In the Beginning (Volkov Bratva #1)(85)

A sharp rap on the glass made Margaret grimace in irritation, hating being interrupted in the middle of an interrogation. Excusing herself, Margaret exited and entered the soundproof rom where Rodriguez was crouched in front of Lauren, speaking quietly to her.

Margaret had seen many cases where children heard the confessions of their parent’s killer, and in most of those circumstances, they would cry, trying to fight past officers to try and get to the source of their pain, but not Lauren.

She sat in what Margaret assumed was stunned silence, just staring at the floor. Margaret felt a pang in her chest, never enjoying this part of her job.

“Maybe she should wait—”

“Ask him,” Lauren spoke up as she gazed at Margaret, tears shining in her eyes, “what his captain said. Before he shot my father, ask him what was said.”

Margaret’s mouth gaped open. “How do you know anything was said?”

“I was there, in the closet.” Her eyes grew far away. “He said it in Russian.”

“If you were to hear his voice again, would you be able to identify it?”

Lauren nodded.

She was a witness.

Margaret didn’t know whether to feel elated by the information, or saddened. If she could positively identify Ivan Volkov’s voice, that, coupled with Anatoly’s testimony could send him away for life, but if the Russian Mafia found out about this, they were both as good as dead.





***





“May I speak to you privately, Detective?”

Lauren watched them walk out, pulling the door shut as they went. While she watched the ADA interrogate Anatoly in a cool, detached manner, Lauren hadn’t expected any of the information that he had revealed.

As she listened to the details, she grew sick to her stomach, hating the way Anatoly could tell the story, without any remorse about what he had done. Lauren wasn’t confused. She knew the only reason he confessed was because he wanted a deal and to get back at them for what they did to him. The only fear he had shown was when it came to naming the people involved.

Ivan and Mikhail.

When he had first said the name, she had been shocked. If they had known her father, then they would have known that she was his daughter. Not only did she share his name, but she looked just like her father.

So why all of the secrecy? Why pretend that they didn’t know who she was? None of this made any sense to her.

But when Anatoly said that her father was the physician of Mishca and Alex, that nearly stopped her heart. Not just because of the sadness, but for the anger and betrayal.

For month, Mishca had smiled at her, spent time with her, kissed her, but he never admitted to knowing her father, although he was aware that his family took her father from her.

The only question was why?

Rodriguez slipped back into the room after his quiet discussion in the hall. He came back to her side, his eyes softening as he laid a comforting hand on her shoulder.

“Do you need a minute?” He asked as the ADA went back into the other room.

Lauren watched her question him, hardly hearing anything that was being said, until the very last second. She watched his mouth formed the words, the way he enunciated each word like he had said them a dozen times. They’d played over and over in her ears, but unlike the time Viktor had said them, this was the voice she had heard all those years ago. This was the man that had laid out

She could hear it now, clearly, as she had then, but now it was worse.

Worse because she could now put a face to the men that took her father away when she was only a child.

Worse because Ross had been hurt in her pursuit of the truth.

And worse because the love of her life knew all about it.





Chapter twenty-Eight:


First Lady


Anya Volkov was as beautiful as she was cold-hearted, a fact well-known to anyone who had the misfortune of crossing her.

Born in a small village in Russia—the result of an older man raping a teenage girl—Anya had intimate knowledge of the harsh realities of poverty, and the cruel realities of where she had come from, and she later vowed never to fall as low as her mother.

But only a little girl at the time, her suffering had yet to truly begin. The lure of a new, promising life in America appealed to Anya’s mother, Nadia. She hoped that with the opportunity, she could provide a better life for her daughter than the one she’d had in her politically oppressed country.

Yet—like many women before them—Nadia and Anya were smuggled into the country illegally and under false pretenses. Nadia was forced into prostitution, and since Anya was just a girl at the time—their captors liked to believe that they had a conscious—was forced to watch night after night as her mother was struck with a needle, the cloudy liquid inside making her pliable to the men that sought to use her.

Anya was exposed to another world she knew very little about, seeing women used for their bodies, men coming and going as they pleased, flashing wads of money. The only conclusion her young, but warped mind processed was that through sex, money would flourish. If she wanted to get out, she would have to use her body to get the things she wanted.

At just the tender age of sixteen—long after escaping her jailers and leaving her mother to her fate—Anya learned the art of seducing men. The first man to ever succumb to her charms was an English professor that taught her the language of this country and provided her with everything she could have possibly wanted.