The Final Hour (Volkov Bratva #3)(31)

“No worries, love. Vlad is there as well.”

She groaned, pulling the cover over her head. “Why are you up so early?”

“It’s twelve-thirty.”

“So early.”

“I brought you something, hopefully it will help.”

Lauren peeked out, curious as to what it was. If it was anything like that drink, he could keep it.

It wasn’t. He held a folded print-out, a certificate she read when she opened it for a spa trip. She wanted to jump up and hug him, but she feared what the motion would do to her already pounding head, though she did have to admit that whatever he had given her was helping.

“You’re the best fiancé a girl could ask for.”

Laughing, he stood. “I’ll see you later for the rehearsal dinner. You probably should take a shower before you go. You kind of smell like a brewery.”

The door was already slammed shut behind him by the time the pillow she threw made it to that side.



The spa was everything she had hoped it would be. By the end of the day, the raging headache she’d been fighting all morning had faded to nothing. Her nails and toes were done in a pale pink color, her hair washed and highlighted.

Later that night, as she listened to the night outside, she couldn’t wipe the grin off her face if she tried. Tomorrow was the day everything would change.

But first she had to make it through tonight.





It was the night before the wedding, and following Alex’s schedule, tonight was the rehearsal dinner. Half of the people here, Lauren didn’t recognize. She knew that Mishca’s side would outnumber hers, especially since she didn’t have much family in the first place, but she didn’t realize just how many people would come out to celebrate with them. The only time she had seen this many of Mishca’s family was during Christmas at the manor.

She vaguely recognized a few of them and spoke accordingly, but when she felt Mishca tense next to her, she tuned out of the conversation she was having to see what was wrong.

His gaze was directed towards a man walking through the doors, no older than Mishca. He had longish black hair and the coldest gray eyes Lauren had ever seen. His mouth was set in a mulish line, like he never smiled, and from the way he was carrying himself, Lauren had to wonder why he had come if he wasn’t happy to be there.

While others made an attempt to speak to him, he never acknowledged them, his eyes sweeping over the room until they landed on Lauren and Mishca. He started in their direction, and with each step he took, the more Lauren became aware of the escalating tension. Whoever he was, it was clear he and Mishca didn’t get along.

Almost imperceptibly, Mishca took a step forward, angling his body in front of Lauren’s. The action made the man’s mouth twitch, but otherwise, he continued forward, not heeding the warning Mishca was giving off. It was rare that Lauren ever saw anyone that was taller than Mishca, but whoever this man was, he had Mishca by a few inches.

He could not have been much older, but it was hard to discern since the majority of the men Mishca associated with wore facial hair—with the exception of Luka.

He didn’t hesitate to extend his hand to Lauren, ignoring Mishca altogether. “Roman Pavlov.”

The name didn’t sound familiar to her, but she might have dismissed it just as soon as she had heard it.

“It’s—”

“Chto ty delayesh’ zdes’—What are you doing here?”

Roman smirked, finally turning his attention to Mishca. “To celebrate.”

Before Mishca could question him any further, Lauren asked, “Who are you?”

With a completely serious face, he answered, “Viktor Volkov’s bastard son.”

That explained the animosity…she thought, but it wasn’t like he sounded proud that he was Viktor’s son, only that he was the ‘bastard son’.

“Right. So, are you here to kill me or Mish?” Both of them looked at her like she was speaking another language. “What? It’s a pretty reasonable question all things considered, but let’s just be honest here. I’m really not in the mood for violence tonight. If you do have a vendetta, could it wait a few hours? Besides, if Mishca doesn’t kill you first, Luka’s crazy ass will get you. Understood?”

While his smile didn’t reach his eyes, his lips did turn up. Inclining his head, he said, “Completely,” then proceeded through the room towards a table away from the crowd.

“You have a twin brother no one knows about, now you have a cousin that randomly shows up. Who’s next? An aunt that’s a long distant relative of Luka’s that’s the secret wife of Vlad?” Lauren asked dryly, grabbing a glass of wine from a passing waiter’s tray.

While his attention was still focused on Roman, he did respond. “You met him at the manor actually.”

“Did I?” She tried to think back to that night, but there was so much surrounding that memory that she couldn’t be sure of anything. “Any more surprises tonight?”

“God, I hope not.”

“How did he even know to come here?” Lauren asked.

He shoved a hand through his hair, as he always did when he was frustrated—she was surprised he still had a full head of hair. “When my delightful sister sent out invitations, she sent them out to the entire family. And if he hadn’t received an invite, I’m sure someone told him of it.”