you?” “He told me to give you this,” the boy said extending his arm, holding the camera out for Mishca to take. If not for the accent, he might have excused this as one of his father’s attempts at being cloak and dagger, but he knew without a doubt this was another message from the Albanians.

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“Send him off,” Mishca said in Russian, “and come right back.” As Luka hurried off to do his bidding, Mishca turned the bulky camera over in his hands, trying to discern anything he could from the state of it. It was fairly new, with only a few scratches on it. Pressing the button at the top, he switched the camera on, going to the gallery, locating the only file within it. Luka and Vlad walked around to his side as he pressed play on the video.

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The screen was black before the picture abruptly started, views of a crumbling building coming into focus until it zeroed in on Lauren. Mishca’s legs dropped down from the desk as his fingers tightened around the camera. She was bound to a chair, her eyes bloodshot, her cheeks streaked with tears. Gagged with a black cloth, she looked terrified. A burly man appeared from behind the camera, walking over to her to rip the cloth from her mouth. She winced and the look of

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pain that lanced across her face made him want to hurl the camera across the room. The man didn’t bother with a mask, knowing that Mishca wouldn’t go to the police with this…and because the Albanians were crazy enough not to care. “Read it!” “We k-know you have the d-diamond,” she started shakily, her voice breaking at the end. Another tear fell as she looked to something past the camera. “Meet us at the Boneyard within the hour or,” her breath

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caught as she read the next line staring directly at him, “s-she dies.” As soon as the video cut out, Mishca hurled the camera against the wall, watching pieces of it break off as he lurched to his feet. Neither Vlad nor Luka knew what to say, but they both wore similar expressions. Vlad stepped out of the room, gong down to the floor to alert the others to what had happened. Mishca was back to pacing, his mind working frantically as he tried to think of his next move.

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“This was him,” he muttered darkly, thinking of Jetmir. “Brahim wouldn’t be stupid enough to act against me without his authority.” “Boss—” “Who the fuck do they take me for? Huh?” Mishca wasn’t actually talking to Luka though he was still in the room. He didn’t think the Bratva Captain even realized he was speaking aloud. Mishca stormed over to one of the paintings on the wall, ripping it down as he punched in the combination to the safe

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hidden behind it. In it were stacks of cash and a few handguns, one Mishca pulled out. He withdrew a magazine as well, checking the clip before slamming it into place, loading a bullet into the chamber. Luka stood watching him, seeing the manic gleam in his eye, so different from his own. While Luka’s reasons were his own, Mishca was more worried about saving another’s life than his own safety. He also knew that this type of reaction would get him killed. He did the only thing he knew.

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He slapped the back of his head, adding a little more force than necessary. Might as well make it worth it. Mishca was so surprised by the hit that for a second he could only stare at Luka. He couldn’t count the number of times he’d done the same to him, so he wasn’t particularly upset by it. “Be calm, brother,” Luka said. “She’s…she’s everything to me.” Even if he had never experienced the love Mishca had for Lauren, he could understand the fear he felt.

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Luka patted his jeans’ pocket. “And we’ll kill them all to get her back.”

Rearing back, Luka kicked the door to the Albanians’ hideout off its hinges. The five men sitting in front of the television all looked up in surprise, their hands automatically reaching for the guns at their

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belts, but with his already in hand, Mishca aimed and shot, killing two in seconds, Luka taking care of the others. Jetmir was in the back bedroom, a woman on her knees before him, but when he heard the gunshots, he quickly shoved her away, jerking his pants up as he reached for the gun on the bedside table. Luka kicked the door open, the frame splintering. The woman screamed, holding her hands up as though that would help her, but with a jerk of his head, Luka sent her fleeing from the room.

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“How dare you!” Mishca stormed into the room next, his eyes cold and furious. “Sit down.” “You—” Swinging his arm out he slugged Jetmir across the face with the handle of his gun, kicking his leg out to force him back on the bed. “I said sit the fuck down!” Jetmir’s nose was bleeding, but like he had never been hit, he simply brushed some of the blood away and glared at Mishca. “You are bold, Russian.”

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“Where is she?” He demanded without preamble. “If you mean your whore, I haven’t seen her.” Even Vlad winced as Mishca punched the Albanian in the jaw, but it wasn’t enough for Mishca. He swung again, connecting with the left side of his face and felt the satisfying crack of bone. Jetmir howled in pain, cursing Mishca, though his voice soon became quiet when it became too difficult to talk which made Mishca instantly annoyed.

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Looking to Vlad, Mishca said, “Bring him.” Vlad followed his orders and as they were making their way through the house, a man appeared in the doorway, one that Mishca had seen just recently. He spotted them at the same time, but before his brain could even form another thought, Luka tackled him, laughing as the man tried to fight back. Today was not a day when Mishca worried for his sanity. Jetmir was hogtied and thrown into the trunk of the car, Vlad staying outside with

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him. The other man, one of Jetmir’s lieutenants was led to the back bedroom. Grabbing the knife from Luka’s belt, Mishca thrust it down into the softest part of the man’s thigh, leaving it embedded there until he quieted. “Hopefully that will stop whatever lie you can think of, yes?” Mishca gestured at himself. “You know who I am and you know that I saw your face on that tape. Either you die bloody or you take a bullet to the head.” “U vas net shary—You don’t have the balls!” He spat angrily, tears in his eyes.

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Without a word, Luka jerked the knife free from his leg, unfazed by another shout of pain. In one swift move, he cut through the front of the man’s shirt, baring his chest and the tattoos that decorated it. Mishca stood back, watching with casual indifference as Luka kneeled before the man. “You know of me, yes?” Luka asked. “No, look at me.” He tapped the tip of his blade against his forehead, drawing the man’s attention up. When his eyes widened just slightly, Luka smiled.

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“And you know what I’m capable of. Answer his questions.” Mishca didn’t waste any time. “Where is she? He stayed stubbornly silent and Mishca was getting edgier by the second. Before he could lunge at the man, and effectively ruin any chance he had of getting the information, Luka stuck his arm out, halting him. “Give me five minutes.” Four and a half minutes later, Luka came out, his hands and jeans covered in blood, yet he didn’t look ruffled in the slightest.

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Withdrawing a pack of cigarettes from his pocket, Luka grabbed one, lighting it up, the blood on his hands staining it. “I’ve got an address.”

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Brahim was on the other side of the room, biting into an apple, laughing with the remaining two men that were left. Lauren had no idea when the one that had been watching her would return, but she didn’t have any time to waste.

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She had been trying in vain to free her hands from the zip-tie that bound her wrists, but so far, the hardened plastic had only bitten into her wrists, cutting the skin, but she was too determined to focus on the pain. Moving her arms as much as possible, she fought to get free, until the cord caught on a groove in the back of the chair. She froze for a millisecond, slowing her speed, trying to determine if it was deep enough to be affective. When the tie didn’t give, she slowly began working it, making sure she

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held onto it, praying that when it broke, it wouldn’t hit the ground. Already she could feel the tightened grip slacking. It took longer than she would have liked, working at an agonizingly slow pace. Finally, it broke. She looked up, making sure Brahim or the others hadn’t noticed her movements. She had no idea what her next move was going to be—there was no visible weapon in sight—but she knew that if he followed through on his threat, she wouldn’t die, not like this.

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On the other side of the room, there was a hole in the rotting floor, and if she remembered correctly, they were only one floor up. Maybe if she timed it correctly, she could dash over to it, jumping down and make it out the building before they could get to the stairs. Until Brahim turned to look at her. Lauren tried not to look guilty as he walked towards her, tossing the pit of his apple as he came. Heart hammering, she prayed he wouldn’t circle the chair and notice what she had done.

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“They said I could not do it,” Brahim said conversationally. “They mocked me, but I’ll show them.” When he wasn’t trying to be menacing, he reminded her of a child. She could see the similarities between him and his brother, but whereas Jetmir exuded a maniacal sort of rage, Brahim seemed docile, besides the whole kidnapping her thing. Keeping his attention before he could make another move, Lauren asked, “Who mocked you?”

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He frowned, rubbing his jaw. “Everyone. I admit I am not as great as my brother, but what chance was I given? I’m always in his shadow, but no longer.” Brahim looked at his watch again then glared at her. “I expected the diamond by now. Maybe you don’t mean as much to the Russian as I originally believed?” He phased it like a question, like he was now questioning what he had done. Brahim didn’t seem to realize what she did mean to Mishca. Despite the warnings she’d been given, the harsh words, and the

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mocking smiles, Lauren knew she meant far more to him than anyone realized. “Mishca doesn’t have it,” she said solemnly. “If anyone does, it’s Naomi.” “No,” he said shaking his head harshly. “No, she told me he had it.” Son of a bitch. “He doesn’t, but if you let me go, I will do everything I can to get it back to your family. Mishca will listen to me. If you don’t hurt, Mishca will just let it go. Please. ”

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He looked like he was wavering, but one of his men barked something at him making him clench his jaw. “You’re lying to me.” “I’m not, I—” “Shut up!” He retrieved his gun, pointing it at her. “If I don’t get a call in the next five minutes, you’re dead. Diamond or no diamond.” He left then, leaving Lauren to contemplate his words. It didn’t matter though. She had lied when she said if he didn’t hurt her, Mishca would let it go.

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Whether she walked away—or died trying—he was a dead man.

Vlad grabbed the back of Mishca’s shirt, halting him mid-jump out the car. It was the first time he had ever done so and in his current state of mind, Mishca was too pissed to differentiate between friend and enemy.

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Lightning fast, he had the barrel of his gun flush against Vlad’s forehead. “Back. Off.” He doubted it was the first time Vlad had ever had a gun pointed in his face, but the fact that he hadn’t even blinked was still unnerving. “You are too emotional, let us go,” he said calmly, never bothering to knock the gun out of his face. “Nyet!” The ten other men with them looked on, but all knew that when Mishca gave that

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hard ‘no,’ there was no arguing with him, but Vlad was not like them. “You will make a mistake. You will die. Do you want her to see that?” At that, Mishca pulled his gun back. “Izvineniya—Apologies.” Vlad nodded, but Mishca wasn’t done. “I have to go.” He could either go with them, or without them, but either way, he was entering that building.

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Frowning, Vlad stared at him—seeing his resolve—and nodded. “Try not to get us killed, yes?” Nodding in agreement, Mishca got out of the car, rechecking the clip and loading a bullet into the chamber. He had no real idea how many men Brahim had with him considering not many of the Albanians were as loyal to him as they were to Jetmir, but Mishca brought enough of his men to take any number down.

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“Ostat’sya zdes’—Stay here,” he ordered a few of them, leading the way into a building he was far too familiar with. It was one that marked a particular event in his life, one that had turned his world upside down, and explained many of his mother’s mental problems. Even after his initiation into the Bratva, he still hadn’t learned everything. As soon as they stepped inside, they waited.

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It was an old building, on the outskirts of town with very little access to it. Mishca was all too familiar with the history of this place. There was trash and debris all over the ground floor, an old staircase on the opposite side of them. Mishca held his hand up, stopping Vlad and Luka from continuing. He pointed at the ceiling, hearing the footsteps above them. It didn’t sound like many, but he couldn’t be sure. Giving Luka a pointed look, he didn’t have to explain what came next. Grabbing a

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small rock near his feet, Mishca held onto it as they silently moved out of view of anyone coming down the stairs. When they were safely concealed, he tossed it. It bounced a couple of times before settling down, all conversation above them stopping. Brahim said, “Go check it out.” Two sets of footsteps sounded then, both coming down the steps, one stopping midway. The first man appeared at the bottom, holding his gun out in front of him, but his first mistake was putting his back to them.

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Without even the squeaking of the boards, Luka grabbed the man and before he could make a sound, he put one hand on top of the man’s head, another beneath his jaw, and twisted, effectively snapping the man’s neck. Vlad helped moved the man’s body out of the way. Luka, deepening his voice to imitate the man, said up the stairs in perfect Albanian, “Kalon brez pas brezi—Come down.”

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The man hesitated, but finally came down the stairs. He too was taken out in a matter of seconds. Mishca was trying to be patient, trying to keep a level head as he ascended the staircase, blind to what was happening above, but when he heard Lauren’s yelp of pain, he said fuck all to reason and went charging up the stairs. First man he encountered, double-tap to the chest. Cursing, Vlad played catch up, running ahead to take the hit if anyone was able to

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shoot back. He had always promised to protect Mishca with his life, even when he was throwing it away. By the time they were down the short hallway and entering into the large space where Mishca spotted Brahim, three more men were dead. Brahim spun around slowly and as Mishca raised his gun to finish him off, he immediately dropped his arm when he saw what Brahim was holding.

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He was holding Lauren to his chest, his arm banded around her, his gun just inches from her head. “You shoot, she dies.” He didn’t have to say a word. Vlad and Luka lowered their guns, though he did have to give Luka a hard look when he didn’t take his finger off the trigger. “How did you find me?” “Put the gun down and I won’t kill you,” Mishca said through gritted teeth though everyone in the room knew that that was false.

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Brahim gave Lauren a measured stare, one that Mishca didn’t understand, but he was itching to take him out, but there was no way to do that safely without harming Lauren in the process. “Give me the diamond and you can have the girl back.” There was a sort of desperation in Brahim’s

voice,

one

that

told

Mishca

everything he needed to know. First, this wasn’t about Mishca, himself. He realized now that Jetmir hadn’t known what Brahim had done, and this was his

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attempt at recognition amongst his organization’s ranks, but someone should have warned him about the consequences of his actions. He didn’t know how, but this wasn’t going to end well for either of them. Second, Naomi had something to do with this. There was no reason for the Albanian to think he had anything to do with their precious stone, yet he had gone out of his way to kidnap Lauren and demand it? When he found her, no matter how long it took, she would pay for her part in this.

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“This is not a negotiation,” Mishca said raising his voice. “It ends now.” “You

don’t

demand

me!”

Brahim

snapped, bringing his hand up to wrap around Lauren’s throat. Behind him, Mishca thought he saw a glimmer of something across the way in another window, but he was too distracted by Brahim to get a good look at it. When he put the gun flush against Lauren’s temple, Mishca’s eyes finally shifted to hers. What he saw there took all of the bravado out of him.

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Fear. It was such an ugly emotion on her, one that ate at him. In that moment, just staring into her eyes, he regretted it all. He could have fought harder for her to leave, or at the very least, tell her the truth from the beginning so she would be prepared and more willing to listen to him. “Nichego ne sluchitsya s vami—Nothing is going to happen to you,” he promised in Russian. He wanted to reassure her, reassure himself that because he got her into this, he would get her out.

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“Take me instead,” Mishca said still looking at Lauren though the words were directed at Brahim. “Until you recover your property, you can hold me. I’m sure your brother will agree to this after what I did to him.” “Jetmir?” Now Brahim was furious. “What have you done with him?” “Ne v etom delo—Not the point. Do we have a deal?” “No, you—” But he never got to finish that thought, because as soon as he removed the gun from

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Lauren’s head, pointing it now at Mishca, the glass behind him shattered. Lauren screamed, scrambling away as a projectile exited the front of Brahim’s head, his body going limp and slumping to the floor, a pool of blood quickly staining the floor. Mishca looked back at Vlad and Luka, but both of them looked confused as well, already looking to the open window for answers. Leaving it for the moment, Mishca grabbed Lauren, yanking her into his arms as

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he held her with as much strength as he could muster. Her entire body was racked with shivers, but she wasn’t sobbing, which Mishca didn’t know whether to be thankful or worried. So much had happened over the last few weeks that he was worried she was growing accustomed to his violent lifestyle, and that was the last thing he wanted. Over her shoulder, he spied Brahim’s body and he didn’t have to worry about if he was still breathing. From experience, Mishca knew there was about a dime sized hole in

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the back of his head, while he didn’t even want to contemplate what the front looked like…if there was still one. Mishca

finally

drew

back,

cupping

Lauren’s face as he kissed her forehead. “I’m sorry,” he whispered over and over again, knowing that it probably wouldn’t help, but he felt the need to say it anyway. Her eyes were watery and blood-shot, but she wasn’t crying. She just looked relieved. “Let me take you home.”

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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. 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, decked out in full tactical gear

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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, and one that was just as mysterious as he was legendary. For the last few years, after using multiple contacts around the world, and abusing every resource he had, Mishca had tracked

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this particular individual, one that he knew had become a lethal weapon. Especially know 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. Knowing the man’s skills and the lack of exits, Mishca chose instead to pull Lauren

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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, he had no explanation he could give her, not one short enough at least. Sensing Mishca’s dilemma, the mercenary canted his head in the other direction, sighing heavily behind his mask. He couldn’t see his face behind the mask, but Mishca would bet his life that the mercenary was amused by his actions.

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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 do. “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

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allow him to draw his weapon, not against the man in front of them. “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.

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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 that difference. He knew all too well what eyes hid behind it.

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“Not while she’s here to watch,” Mishca responded gesturing to Lauren. “Especially not in this place.” That seemed to break the mercenary’s resolve. No longer did he appear casual, but 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. A time he hated to think about.

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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, the heel of his palm swinging out at the same time, landing a well laced 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

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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 business. “Careful,” he said with barely restrained fury. He didn’t bother pointing the gun at

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him because he knew twenty-three ways to kill Mishca without trying, and those were just the ones he could think of at the moment. 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

awareness.

his

arm

tighten

with

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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.”

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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. “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.”

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“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 until you truly looked. “I could always kill you then continue my mission.” “You’re not going to kill me,” Mishca repeated.

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“Why not?” Klaus asked with genuine confusion on his face like that had always been a part of his plan. “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.

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Entering the building that was slated for demolition in only a few months’ time, the first thing Jetmir noticed was the smell. There was nothing quite similar to the scent of death, but it was one he had grown used to in his thirty odd years. Yet today,

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that acrid smell made his jaw clench in anger. It had taken a few days—more time than he would have wanted—to track down his brother, but now that he was here, Jetmir was not prepared for what he found. The Russians had left him in a field far out of the city. It took hours before he could get in contact with any of his men, and even longer to hear about Brahim’s idiotic plan. He should have listened to him, knowing that Brahim would have stood down if he

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would have treated him like any of the other members as opposed to a kid brother. Brahim was beneath a hole in the ceiling, the varying weather taking its toll on his body. Jetmir didn’t have the opportunity to prepare himself for how he would find his brother, instead, it was slapped in his face, his brother’s dead, unseeing eyes following him as he moved closer. His skin had an unnatural pallor—the skin around his mouth blackened—his flesh better preserved because of the cold weather.

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Even in death, he looked like a child, far too young to have beaten Jetmir to the grave. For once in his life, Jetmir felt remorse. It was his job to protect him, to shelter him until Brahim was ready to have a role in their syndicate. He had failed him. Jetmir looked down at his brother’s body, ignoring

the

smell

of

him,

ignoring

everything that might draw his attention away. He needed to commit this to memory, so that upon leaving, he would remember this moment.

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Crouching down, he touched his brother’s eyelids, shutting them gently. At least this way, he could imagine him being at peace. “What did you do, you stupid little shit?” Jetmir asked though he already knew the answer. Out the corner of his eye, he could see his men turn their back, giving him the privacy he desperately craved. Whispering a soft prayer, Jetmir stood to his full height, turning his back on the body just as quickly as he had arrived.

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On his way out, Jetmir told them, “Deal with it.” He needed to take care of something.

Putting a cigarette to his lips, Jetmir lit the end of it, watching the sickly man as he prepared Brahim’s body. He didn’t have the time to go through the hassle of getting his

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brother overseas, so he chose instead to have him cremated. As the man pulled the lever, the doors opened like the gates of hell, fire licking at the edges of the steel incinerator. The conveyor belt rattled to life as the body atop it rolled inside. It would be the last time Jetmir would lay eyes on his brother. When the job was done and the cremator was compensated for his services, Jetmir took a private jet back to Albania, to the home that he shared with his mother.

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It was known as the compound, due in part to the fact that it resembled an armed fortress, complete with enough security to man a small army. During the hour long drive it took to get there after his plane landed, Jetmir thought of how he would tell his mother. Back during the days of his father’s rule, she was known for her strength in lieu of tragedy, but with old age and a failing mind, she was not the woman she used to be. Also, she had never lost a son, and with her fragile heart, Jetmir

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feared what Brahim’s demise would do to her. The gates to the compound swung open, allowing Jetmir’s car to roll inside, slamming shut behind him. As he stepped out of the car, he noticed the newest addition to the cars outside the mansion, knowing that his special guest was already tucked inside. And for the first time since his brother’s body was found, Jetmir smiled.

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One of the soldiers outside opened the door, stepping back so Jetmir could exit with the silver urn in his hands. No one spoke, just inclined their heads in respect as he passed. “My son is home,” Mirela Besnik called as she came down the limestone steps, her face bright with mirth. She stopped short when she saw what Jetmir held. He could practically see the wheels turning in her head and knew the exact moment she determined who was inside

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after shifting her gaze behind him and not seeing her youngest son get out. When a choked sob escaped her, he sighed helplessly. “Mama, I—” She slapped him, snatching the urn from his hands as she went storming back into the mansion. There was nothing he could do at the moment, not when she was too upset with him to listen to what he had to say. Instead, he followed behind her silently, and as she went up the stairs to her room, he stayed down in

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the den, snapping his fingers for one of the men inside to bring him a glass of Brandy. A half dozen crates sat near the fireplace, ones that were filled with military-grade assault rifles and ammo, a spontaneous purchase he had made months before he decided to track Naomi down. Bastian, a loyal soldier of his, presented Jetmir with a file, one that had everything he’d requested before he arrived. “Let’s go.”

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Bastian followed him back outside where all of his men were gathered, waiting for his orders. When Jetmir had their attention, he pulled out the first picture in the folder. “If you do not know, this is Mishca Volkov,” he said, his voice echoing in the silence of the courtyard. “He murdered my brother and I want his head.” He tossed the photo to the ground, pulling out the next one. “But he does not deserve death quickly. Before he dies, I will force him to watch as

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you,”—he pointed at each of them in turn—“have your way with his precious whore.” This got a smile out of half of them. Lauren’s picture fluttered down, joining Mishca’s on the ground. Jetmir flung the folder open, more gray photos spilling out, so many different faces amongst them. He might have appeared calm to them, but Jetmir’s thoughts were chaotic as he tried to focus on the task at hand. “I want them all dead, understand?”

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Once he had their acceptance, Jetmir retreated back inside, this time not stopping in the den, but heading up to where his guest was waiting. There hadn’t been a mob war in decades, at least not one that attracted attention by the media, but Jetmir knew that innocent blood would stain the streets of New York, along with the blood of his enemies. He did not value human life, especially those that opposed him. If the Volkovs thought they had suffered before, they had no idea what he had planned for them.

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Not bothering to knock, Jetmir opened the door to one of his guest bedrooms. She turned to him, her arms folded across her chest petulantly, annoyed at his lack of haste to see her. Extending his hand, Jetmir curled his fingers around the hand of the woman that would help him exact his revenger on the man that had taken his brother from him. Anya Volkov smiled, her eyes alight with a terrible hunger, sparked by hatred and greed. She didn’t know she was but a pawn in the grand scheme of things, but until she

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was no longer useful, she would make a valuable ally. No one was safe. War was coming.

THE FINAL HOUR SPRING 2014

To everyone that has read or reviewed my work, thank you. Every message I receive, every comment, every gushing review is like

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a dream come true for me and words cannot describe how happy it makes me the you, the reader, are enjoying Mishca and Lauren’s story. It has truly been a labor of love. I know everyone despises cliffhangers, but just remember that Until the End is the bridge story between In the Beginning and the conclusion to Mishca and Lauren’s story, The Final Hour. And I’m pretty sure everyone is curious about Mishca’s long lost brother, Klaus. As of now, he’s still my favorite little secret.

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If you have any questions or just want updates for the upcoming books in the Volkov Bratva Series, visit me at the following website:

http://facebook.com/londonmillerauthor

I would love to hear from you! Best Wishes, L.M.

@Created by PDF to ePub