The Final Hour (Volkov Bratva #3)(77)

He turned, hand on the knob, waiting for whatever she was going to say.

“She wouldn’t want you to do this,” she pleaded with him.

“You’re right,” he said with a nod. “But I’m not Lauren.”

Without another look back, he left the hotel room.





On a stage in the back of the restaurant, dim lights shining over her, Natalia captivated the room with her rendition of a traditional Russian folk song, dressed in a flowing gown of black silk, her hair done up in elaborate curls. She, nor any of the other patrons in The Den, paid any attention to the three men that entered. It wasn’t uncommon for the place to have a revolving door of men dressed in business suits.

This didn’t surprise Jetmir Besnik in the slightest.

It wasn’t like there was any mystery as to who the owner of the restaurant really was. There was no need to fear anyone attacking this place, especially when Mikhail normally had a few of his men stationed there at all times.

The three walking behind Jetmir waited for his signal, retrieving the guns from their jackets. This was the moment Jetmir had been looking forward to for months. While he had been momentarily set back by Anya’s actions, now that she was out of the picture, his plan was back in motion.

She had provided him with safe houses within the Bratva, all of Mikhail’s businesses, and those of Mishca’s that she knew about. This just wasn’t about Mishca anymore, he wanted to take them all down, slowly before taking their lives in the end.

This was just the beginning.

“Ladies and gentlemen, if I can have your attention.”

It took a moment for everyone to recognize his interruption, but when they did and turned to peer back at him, startled screams erupted from them, the fear of death now clear.

The guards stationed inside didn’t bother reaching for their weapons, not when they were so terribly outnumbered. It wouldn’t matter soon, they would all be dead.

“I hate to cut this performance short, but I have a message to deliver, and I need you lot to deliver it.”

There was only one brave soul that was willing to speak up, probably hoping that by complying to Jetmir’s wishes, he would be spared. “What do you need said?”

Jetmir chuckled, tapping his gun against his leg. “I can handle that.”

That man was the first to die with a single shot to his head. One by one, every person in the restaurant was shot, sometimes multiple times to make sure the job was done. Since there were silencers on the guns, the sounds of the bullets were muffled, giving them enough time to finish the job without interference, only the flash of the muzzle visible.

As they were finishing, Jetmir’s men dragged the bodies of the Russian soldiers to the front of the stage, callously kicking the singer’s body away. Jetmir watched as their bodies were maneuvered into elaborate positions, his men laughing at the sight they made. Ignoring their enjoyment of the task, Jetmir came forward, a sharpened blade in hand. He cut through one of the men’s shirt, then began the slow process of cutting the man open from the base of his throat, to his navel.

Since Jetmir was wearing gloves, none of the blood that was pouring out of the man’s body coated his skin. He dipped his fingers into the man’s stomach, covering them thoroughly as he went to the wall and began writing his message.



Mishca hadn’t even been off the plane for ten minutes before he got the call, but it wouldn’t have made much of a difference, not with the amount of press that was covering it.

“Luka, go secure it. See how bad the damage is,” Mishca said, hanging up with his enforcer.

His anger got the best of him as he ended the call, tossing the device across the car, rubbing his temples. Lauren was quiet beside him, and he was almost afraid to look at her.

“What’s happened?”

He didn’t want to tell her, hell he almost decided not to, but he knew she would eventually see it. “The Albanians are back.”

She shifted, just slightly, enough for him to know that this wasn’t what she was expecting. “You knew they were coming back, right? We talked about this.”

“Yes, we did.” And he wanted to leave it at that.

But, of course, Lauren was far smarter than that. “But what did they do to make you react like that?”

He thought about just showing her one of the articles, but he thought better of it at the last minute. “Twenty-five people were murdered at Mikhail’s restaurant last night.”

“Oh my God.”

“It seems Jetmir was leaving me a message.” Mishca chanced a glance at her, wondering how she was processing this, but her face was a careful mask of blankness.

“What are you going to do about it?”

“Right now we’re trying to repair the damage. From there, I don’t know.”

She reached across the seat for his hand, holding it between both of hers, rubbing her thumbs across his knuckles. “What do you need from me?”

It relieved him, knowing she was willing to do what he wanted without hesitation. Before, she would have questioned him, but she knew the dangers as much as he did.

“You’re staying with me for now. We have no idea where Jetmir is and I don’t want to worry that he’s gotten to you while I work on this.”

They rode along in silence for a while, nearly until they reached the cluster of news vans outside of the restaurant. There were enough people outside the police tape to man a small army.