The Final Hour (Volkov Bratva #3)(37)

“From the first day you spilled coffee on me, I knew that I wanted you in my life.”

She laughed—as well as most of the others—eyes watering already. She didn’t think she had ever cried this much in her life.

“It was your smile, the way you laughed, how despite a less than…ideal start, you were willing to take a chance on me and even after, when you had every reason to walk away, here you stand. I promised you once that I would protect you and I meant every word of that, but more than that, more than my…obligations, I promise to love you, to show you everyday what you mean to me.”

Her bottom lip was trembling, the tears she’d ben trying to vain to hold back, freely falling. She could only imagine what she looked like, but with the adoration she saw in Mishca’s eyes, she doubted he cared about her running mascara.

He brought her hand up, splaying it over his heart, near one of the stars that he had bled to get.

“Ne do kontsa vremeni—Until the end of time.” He whispered, only for her to hear.

How could he expect her to speak after that?

She had memorized her vows, days before because she didn’t want to embarrass herself in front of so many people, but those carefully written words fled her mind now that she was facing Mishca.

Opening her mouth, she expected to stumble over her words, but she chose to speak from her heart. “You were different from everyone I had ever known. You saw me alone, not the tragedy that happened in my past. I can’t pinpoint the exact moment I fell in love with you—” A wistful smile spread across her lips as she looked at him, her future. “—It feels like I always have. While I can’t promise to obey your orders—”

“Tell me about it.”

“But,” she went on, talking over him, “I know I will love you, until the end.”

There was so much more she wanted to say, to express to him, but she didn’t how how to form it into words, but Mishca knew her, inside and out.

He kissed her, slowly, pulling away to say, “I know.”

The officiator cleared his throat, making them both look at him. Luka chuckled. “Jumping the gun there, Boss.”

The rings came next.

Amber handed Lauren Mishca’s. She turned the band over in her fingers, reaching for Mishca’s hand as she pledged her life to him, promising to love and respect and honor him in all ways, flushing when she saw a smile light up his face as she slid the band into place.

Vlad didn’t look as gruff as he normally did when it was his turn to pass Lauren’s ring to Mishca. In fact, he was actually smiling. Hers was a more feminine version of Mishca’s, one that suited the older style ring she was already wearing. She heard the click of camera shutters going off as Mishca slid it onto her finger, saying words similar to her own, though he added a promise to protect her at all costs.

Then, as he had done so many times in the past, he picked up her hand and kissed her knuckles.

“I now pronounce you husband and wife,” the officiator said proudly. “You may now kiss the bride.”

Mishca came to her, his thumb sweeping over her cheek before he tilted her face up, slanting his mouth over hers. At first it was rather docile, just a gentle press against her own lips, but it didn’t matter that they had an audience, Mishca deepened it.

Mishca didn’t release her until catcalls started his soft laughter vibrating in his chest. They turned to face their families, hand in hand.

A glowing spot on the building just across the street had Lauren narrowing her eyes on it, but it vanished in the next instant. Putting it out of her mind, Lauren smiled, squeezing Mishca’s hand as everyone cheered.

They started down the dais and she was blissfully happy, doubting that anything could ruin this day.

Until everything went to hell.

She heard the shouts of surprise as people dove to the ground, the brigadiers immediately going for their guns, but the only thing Lauren could see was Mishca as his hand was snatched from her as he flew backwards, landing on his back. The blood rushing in her ears drowned out everything else as she rushed towards him, tripping over her skirts as she fell to her knees beside him.

“Mish, what—no, no, no.”

A dark saturation began to bloom in the center of his chest, extending up to the white of his shirt, the startling shade of red making her suck in a breath. In the next moment, she was screaming for someone, anyone to help as she placed her hands on top of the wound, applying pressure.

His mouth opened and closed futilely, as though he wanted to say something, but she shook her head softly, her throat closing up as tears welled in her eyes. “You’re going to be fine, I promise. You can’t die,” she said to him, her voice catching when she saw a tear roll down the side of his face.

People were shouting in Russian, scrambling around. She knew a few were already running out the building, splitting up to go hunt for the gunman in the adjacent buildings.

Lauren didn’t move from her spot next to Mishca, not even when the EMTs arrived. Someone had to grab her from behind, drawing her away to let the paramedics do their job. They moved lightning quick, picking him up to place him on the stretcher, placing an oxygen mask over his face.

His eyes were still on her as they began wheeling him out of the room. She never bothered to look back at who was holding her, just lurched free of his hold, holding the front of her skirts to hurry after them. By the time she got inside, the elevator doors were closing. Cutting to the right, she wrenched the door to the stairs open, kicking off her heels on the way down. She didn’t care that she was nine floors up, she was determined to get down there.