The Final Hour (Volkov Bratva #3)(90)

When he answered his phone, Lauren sat in silence for the rest of the ride home, ignoring Mishca’s conversation on his phone. He would occasionally glance over at her, like he was expecting her to say something, but when she didn’t, his brow furrowed.

Not even when they were home did he end that phone call, but by this point, Lauren had gone through every possibility of what Mishca might say to her, and she had yet to find one that would appease her.

She walked into the kitchen without a word, searching through the cabinets for the bottle of Vodka she knew Mishca kept there. Unscrewing the top, she tossed it on the counter, not bothering with a glass as she tipped the bottle against her lips, swallowing the burning liquid.

Mishca wasn’t far behind, ending the call before taking the bottle from her. “Chto eto takoya—What is it?”

She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, feeling the alcohol in her stomach as she faced Mishca. “What happened in Brazil?”

It was a curse, knowing someone so well that you could read every minute facial expression they made. Only a few seconds passed, but it was enough time for her to see the truth in his eyes.

“Don’t lie to me,” she quickly said, could almost see the lie forming on his tongue. “Whatever bullshit excuse you’re about to give me, save it. Tell me what happened with Naomi.”

“How—”

“Casper told me—How the f*ck do you think I know, Mishca?”

“Now is not the time, Lauren.”

With every word he spoke that was not an explanation, her anger mounted. Without a doubt, if he had bothered explaining it at all, given any excuse, she would have put it out of her mind because she trusted him that much.

But as he avoided the question, that sinking feeling in her gut returning as her mind was consumed with possibilities.



“Did you sleep with her?” Lauren asked.

Mishca didn’t have to look at her to know that she was dreading his answer. That meant, at least a part of her, believed that he had done it. He had no right to be upset with her for her assumption, but it bothered him all the same.

“I told you, nothing happened. Leave it.”

He had never been good with words, especially when lines were blurred between his life with Lauren and his life in the Bratva. Now, as those words hung between them, he could feel her rage escalating a she shoved him from behind, forcing him to spin around and catch her hands.

Her eyes were alight, her body tense, and if it weren’t for the fact that he knew she would slap him for it—she had a knack for hitting him when he pissed her off—he would tell her she was beautiful.

“I am your wife!” She snapped at him, trying to wrench her arms free, but he held fast. “I won’t be your damn doormat.”

“Nyet!” Mishca exploded. “I didn’t f*ck her. You know this!”

“I don’t know anything! How the f*ck could I when you’re lying to me. Was she the reason we took that trip in the first place? Why did I have to learn from the damn FBI agent that you were seeing her.”

He narrowed his eyes on her, coming around the counter until he was just inches in front of her, forcing her to crane her head back to see him. It was no longer about her doubting him.

“What did she say?”

“Mishca—”

“Tell me!”

She flinched, a fear he had hoped to never see in her eyes blooming. He hated seeing it, but he needed her to answer, and though he feared what she would say, he had to hear it.

“She didn’t tell me anything.” Though she spoke softly, there was still steel in her voice. “She had pictures, but I only saw one, one of you kissing her.”

He backed away from her, unable to say a word, not knowing what to say.

Mishca shot out of the apartment, the blood in his veins racing as he climbed into his car and sped off. His nerves were shot and it was only going down hill as the night went on.

Not only had that agent brought Lauren into their field office, but there was no way she could have known about Brazil, not when the trip had been spontaneous. Even if they had been under surveillance for some time, Mishca knew how they worked, they wouldn’t have been approved for Brazil in time.

Mishca didn’t doubt it, Mikhail had been right about the mole being FBI.

There were only a few people that knew of the trip to Brazil, but only one of them knew of his plans to meet Naomi…

Vlad.





As she lay there alone, Lauren wondered how many time she would be back in a similar situation like this, wondering where Mishca had went, and what was going on with him. It wasn’t a big mystery that something she had said pissed him off, but whether that was about her questioning him about Naomi or the fact that Agent Green had caught him in the middle of…well whatever it was he’d been doing, she didn’t know.

Sighing, she picked up her phone again, sliding her finger across the screen to check for any calls. She even made sure the volume was turned up on the device, just to be sure. It was useless, she knew, but doing it gave her some peace of mind.

The hours slipped by one by one, to the point that she had given up waiting for him to get home. Her tears had long since dried, and now there was just a numbness that had taken her over. Even laying in this bed felt wrong, especially when she didn’t know what all Mishca was keeping from her.