Hidden Monsters (Volkov Bratva #4)(45)

There was no point in trying to defend himself—not that he would have told Mishca the truth about what happened that night—because Mishca was on a roll.

“Have you forgotten how this business works? We’ve had no problems with the Angels over the last five years, and I don’t want to start now. Whatever the f*ck was said to piss you off, I don’t give a shit. Get a handle on your temper and get your shit together.”

He guessed the prez of the Angels had told him about their little scuffle—or just made it clear he didn’t want to work with Luka again—but it was obvious he left out the reason behind it. Otherwise, he doubted they would be having this conversation.

He took a breath, his gaze narrowing on Luka, looking him over. “What the hell happened to you?”

“Had to work out a few things.” And that was the only thing he would say about that. “You made your point. What time are we leaving?”

That muscle in Mishca’s jaw was still working, and it was clear that he still wasn’t happy, but they had work to do, so he was done for the moment.

“There’s a meeting in Las Vegas I need to attend.”

Luka followed behind Mishca as they left his office, glancing around at some of the new faces who were present. “Reason why you can’t bring one of the new muscle?”

“Because I asked you to do it.”

Luka felt a rush of irritation hit him, and before he could stop the impulse, he found himself saying, “I’m not a f*cking child.”

Mishca quirked a brow but didn’t offer a response.

Biting his tongue, Luka said no more. This was going to be a long f*cking trip.

___





Five hours on a hunk of flying metal was not how Luka wanted to spend his morning, and though a headache pounded away behind his eyes, he didn’t take anything for it. The idea of taking any kind of drug, harmless or not, didn’t appeal to him at the moment.

Mishca had calmed more during the flight, having talked to his wife earlier. Luka had remained silent, turning his phone over in his hands, both hoping and dreading his phone ringing.

He still couldn’t think of anything but Alex as he wondered whether she was okay. If he could have, he would have stayed with her, given her more time to adjust besides the last three days. Hell, that was only enough time to shock her into doing what he wanted, if only to get out of that room with him. But he took comfort in the fact that even after he had passed out, and she’d left the room without him realizing, she hadn’t gone any further than the bathroom on the first floor of his house.

That didn’t mean she was miraculously cured. The journey was still a long one, and there was the distinct possibility that it would never be over, but if there was one thing Luka knew, he would be there to help her through it.

“You going to tell me who we’re meeting?” Luka asked, focusing his attention on Mishca, trying his hardest to keep his irritation at bay as he’d thought of their conversation earlier. He didn’t know what had crawled up the Russian’s ass, but he was too tired to deal with it.

“Two syndicates, wanted to meet in neutral territory.”

Luka gave him a droll stare. “That’s still not telling me shit.”

Mishca, who looked to be grappling for patience, explained, “I have two nightclubs, Roman has a lounge, and you’ve probably heard of his tournaments that he holds every couple of months. Between the two of us—not to mention the sheer amount of land the Italians still have control over in Atlantic City—it’s more difficult to break ground without stepping on someone’s toes.”

“So how much are they paying you?”

“Why do you assume they’re paying me?”

Rolling his eyes, Luka turned back around. “I might not have gone to a fancy boarding school, but if we’re flying out to meet them because one or both is trying to open their own spot, then obviously they’re coming into our territory. The only way they can do that is to pay the rent. Tell me, when the f*ck did you get so condescending? I’m not some f*cking yuppie.”

“Just making sure you’ve been paying attention.”

“What the f*ck? I—”

“You’re not always going to be the grunt,” Mishca snapped back at him, losing his own patience. “I won’t have anyone who can’t handle something as simple as an introduction standing at my side.”

“Never asked to be at your side, Russian,” Luka said, pulling a page out of Klaus’ book. It wasn’t truly an insult, considering Mishca’s nationality, but the way he said it made it sound like one.

“No? Then how exactly did you come to be here, Luka? Normally the Bratva chooses you, yet you sought it out. Why is that?”

Something about the way he asked that question made Luka’s eye twitch. As curious as he might have sounded, his tone had a challenging bite that didn’t sit well with Luka. He couldn’t know the truth, more than half of the Albanians who had been involved on that day were dead—he didn’t want to think about Fatos—and if Klaus had already told him, they wouldn’t be sitting on the plane together.

No, Mishca was probably just curious.

“I had nothing else.” And that was as close to the truth as he could ever admit.

Mishca was silent for a beat before he responded. “You’re smarter than most give you credit for. Learning a language just to impress a girl is a feat in itself—oh, don’t give me that look. Only a f*cking idiot wouldn’t know why you learned French. I’m passable at best, but you can actually speak it,” Mishca said as he looked pointedly at him. “I know what you’re capable of. You’re crass, sure. Kto ne—Who isn’t? But you’re capable of more, and if you actually put forth an effort instead of trying to remain in the shadows, you’d make great captain material.”