The Final Hour (Volkov Bratva #3)(80)

Only one of the agents that walked in at the end, wearing a bullet proof vest, her badge hanging on a silver chain around her neck, was familiar to Lauren. Her name was Tabitha Green if she wasn’t mistaken, the one from the club shooting nearly a year ago.

She smiled at them as she entered, holding up a set of folded pages, no doubt the warrant that she needed to arrest Mishca.

“He’s not resisting!” Lauren shouted as two of the agents pushed Mishca to the ground, roughly pulling his arms behind his back to place handcuffs on him.

Agent Green slapped the search warrant into Lauren’s hands as Mishca was wrestled from their apartment, led out by several of the men in tactical gear. Lauren made to go after them, just to keep Mishca in her sights, but Agent Green held out a hand, forcing her to stop.

“He’s the least of your worries at the moment.”



Mishca wished he’d had more time to prepare Lauren for what was happening, knowing that she was probably panicking at the sight of the agents tearing their apartment apart.

Thankfully, they had already moved from his old place, and since he hadn’t allowed many of his men inside the penthouse, it was doubtful they would find anything of relevance.

As he’d been led out of the building, there had been police cars nearly blocking off the entirety of the street, big, black SUVs parked along the sidewalk. With the sirens and flashing lights, they were making more of a spectacle than it truly needed to be, which told Mishca that they were trying to make a point.

This wasn’t just about a routine stop-in, they were really trying to take him down.

Right. He would see how well that worked for him.

Mishca hadn’t spoken on the drive over, and was more surprised that they were going to the local precinct as opposed to the FBI headquarters in the city. In this time, he had plenty of time to go over everything he knew, and what he expected. He was glad Vlad had asked for some time away so that he hadn’t been there at the time of the raid.

Vlad usually armed at all times. They didn’t need a gun charge added to whatever bogus claims they were going to make.

Mishca wasn’t surprised to see that several of the Bratva’s men were being processed in the police station. The officers standing around looked more than happy to do their job, others standing around talking about it. By the end of the day, Mishca was sure these arrests would be on the news.

Upon seeing him, hushed murmurs fell across the room, their eyes finding Mishca as he was escorted to the photographer first to have his mug shot taken. It was an extraneous process, one that annoyed him as they took their time with it all.

After he was fingerprinted, he was led to a holding cell where a dozen other men were being held, not that he was worried. The lot of them were far bigger and looked like they had been in and out of prisons for the majority of their lives.

The officer escorting him removed Mishca’s handcuffs, giving him a slight shove as he slammed the door behind him. Mishca rubbed his wrists, going over to the lone bench in the entire cell that was completely occupied.

He didn’t have to say a word before they all stood, moving out of his way. Whether they knew who he was, or that they heard the rumors he knew were circling the precinct, they made a point to move out of his way.

While he had no idea how long he would be there, he did need to make a phone call, but before he could ask for one, two agents—distinctly different from New York police officers—took him from the cell into an interrogation room.

As he was entering the room where Green was already seated, he could just see the back of Mikhail’s head as he was led into another room. Whatever evidence they thought they had must have been enough if they went after Mikhail too.

“Can I get you anything?” The rookie officer asked as he stood in the doorway.

Smirking, Mishca shook his head. He had been doing this far too long to fall for a trap like that. If they wanted his fingerprints, they would need to work a little harder.

“I doubt this is about pleasantries,” Mishca said dryly as he took a seat in one of the aluminum folding chairs. “What can I do for you, Agent Green?”

He doubted anyone gunned for him as much as Agent Green did, but he didn’t take it personally. She loathed anyone that bore his last name. It didn’t help that she had been tied to the same case agent that tried to unsuccessfully take down his father back in ’98. It also didn’t help that she’d been made a fool of on more than one occasion by his organization.

There wasn’t much he could do about a bruised ego but laugh at her expense.

She slammed a stack of papers on the table, shoving them over to him. He immediately noted the letterhead at the top of one of the pages.

It seemed the U.S. Attorney wanted to strike a deal.

That told Mishca two things. One: Their case was shit and they needed corroborating witnesses to make their case stick. Two: They wanted to make it appear as though Mishca was cooperating with their investigation.

Despite their differences, Mishca and Mikhail knew one thing about each other. They would never betray another Vor. Kill one? Sure. But never help law enforcement with their cases.

“What use do I have of this?” Mishca asked, shoving the documents back to her.

“How long do you think you can cheat death?”

“And what business of that is yours, Agent Green?”

She chuckled, shaking her head as though she found him amusing. “None, but do remember that those closest to you will not be as lucky.”