Until the End (Volkov Bratva #2)(39)

Brahim was another story all together. As much as Jetmir was feared, Brahim was shunned. Most were careful never to speak their thoughts aloud, too afraid that their words would reach Jetmir’s ears.

What little Brahim had accomplished in his life of crime was belittled or overlooked because of Jetmir’s notoriety, and this only made Brahim want to prove himself more, with disastrous results most occasions.

Inside the brownstone, men were seated around a poker table, stacks of money and chips in the center. A few women walked around, their eyes glazed as they went from man to man. The place itself was little better than a hole in the wall.

Jetmir was disgusted. He was used to a certain way of life and this was not it, but it was only for a week, two tops and he would be back in his home in Albania.

Fucking Naomi.

He should have known she would run to the Russian when she was in trouble. During their time together, she often spoke dismissively of him, but Jetmir didn’t miss the look on her face…nor the way she proudly showed off the stars on her back.

But she would learn.

“Who’s in charge here?” Jetmir asked in a booming voice, the sound made even louder by the silence that permeated the air.

No one spoke, each looking at another as though they too didn’t know the answer to that question. Losing his patience, Jetmir brandished his gun.

“Thirty seconds or everyone dies.”

Immediately, they all pointed to a man hunched over in a corner, as though the position would help him disappear.

Jetmir didn’t tolerate men with no backbone.

“Tell me of your business,” Jetmir said pulling up a chair to face the man, resting his foot on his knee as he regarded him.

The soldier cleared his throat, trying to look in control as he talked to his commander. “I’m not able to do much,” he tried for the honest approach, “the Russians do not allow us near their territories.”

“Yes,” Jetmir agreed nodding along. “I can see why that would be troubling for you.”

He gave a relieved smile, that expression frozen on his face for all time as Jetmir plugged a bullet into his skull.

“You do not allow any Russian, Italian, or anyone else to control you. If you want it, you take it. Consequences be damned. M? kuptoni?—Do you understand?”

They nodded quickly, too afraid to do anything else, else they succumb to their once leader’s fate.

Jetmir dropped his gun onto the table, facing them all. “I’ve got a job for you.”



When Mishca heard the knock at his door, he was expecting to see Lauren come in, but when Naomi entered with a breezy hello, his good mood was shot to shite in a nanosecond.

He really didn’t have time for whatever she was trying to pull, especially not with Luka in the room with him. It wasn’t that he was going to do anything wrong, but Luka was an expert at making an uncomfortable situation worse.

After his meeting with the Albanians, he knew the real reason she was back in New York, and while she had been honest about her being there for him, he knew it was more about needing his protection.

When she reached for his face, he slapped her hand away, frowning. “What do you want, Naomi?”

Unfazed by his temper, she plopped down on his desk crossing her legs so the hem of her skirt drew up, revealing the tops of her silky thigh-highs. Luka was whistling the 1812 overture...like that was normal.

“I missed you.”

“Feeling isn’t mutual. Leave.”

“Oh, Mishca. Is that anyway to treat a lady?”

“Of course not, but you are no lady. Tell me, were you ever going to tell me you stole Djegia Flaka from the Albanians. They want your blood.”

“I did no such thing,” she replied airily. “They just assume it was me because I no longer wanted to live with that brute, Jetmir.” She pouted, touching his shoulder. “He used to beat me. I remember once you would have taught him a lesson.”

That much was true, but not any longer, not with all of the drama that came attached with Naomi. He was already risking too much for her, all because he felt an inkling of something. It was not love, it was hardly any like, but she had meant something to him once and he didn’t want to see her killed.

Not in the way the Albanians would do it.

“You,” Naomi said pointing back at his enforcer, “Luka, yes? Can you give us ten minutes alone.”

“Nyet. Speak your piece and leave.” He didn’t want to be alone with her for a moment, knowing what she would try to do.

“If you want him to stay, so be it.”

She shifted on top of his desk, spreading her legs, offering him a view of what he was missing out on. She expected him to look, even if it was just a glance, just to prove that she still held some power over him.

When he didn’t, she sighed, but refused to give up. Withdrawing a plastic hotel key from her cleavage, she tucked into the front pocket of his shirt.

“If you want me,” she whispered next to his ear. “All you have to do is ask.”

“Seriously?”

Everyone in the room looked up at Lauren as she stood glaring at the two of them, anger quickly replacing the hurt in his expression. Without meaning to, Mishca jumped out of his chair, appearing far more guilty than he meant. He hadn’t thought to consider whether or not she even thought he was guilty of something in the first place.