The Final Hour (Volkov Bratva #3)(104)

“You should head home,” Mishca said once the plane was no longer in sight. “I have something I need to handle first.”

One thing she had grown used to since Mishca had gotten the cross was his tone when he referred to the Bratva. While she no longer asked about his dealings—deciding to stay ignorant of it all—she did recognize the differences between when he was with her and when he was working.

“Should I ask how you’re getting home?” She asked since they had rode together.

At that moment, Luka pulled into the lot, saluting her from the driver’s seat. She still wondered what had happened between them, besides Vlad’s death, that had made them so distant towards each other. Normally, he would have given her a silly grin, or actually gotten out of the car to say something weird, but he didn’t move, and as soon as she waved back at him, he turned to look straight ahead.

“I’ll see you later.”

“Can you do me a favor?” Lauren asked, clasping his hand.

“Of course.”

“Fix whatever this is with Luka. I don’t like it, and no, I don’t care what he did.”

Kissing her hand, then her cheeks, he promised, “I’ll work on it.”



It was time.

Mishca entered his childhood home for what would be the last meeting held in the basement there. Now that Mikhail was gone, and considering Alex felt the same way about it, Mishca had put the place up for sale.

There was no guarantee it would sell for the amount Mikhail had paid for it, but Mishca didn’t care about that. He just wanted to be rid of it. Inside, furniture was covered in plastic sheets, the precious art once hanging on the walls already shipped off to Mikhail’s new house in Russia, all except for one.

Catja’s portrait still hung on the wall outside of Mikhail’s office, at least until Mishca left once his meeting was over. He didn’t care that Mikhail had asked for it, it would be going with him to his home where it rightfully belonged.

Luka trailed behind Mishca, his hands stuffed in his pockets. Mishca knew it was odd for the enforcer to have moved up in the ranks so quickly, especially when it was something he didn’t want, but Mishca wouldn’t be making the same mistakes as Mikhail. Only those he trusted implicitly would stand by his side.

But, he also thought the former enforcer would miss his short stint at The Gilded Room.

“Ready, Boss?” Luka asked as he shoved the door to the basement open.

Mishca clapped him on the shoulder, but didn’t respond as he moved past him, collecting his thoughts as he walked down the stairs, the whispers of voices below him tapering off.

When Mishca emerged at the bottom, representatives of the three other families climbed to their feet in a sign of respect. Mishca looked to his former chair, a place he’d sat for the last eight years. No longer was he considered one of them.

He was their boss.

He was their Pakhan.

Waving for them to sit down, Mishca took his own seat at the head of the table, making sure to face each of them in turn.

“Our organization has suffered over the last year and a half due to the choices some of us have made. We have to live with that. The only thing we can do now is move forward, make new investments to climb back on our feet, and flourish.”

He tapped his thumb on the table, wanting to be sure he had everyone’s attention before he continued.

“Mikhail has gone back to homeland and cannot act as Pakhan from there. Therefore, it was agreed that I would take his place by the counsel.”

There was no reason to argue since it was a moot point after the decision had been made, so only a couple frowned. Mishca had expected it. He didn’t expect anyone to agree with someone as young as Mishca to lead an organization that was older than he was, but they would accept it.

“If this is a problem for you, or you think to challenge my rule, the door is there”—he pointed over his shoulder—“but know that you will not live to see another day if you do. Act against me, you will die. It is simple.”

He sat forward, folding his hands on the table. “And if any of you think to go after my wife, there is no where that I cannot find you. You will die, painfully. Consider this your warning.”

Mishca left the house only a short while later, driving back into the city. Alone in his car, he let himself think of his time with Vlad, even if that time had been a lie. He missed him, just as much as he had missed Lauren in her months away from him. The only problem was that Lauren had come back to him. Vlad never would.

Things would be vastly different at this point, now that he had to rework the structure of the Bratva in its entirety. New positions would need to be handed out, and he would have to decide who he wanted in his corner…besides Luka. He hadn’t spoken to him since the motel, but that didn’t mean he planned on demoting him.

He was the best at his job, and Mishca couldn’t fault him for doing it. One thing he would have to learn how to do was to keep his personal feelings out of it.

Climbing out of his car, Mishca tossed his keys to one of his associates—who was currently working as a valet for his building—nodding to the women at the front desk who smiled in his direction.

He took the elevator up to the penthouse, unbuttoning his jacket as he entered, hanging it up on the rack on his way.

Lauren was in the kitchen, her head stuck in the refrigerator as she rifled through one of the drawers. He smiled at the sight of her, humming beneath her breath. He cleared his throat, making her spin around in surprise.