The Final Hour (Volkov Bratva #3)(73)

“Tonight should be fun.”

Chuckling, he opened the door, leading her outside. “Don’t tempt me.”

As she walked by, she brushed her hand over the span of his abdomen, smiling up at him sweetly. “Or?”

It was going to be a long night.



Lauren didn’t have to ask how often Mishca had been to Brazil, not with the way he expertly navigated the streets towards the villa on the outskirts of the city.

At the moment, she didn’t have any cares in the world besides what her hair would look like once they got to the party. With the top down, her light brown strands blew in the wind, whipping past her face as Mishca drove well above the speed limit.

By the time they reached the villa, she didn’t want the drive to end.

“Oh wow,” Lauren said when Mishca exited the car, tossing his keys to the teenager in the maroon vest, coming around to her side. “This is incredible.”

Halogen lights were imbedded in the ground along the walk way up to the front doors that were standing open, manned by two security guards, one holding a clipboard. Mishca didn’t have to give his name—his notoriety clearly spoke for itself—the guards stepping to the side to allow them entry.

The floors were made of an expensive sandstone tile, the home itself decorated in warm shades of reds, tans, and oranges. The room they entered was nearly clear of any furniture, the guests already in attendance mingling together.

A waitress carrying a silver platter with flutes of champagne, and glasses of a fruity smelling drink paused in front of them.

“Can I interest you in a drink?”

Mishca declined, but grabbed one for Lauren. At her questioning look, he said, “Sangria. No one is better at making it than Lucia.”

While she had never had one herself, she knew what went into them. Taking her first sip, she coughed and swallowed, surprised by how strong it was, but did enjoy it.

There was a vast difference between the Russians she had met back at the manor, and the ‘businessmen’ she was seeing today. They were not nearly as stiff, dressed casually as opposed to the suits she was used to seeing them in. Luka looked like he would more in this group than with the Bratva.

They were at ease as they all talked casually, Mishca introducing her to a few of them, but the woman that stole the show was the one that was holding the auction.

Lucia Cortez wasn’t classically beautiful, but had a wide smile that either meant happiness or impending doom, and while she seemed perfectly pleasant when Lauren first saw her, Lucia’s mood changed at the drop of a hat, especially when she saw people she didn’t want there.

When Mishca and Lauren walked outside, where she was yelling in rapid Portuguese to one of the waiters, she abruptly halted her argument, smiling warmly at Mishca.

She came over, the gauzy material of her dress whipping back behind her, as she grasped Mishca by the shoulders, kissing both of his cheeks. Even Lauren got the same treatment, as though they had been friends for ages, instead of virtual strangers.

“I’m so glad you could make it,” Lucia said in heavily accented English. A pleasant smile spreading her plum-painted lips. “And you must be Lauren,” she said, “as beautiful as Mishca described.”

Blushing, Lauren thanked her, glancing over at Mishca who shrugged.

“Mishca Volkov,” a portly man called out, opening his arms as he crossed the room towards them.

Accepting his embrace with a hard slap to the back, Mishca stood back with a smile, gesturing for Lauren to come to his side.

Unlike Lucia, the woman standing at the man’s side didn’t smile at her, her eyes narrowing as thought she thought Lauren might have been a threat. Barely holding back an eye roll, Lauren accepted the man’s extended hand.

“Marco, my wife Lauren.”

“Ah, she is a treasure.”

Lauren smiled kindly, readying to thank him, but Lucia’s condescending voice cut in before she could.

“Oh, stop it, Marco. She’s not like one of your putas. She won’t fall for your charms.”

He didn’t look angered by her remark, only amused. That was something Lauren noticed about the older men in Mishca’s line of work. Either they didn’t get angry, or those smiles they gave were warning enough.

“My wife, as gracious as ever.”

A waiter rang a bell, capturing the attention of everyone in the room. “If you would proceed to the media room, the auction is about to begin.”

Instead of display cases, the jewelry was presented on young women, everything from diamond broaches, to emerald solitaire earrings, and brilliant ruby necklaces, the jewels nearly the size of a baby’s fist.

The guests were casually going about, observing, commenting, and already selecting their favorites before the bidding even started.

“Half of it she hasn’t worn, most were just gifts when Marco was having an affair,” Mishca explained when they were going to their seats.

Lauren coughed, taking a sip of her drink. There were at least thirty models in the room. “If you messed up, what would you give me?”

“The world, and if not that, I would let you slap me. That seems to be your favored response.”

She rolled her eyes, but Lauren did smile. “That was one time.”

Lucia walked in from a side entrance, all conversations dying away as she took the podium. As she began the auction, it didn’t take long before she started selling. She had an interesting way of holding the event, meaning she didn’t care how often Marco’s new girlfriend raised her hand to bid, Lucia ignored her, and in the same token, whenever Mishca bid on Lauren’s behalf, it didn’t matter whether another person was offering a larger amount, she always sold to him.