Until the End (Volkov Bratva #2)(51)

“And God, Mishca has been moping around like a lost puppy for months, then you show up and bam, the slow descent into alcoholism is prevented. Do you have like a magic…” She gestured to Lauren’s lower half with a wave of her hand.

Unbidden, Lauren laughed. “Doubt it.”

“Look, we have one thing in common. Our love for Mish. You’re what makes him happy and I accept that. I want that for him. Can’t say I won’t call you a bitch if I’m drunk, but I’m not going to give you a hard time. Okay?”

“Okay.”

Alex frowned, pushing off the wall. “You’re not one of those huggy people, are you? ‘Cause I don’t think I’m ready for all your feels.”





Mishca was already on edge when he arrived back at the manor. Though he had originally assumed it would take a week to handle his escalating problem with the Albanians, he was back early, not that it had been his choice.

Despite Mikhail agreeing that he should handle the issue, the Albanians were now encroaching on his territory as well which didn’t settle well with the Pakhan. Not only had they shot up Mishca’s club—bringing new heat from the Feds—but they had now stolen a shipment of guns and ammo from one of Mikhail’s contacts, an infraction that would be dealt with soon enough.

Mishca was exhausted, had barely slept in the three days he’d been apart from Lauren, but he had also had a nagging feeling in his gut, one that made him to make a spontaneous trip to the house to check on her.

It wasn’t that she had complained to him, in fact her texts to him were all relatively normal, but it was what wasn’t there that worried him. Vlad’s updates to him had been contradictory to what she had told him.

Walking into the house, with Luka close behind him, Mishca surveyed the guards that were station near the front door. They were set here by his father, and while they did usually drop their gaze from his in a sign of respect, this time he thought he saw something else there before they looked away.

Without questioning it—knowing they would lie to protect one of their own—he moved past them towards the voices he heard in the dining room.

Lyov was sitting at the table, a plate of food set in front of him. Since he thought himself in charge of the men here, they all flanked him like dogs to a bone as he spoke in a hushed tone, his words not loud enough for Mishca to make out, yet even the sound of their laughter grated on his nerves.

When they finally noticed Mishca and Luka’s presence, they fell silent, attempting to slip away, but Mishca raised his hand with a single command, “Stay.”

Even if he were not there—either he or Mikhail—there were two seats that were off limits to everyone. They were symbols. And the fact that Lyov would blatantly disrespect Mishca was the last strain on Mishca’s nerves.

Mishca pulled out the chair next to Lyov, plopping down with little care as he regarded the enforcer. It was hard not noticing the rising tension in the room, but no one spoke on it—or attempted to flee—just exchanging nervous glances.

Without looking behind him, Mishca said to Luka, “Bring Lauren to me.”

For a room full of killers and thieves, they could hardly hide their thoughts well…or their guilt. Mishca still hadn’t said anything to anyone, and Lyov had long since abandoned his food, sitting up straight in the chair, his hands on the table.

It wasn’t far to the room Lauren slept in and soon enough, he heard their feet echoing in the hall but Mishca was practiced with patience, and an uncanny knack for searching the expressions for a confirmation.

Out of his peripheral, he saw Luka and Lauren enter the room—Vlad coming behind them to block the door in case anyone tried to leave. When attention shifted to them, Mishca lipped the nine inch blade he kept in his vest pocket out. He kept his weapon out of eyesight, rubbing the tip of the blade against his pants leg.

The seat beside him was pulled out and Mishca could smell the faint fragrance of Lauren’s perfume as she sat. It lightened the red haze he was under, but enough that he would stop this particular demonstration.

Then, he saw what he was looking for.

Lyov tried to look down quickly, hiding his expression as he picked up his fork, pushing the food around on his plate, but Mishca didn’t miss it.

It was a twitch of his mouth, the slight mocking curl of his lip that told Mishca everything he needed to know.

Sighing, he looked to Lauren, seeing the confusion on her face as she watched him. He had once told her that this life was full of violence and he would do everything he could to keep it away from her, but she had to understand that sometimes it was necessary. And now? Now was one of those times.

“Forgive me,” he whispered to her and before he could watch the confusion in her face deepen, he lifted the blade in his hand and thrust it down into Lyov’s hand, twisting it mercilessly until the man cried out.

He then stood, knocking his chair back a he palmed the back of the enforcer’s head, shoving it down into the plate of food, not caring that the prongs of the fork were stabbing him in the face.

“I’ll explain this once,” Mishca said over his cries, speaking rapid Russian so Lauren wouldn’t understand. “If I hear of any of you treating her with less than the respect that she deserves, I won’t make your death painless. Head my f*cking warning.”

He let go of the enforcer’s head so he could come up for air, grabbing his blade to yank out, the metal coming out in a spray of blood.