The Final Hour (Volkov Bratva #3)(16)

Lauren stood with a glass of pink champagne in hand, leaning against the railing as she stared out into the night, noticing just how beautiful the Manhattan Bridge was when the lights hit it the right way, but everything about this night felt magical. She couldn’t describe it.

For once in her life, everything was seeming to fall right into place. Everyone she loved was here and she couldn’t regret the events that had brought her to this point.

“There’s my girl.”

Lauren smiled, turning at the sound of Ross’ voice. He looked so proud, the lines fanning out beside his eyes crinkling as his smile grew. He stopped just beside her, gazing out at the water like she had done moments before.

“How’s it feel?”

She laughed. “Indescribable. It doesn’t really feel real yet.”

“And he’s who you want?” Ross asked quietly, like he was afraid of her answer.

She knew he would never approve of Mishca, not just because of what happened to him, but because of who Mishca was and what he represented. Ross had spent his career putting men like Mishca behind bars. Lauren understood that, even though she loved Mishca with all her heart.

“Yes,” she said finally, looking up at him. “He is.”

Ross downed the rest of his drink. “Then I can’t stand in your way.”

“Ross—”

“No, no, let me finish. What I said before, I meant it. I could tell you about all the danger you’ll face—hell, you know about the danger—but it wouldn’t do me any good. We want you to be happy.”

Placing her flute on the railing, she wrapped her arms around Ross, hugging him tightly. “Thank you.”

When she pulled back, she thought she saw tears in his eyes.

“Can I give you a little advice?”

She nodded.

“Plausible deniability. I’m sure that boy over there already knows not to tell you anything about his dealings, but I’m telling you. Don’t ask any questions. The less you know, the better. It would break your mother’s heart if you were sent to prison.”

“And God knows what would happen to me in there.” She laughed when he glared at her. “No, but I hear you Ross.”

He kissed her forehead. “Good.” He sighed long and hard, looking a bit defeated though Lauren didn’t know why. “Let me go find your mother.”

He disappeared back into the restaurant, but Lauren could see him just off to the side talking to Mishca. Whatever was said made Mishca nod, then he too disappeared from view.

Now, Lauren was really curious. She finally found Mishca in the crowd, making his way back to her, but instead of the carefree expression he’d been wearing all night, he looked nervous.

He was holding a carefully wrapped gift box, a sparkling silver bow on top. She should have known, despite what she had told him, he would do what he wanted.

“I thought we said no gifts,” Lauren said as she tried to watch him put the bracelet on her wrist though she could hardly see it with his hands in the way.

Several months ago, he had taken it back from her, telling her that he wanted to put another charm on it, but she’d eventually forgotten he still had it.

“Before you look at it,” Mishca said meeting her eyes, closing his hand around her wrist gently, “I need to tell you something first.”

Unsure what he was about to say, she just nodded.

“We never talked about that night, when you came by the club and I wasn’t there. When I went back, I saw Naomi’s phone on the ground and I knew what you were probably thinking, but I wasn’t with her that night, or any other night. The phone was left that day you saw Naomi and Luka there. She dropped it on her way out.”

His thumb slipped beneath the links of the bracelet, rubbing over the sensitive underside of her wrist, where her pulse raced. “I didn’t think too much into it, but seeing it again…I just don’t want you to have the wrong idea.”

Lauren smiled. “Mish, it doesn’t matter now. It’s in the past.”

“Not yet, I—just give me a minute to explain.” He looked so anxious that she was worried what was bothering him so much. “The night he came in there, I was at the manor, looking through some old boxes in the attic—it’s where my father kept my mother’s old things. I was supposed to get back in less than an hour, but it took longer than I was expecting.”

Mishca didn’t ramble. If anything, he was too careful with the way he spoke. But now that he was, she couldn’t help responding to his own anxiety. “Mish, what are you talking about?”

“I’m getting there,” he said on an uneasy laugh. “You have to hear the whole thing—believe it or not, I’ve been practicing this. Do you have any idea how much shit is up there?” He asked suddenly. “It was like a f*cking museum up there and—”

“Mish…”

“Right. Anyway. I needed to find what I was looking for that night. For the life of me, I cannot tell you why it needed to be that night, but I refused to leave until I found it. Finally, after two hours of opening boxes, I found it.” That manic expression in his eyes cleared, now filling with shame. “I was in the car heading back when I tried calling you. I’m so sorry I let that happen.”

“It wasn’t your fault,” she whispered meaning every word.