Hidden Monsters (Volkov Bratva #4)(117)

Mishca blinked, hoping his surprise didn’t reflect on his face. He shouldn’t have been—not when this man was in the business of information—but having someone know the particulars about something that had been an ongoing secret for the better part of six years, especially when there were so few people left who actually had first-hand knowledge of that day…well, Mishca wasn’t prepared.

“In all due respect, how I conduct my business is for me to worry about.”

Men could be fickle, and some might have still taken offense to Mishca’s words, but the Kingmaker was no such man.

“Fair enough. Here’s how I can help you, Mr. Volkov. I know Fatos has an unhealthy infatuation with your Albanian underling, and for that reason, we know that he will not kill him immediately. If anything, he would rather keep him alive and torture him for a bit, just because he enjoys it. When the heat of your incursion has worn down, my men will go in, retrieve him, and destroy anything within a mile of the compound.”

“Destroy?” Mishca asked. He needed to be sure that the sheer amount of money he was putting into this operation was worth it.

“By the time they finish, there will be nothing left. Your Albanian problem will cease to exist.”

Mishca nodded, finishing the last of his drink. “And how long after he’s taken will the mission begin?”

“Twelve weeks.”

His fingers tightened around the glass as he brought it back down onto the table, meeting the eyes of the man across from him. “You want me to allow one of my men to be tortured for twelve weeks?”

“This is not a simple smash-and-grab as you Russians are so fond of. It takes patience, skill, and a knowledge of the complex organization that you want destroyed, all of which you do not possess. Either you accept the deal as it stands or leave him there, but remember that after those six months, either he will die or you save his life. Make your choice.”

Now, Mishca understood why Klaus disliked his new handler. The man was an *. A powerful one and nearly untouchable, but an * nonetheless.

And regretfully, he was Mishca’s only choice.

Nodding once, Mishca agreed.

“Pleasure doing business with you, Volkov.” He stood, buttoning his suit jacket. “Word of advice.” He didn’t speak until Mishca was looking at him. “Sometimes the men you get back after torture are not the same as they went in. Be careful that you don’t bring something back that you can’t control.”

____

Staring down at his son’s sleeping form, Mishca hoped for peace. He longed for it after the strain he’d been under over the last six months, but it didn’t come. Just for a moment, when Lauren had delivered the baby, sending a sweaty and tired smile his way once the baby was in her arms did he feel the lone emotion that had eluded him. Happiness. But it was fleeting, and while he did his best to ignore that longing he felt, it was hard.

Not once in the twenty years Alex had been alive had she ever truly been angry with him enough to sever all contact. Upset? Occasionally, and there had even been that one time when they hadn’t spoken for a couple of days, her giving him the silent treatment, but she had come around as she always did.

Now? He wasn’t so sure.

He hadn’t expected her to understand his reasoning. He only expected her to respect that he had made the decision. Mishca wasn’t used to explaining his every action, even with Lauren. They had been together for nearly four years, married for almost a year, and she still forced information out of him that he might not have shared initially. The only person who hadn’t seemed angry with him was Klaus, but that wasn’t saying much.

Truthfully, he hadn’t expressed any clear feelings about the entire matter.

Reaching a hand out, Mishca trailed his fingers over Sacha's hair, softly so as not to wake him. His lips were slightly parted, his little breaths soft, chest rising and falling with each lungful. Sacha was perfect in every sense of the word.

“Mish…”

He turned, smiling softly at the sight of his wife in the doorway. She looked tired, rightfully so, as they had a four-month-old, but her eyes held an alertness to them that told Mishca she had something to say to him.

Walking to her, he spared one last glance to Sacha, heading out of the nursery behind her, pulling the door closed behind them. She sat on the couch, curling her legs up beneath her, arms folded across her chest. Mishca sat across from her, arms open. She looked tempted, but her shoulders tightened, her eyes narrowing slightly.

He couldn’t win her over that easily apparently.

“You f*cked up, Mish,” she began softly, her eyes going from determined to anguished in seconds.

Sighing, he scrubbed a hand down his face, tearing his gaze away from her. “Am I going to need a drink for this?”

“Maybe, but I want you to actually hear me. Alcohol will only dull that.”

He frowned, turning so she had his full attention. “I always hear you, Lauren. Always.”

“But not about Luka.”

He should have known she wanted to talk about this. It seemed he wasn’t the only person still hung up on that day six months ago. Truthfully, no one knew how hard that decision had been for him or the thought that had gone into it. It wasn’t until much later did he even think he’d made a mistake.

“His name is Valon.”

That fire was back in her eyes, even if his answer had been lacking its former vehemence.