In the Beginning (Volkov Bratva #1)(60)

“Anya, she said—”

“Anya was my father’s mistress before she became his wife,” he said in a rush, his irritation clear. “She thinks everyone has secrets.”

“Just saying. If you have secrets, you can tell me. I won’t judge you because of them.”

He nodded, turning the television on, but it didn’t take a rocket scientist to see that he didn’t believe her.

***

Their time together at the manor was coming to an end, and despite her previous apprehension about meeting his family, Lauren felt almost at ease around them, thanks in large part to Mishca and Alex.

They spent most of the day entertaining Alex and though Mishca had protested, ended up watching a few of her recitals. Lauren was impressed, impressed by the skill that Alex possessed though she didn’t boast about it.

Her fingers traced over the stars, bringing back memories of a day he would never forget. “Is there meaning behind these?”

Years ago, she had sat before a select number of men, their presence enough to make his heart hammer in his chest, despite his overall calm demeanor. Mikhail was seated among them, but in that moment, he wasn’t Mishca’s father, but his soon to be Pakhan.

He had sworn the oath, had answered every inquiry they had, and after only an hour, they nodded their agreement to have him. An ancient man carried a kit Mishca was all too familiar with. He’d gotten a tattoo in the past, but after that night, four more would join the line of script on his arm.

Two stars over his heart, the mark of a Captain. Two stars on his knees, symbols that meant he would never bow to any authority.

“Always reach for the stars.”

“And this one?”

The epaulettes on his shoulders. They didn’t have a true meaning, at least not to the Bratva, but he had gotten them as a symbol of his position.

He shrugged, saying to her, “Reminded me of the motherland. This one,” he said pointing to the only tattoo on him that had nothing to do with the Bratva and everything to do with his mother, “was a tribute to my mother.”

It was a setting sun with birds flying over the horizon. For each of the sun’s rays, a letter accompanied it, all of them spelling out his mother’s name in Russian. It represented freedom. She might have accepted his father’s lifestyle, but Mishca knew she hated it and hated more that Mishca would soon join it.

For that reason, she had sacrificed more than Mishca ever could have imagined. If she couldn’t save them both, she could save one of them…

“Would you like to hear the story?”

She smiled and nodded.

***

At some point while he was talking, Lauren had fallen asleep snuggled against his side. For one blissful moment, he didn’t want to move. Her hand rested in the center of his chest, her leg over his. They fit. Smoothing a hand over her hair, Mishca willed himself to remember why this was a bad idea. He could no longer pretend that he was growing attached to her, he was there.

And because of that, he would have to decide where they were going.

He took care with disentangling himself from her embrace, kissing the top of her head before climbing out of the bed. He paused, making sure he hadn’t woken her, slipping out of the bedroom and down the hall to see the one person he could talk to.

It felt like she was in every part of him. She trusted him, unequivocally, and knowing that made him wish that were not any secrets between them, that he didn’t know about her father. She knew just as much about his death as he did, but not telling her that he had known the man, the he had known him for years, was still a lie, no matter how he tried to justify it in his head.

Reaching his sister’s door, he frowned, catching the acrid scent wafting through her door. Sometimes he wondered whether she thought before she acted. Shoving the door open, he closed the door behind him.

Alex jumped slightly at his entrance, but didn’t try to hide the cigarette she was smoking. She was up on the windowsill, one leg dangling out, cold air blowing in.

He frowned at her. “You’re going to get sick.”

She sat back, taking a long drag of her cigarette. “When do I ever get sick? Besides, there’s medicine for that.”

That worried him more than the other thugs Alex had going on in her life. For the most part, Alex was clean, went to school, did her work, and worked rigorously on her ballet, but she also had a social life that he didn’t entirely approve of. But he couldn’t tell her how to live her life, especially with the way that he was living his.

“So no grab-ass tonight?” She asked after he didn’t respond.

Mishca dropped down on her bed, not in the least bit embarrassed by her words, but knowing that if Lauren had heard her, she would be blushing red. “I didn’t take you for a voyeur, Aleksandra.”

She stuck her tongue out at him. “Not like you gave me much of a choice, brother. God, I had to put on headphones and listen to We Came As Romans.” She flicked the ash from her cigarette, watching it flutter down to the ground. “Why are you in here anyway?”

“Lauren’s father…he worked for us.”

“No shit? Does she know?”

He gives her a bland stare.

“Yea, I guess not. Are you—wait, you haven’t told her? Mishca, you have to tell her.”

He hook his head. “I can’t. Even if I wanted to, you now how this works. If I were going to tell her, that would mean—”