In the Beginning (Volkov Bratva #1)(51)

He heard shouting, gruff words muffled inside of the room. Doc looked up, blinking as he finished wrapping Mishca’s arm. Mishca didn’t get a chance to thank him before the door was thrown open, his father’s security glaring at them.

“Come,” Anthony said to Doc. “The Pakhan wants to see you.”

Doc’s face paled as he adjusted his tie, leaving the room. Catja appeared a few seconds later, grabbing Mishca’s hand to take him from the house, as she always did when his father was doing business.

They were almost to the front door when he saw her. She was much younger, her hair longer and a shade or two darker. FLanked by two of the biggest guards that took up post in the manor, she looked even smaller than she already was.

Their eyes met, startled brown ones to curious blue. Her arms were wrapped tightly around her chest, like she was trying to shrink in herself.

“Mishca,” his mother admonished for staring.

He never did enjoy cowering behind his mother’s skirts. Holding his head high, he marched over to the mysterious woman, doing as his father instructed him.

“I am Mishca Volkov.”

Her fear waned, at least long enough to shake his hand, but she took a step back when Mikhail entered the room.

“Father, who is this woman?”

Mikhail’s hand rested on top of Mishca’s hair, his cold gaze going from Doc to the woman. “I believe she is Doctor Thompson’s wife, no?”

That was the only time he had ever seen her until this night, but he hardly forgot a face.

“I don’t know what you want,” she started, her voice barely above a whisper. “She doesn’t know anything, I swear. Please, don’t hurt her.”

He had to gnash his teeth to keep his calm. “I would never hurt her.”

She turned furious eyes on him. “You took my husband, her father. I won’t let you take her too.”

He rested his hands on the table, looking at her point blank, making sure she understood his next words clearly. “Doc’s death had nothing to do with the Bratva, if it had, would we not have taken care of loose ends?”

It took her a second to comprehend what he was saying, but when she did, her face mottled with red. “You were only a child, how would you know?”

He ignored that. “What makes you think we did?”

“He ran a test, something for your family. I—”

“What are you two talking about?” Lauren asked reentering the room.

Susan shut down, her carefree facade going back up, but he saw it for what it was.

“Your mother is worried about your safety.” He saw her stiffen, her eyes flashing. “I told her you have my protection.”

Those words meant one thing to Lauren, but to Mishca and Susan, she understood the hidden meaning. She didn’t like him—what mother would?—but she couldn’t interfere, without revealing what she knew. Until Lauren walked away from him on her own, there was nothing she could do.

***

Two weeks later…

When Mishca looked up, Lauren was slumbering peacefully, her lips slightly parted.The psychology textbook she had been reading was still open on her chest, her pen dangling from her lax fingers. He smiled at the sight of her so relaxed in his bed and thought of her laying there night after night, if she wanted.

He shut the book, placing it on the floor next to the bed, then the pen, finally covering her with a blanket. She’d been studying diligently for the last three hours—a far better student than he was in college—she deserved a break.

Mishca was tempted to take a break himself, leaving the paperwork for another night, but his Blackberry rang. It was a foreign number, more than likely his father calling from a disposable phone. If that were true, this meant it was Bratva business.

He stepped out of the bedroom, pulling the door up in case Lauren woke up. Glancing back, he checked in on her before connecting the call.

“Yea?” He answered.

“We need to meet, our spot in Hell’s Kitchen. One hour.”

Mikhail hung up before Mishca could get a word out, the prepaid cell probably tossed in the garbage. He had detected a note of anger in Mikhail’s voice and that could only mean one thing.

Someone was encroaching on their territory.

Mishca sent a quick text to Vlad. He put on his shoes, grabbing his coat. Before leaving his bedroom, he pressed a kiss to Lauren’s temple, careful not to wake her. He only hoped that he wouldn’t be cleaning blood out of his clothes when he got back.

***

Mishca was at the scene first, leaning against a light post, wishing he had a drink. Though it was only three o’ clock, it was still far too early to be dealing with this shit. Vlad was around the corner, making sure that no one who wasn’t authorized came behind the warehouse where Mishca was waiting.

Sprawled out in the alley were two bodies, their limbs laying in awkward angles, both with two bullet holes in their chest. There were no shell casings that Mishca could see, and judging from how close the shots were, it had to be a professional hit. Undoubtedly experienced. Even for an alley, it was too clean. There were a number of hired guns on Mikhail’s payroll, but they had nothing on whoever had done this.

He kept his hands in his pockets, carefully tracking every move he made just in case everything wasn’t cleared away. He wasn’t sure if they had gotten here first, or if the police had been contacted, but either way, it was better to be safe than sorry and this needed to be cleaned up quickly.