Until the End (Volkov Bratva #2)(21)

In the beginning, every stupid decision seemed like a good one, at least until you were faced with the reality of it. As Lauren entered the downtown Manhattan club, she couldn’t remember why she thought meeting Mishca alone was a good idea.

It wasn’t fear of him that had her hesitant about seeing him, more of a fear of what they would discuss. There was so much between them, too much, things that she would never forget…even if she sometimes wanted to.

There was a cleaning crew inside the club, all in blue uniforms, wiping down every visible surface of the interior. There were at least a dozen men and women on the floor and with the rate that they seemed to be working, they would probably be done in a couple of hours.

At the base of the staircase leading up to Mishca’s private office, Vlad stood. Lauren tried not to smile as he watched the workers hesitantly move around him, giving him side-long glances.

“Is he up there?” Lauren asked after shaking Vlad’s hand—he wasn’t much of a hugger.

Nodding, he stepped to the side, pushing open the heavy black door behind him.

She took the stairs slowly, trying to ignore the rapid beating of her heart as she knocked on the glass door, waiting for him to bark an ‘enter’ before she shoved it open. Mishca was seated behind his desk, a shot glass and a bottle of expensive vodka resting in front of him, Jonathan sitting in one of the armchairs in front of the cherry-wood desk.

Lauren had only met Jonathan on a single occasion and he had seemed nice enough, but today he looked stressed, even more than Mishca did.

He spotted Lauren first and at any other time, it might have been comical seeing the obvious relief on his face. Standing up abruptly, he drew Mishca’s attention away from him and to Lauren, but she couldn’t bring herself to look at him yet.

“Good to see you again, Lauren,” Jonathan said shaking her hand, kissing both of her cheeks.

Jonathan had perfectly styled brown hair, with warm brown eyes. He obviously worked out, but next to Mishca, he looked like a child.

“Jonathan.”

“I’ll just leave you two to talk…”

He made his exit quickly and without him in the room, Lauren couldn’t avoid looking at Mishca any longer.

It was like a punch to the gut.

That night in the club, she must not have really seen him. To be quite honest, he looked like shit.

His hair was a touch too long, his eyes were bloodshot—thanks in large part to the bottle of alcohol on his desk, no doubt—and instead of his standard three piece suit, he was wearing a white T-shirt, slim dark wash jeans, and heavy looking boots. It reminded her of the first time they met, a day that seemed like it was only yesterday.

As she moved further into the room, the change in his demeanor was so subtle that if she hadn’t been looking for it, she might not have noticed it. A sort of…desperation filled his eyes, something she didn’t understand.

He stood, always the gentleman, gesturing for her to take a seat in one of the warm, brown leather armchairs as he took the seat that Jonathan just vacated.

As they both sat, the temperature in the room seemed to increase as they faced one another. When he reclined back in his seat, drumming his fingers against the arm of the chair, she folded her hands in her lap. He swept a hand through his hair, she tapped her foot on the floor.

But neither of them were willing to break the silence.

With a measured smile, he said, “You look good.”

She glanced down at her attire: tank top, jeans, and flats. “Thanks. You look…well you always look like that,” she grudgingly admitted, looking away when his smile grew wider.

“I’m glad you came. I thought you might not.”

She shrugged. “It’s not every day two family members of the man that killed my father request a meeting with me. How could I say no?” The words came out lacking any real emotion, but she almost felt guilty when he flinched slightly, shifting in his chair.

Clearing his throat, Mishca said, “My father told me he spoke with you, but not about what.”

“He told me the truth about.”—She waved her hand—“well everything, at least his part in it all.” She couldn’t keep the bitterness out of her voice if she tried.

With Mishca, she didn’t know what to feel at any given time. One minute she liked him, the next she hated him. She wanted him to feel guilty for her father, but she also hated that she made him feel that way.

It was exhausting.

“When exactly were you going to tell me you knew my father?”

He scrubbed a hand down his face. “I would have told you eventually, when I was sure you could handle it.”

“There was no reason why I wouldn’t have been able to,” Lauren said, “you said you didn’t know anything about his death, I would have assumed you were one of his patients, which turned out to be true.”

“I can’t tell you what I was thinking at the time.”

“I can. You were worried about protecting your father and your organization.”

“Nyet. When I first found out about the connection between the two of you, there was no reason for me to suspect that we had anything to do with his death.”

“Right, because your physician is murdered, that doesn’t send off any warning bells?”

“I never meant to hurt you, Lauren. You have to believe that.”