The Final Hour (Volkov Bratva #3)(100)

“Sir, we—”

“You are free to go, Mr. Volkov.”

Whatever she had been about to say was shut down, and Mishca couldn’t give a shit what was going to happen to her, he was just ready to get out of there. Once he was free, Mishca thought about being a good sport, leaving as quickly as he came, but he changed his mind at the last moment, extending his hand to her once he was free.

When she didn’t return it, threatening to kill him with just her gaze alone, he shrugged and winked at her, buttoning his jacket as he left.

Everything had come together perfectly, one more obstacle marked off his list. Now, he was down to one.



Lauren was waiting for Mishca outside, and when she saw him walking free, heading towards her, she breathed a sigh of relief. She was in his life, always until the day she died, but even she didn’t quite understand how it had been so easy for him to skate by on this trial entirely. She did know of the sacrifice he’d made, but there had to be more to it than that. From what she knew, a few of his other associates had far more evidence against them, and would more than likely be convicted.

It also didn’t escape Lauren’s notice that most of the men arrested and detained worked for Mikhail specifically.

When he reached her side, he drew her forward, holding her tight, and she felt the tension draining out of him. She closed her eyes for a moment, reveling in the sensations.

He kissed her forehead, drawing back to meet her gaze. “Let’s go home.”

She nodded, waving over to Jessica as she walked in the opposite direction. When they were in his car, pulling away, Lauren couldn’t help but silently observe him.

The weight of what he’d had to do weighed on his mind, that much Lauren knew just from watching him day to day. She had wanted to give him space, not knowing how else to help him, but that didn’t seem to be working.

She had seen an improvement since the day he had confessed everything to her, but he was still dwelling in it.

Mishca immediately went into the bedroom when they got home, hardly speaking a word along the way. She left him alone for a while, just sitting in the kitchen, but she decided that she didn’t want him to shut her out, so instead, she went after him.

Lauren entered their bedroom and heard the shower running. Mishca was standing beneath the spray, his eyes closed, his body immobile. She didn’t think she had ever seen him so still, so devoid of life.

She took off her clothes, opening the glass door to step inside. Crossing to stand in front of him, Lauren reached up, cupping his face, wanting him to look at her. He did, almost reluctantly.

“I’m sorry,” she said softly, blinking the water out of her eyes.

Nothing, not even the slightest acknowledgement that he’d heard anything she had said.

Pulling his face down as she went up, she kissed him, trying to coax a reaction out of him. It took a moment, him just being immobile beneath her lips before she finally felt his lips part.

One moment he was passive, the next he turned aggressive, taking over the kiss. He fisted a hand in her hair, holding her closer. Lauren could feel the change in him, when it changed from comfort to something more.

If this was what he needed to help him cope, she would gladly give it to him, but at the same time, she knew that it would only be a temporary fix.

He had to face it if he wanted to move past it.

“Nothing anyone could say or do would take the pain of my father’s death away. At first I was angry, why me, then I was sad for years. Finally, I had put it to the back of my mind, at least until the anniversary of his death came around. Then I would relive it all over again.” She brushed his hair back out of his face, hating the look she saw there. “But every other day during the year, I’m fine. I’m not telling you to forgive him, and I’m not telling you to forget him. I’m asking that you talk to me. Share with me so that I can help.”

He was shaking his head, and she feared that he wasn’t listening to her—or at least didn’t agree—but his next words rid her of those fears.

“I feel like I didn’t know him at all.”

She went up to kiss him again, linking her hands with his. “Don’t forget what you told me about that night, what he was willing to do for you. Know that he loved you, and that’s all that matters.”





That night, Mishca came into the room, sober for a change, slipping into the bed beside her. He was careful, not wanting to wake Lauren, but when he leaned over, kissing the spot below her ear, she stirred.

He drew back, giving her space. For the past three days—or three weeks if he was being honest—he had treated her poorly. Everything had gone from bad to worse, and he had foolishly taken his frustrations out on her.

Mishca didn’t know how he was going to make it up to her, but whatever she asked of him, he would do. But it couldn’t be tonight, not with what he had planned.

Rolling over to face him, she rubbed her eyes, blinking them open as she yawned, covering her mouth with her hand her wedding rings in full view. Despite not knowing what she was going to say, the sight of them made him smile.

“Hi.”

She smiled sleepily, snuggling deeper into his arms. “What are you doing up so late?”

“I have to go.”

Lauren frowned, though she didn’t move from her place in his arms. “Where are you going? It’s like one in the morning.”