Lauren nodded.
“Mishca is being held on RICO charges. Do you know what those are? Good, then you know he will face a considerable amount of jail time if convicted. Right now, we’re waiting to get him in front of a judge for a bail hearing, which we’re hoping for tomorrow, but I’ll call you with more details. Do you have any questions for me?”
Lauren was still trying to wrap it all around her head, but there was only one question that immediately sprung to mind. “Is Mishca okay?”
Jessica smiled, not unkindly. “From what I know about him, as long as you’re here, he will be fine. Now, how about I get this settled with the agents. You probably will want to stay in a hotel until we finish.”
Two days later, Lauren was getting dressed in her hotel room, every electronic device in the room turned off except for her cell phone, just in case Alex or Jessica needed to contact her. Anyone else got sent straight to voicemail. She had made the mistake of answering a call from Susan and Ross right after she had checked in, and soon realized that she was more than glad with her decision not to tell them about Jetmir and the Albanians.
Apparently, the Bratva wasn’t just news in New York, but all over the country. Susan was panicking, thinking that Lauren was in trouble, and while Ross too was upset, he was more concerned with how Mishca’s case was looking. He might not have liked Mishca for what he was, but he respected him well enough.
Mishca’s arrest, as well as half of the Volkov Bratva, was the biggest news on television. It had been on a loop for most of the day, broadcasting on every media outlet there was. By this time, Lauren couldn’t stand to hear what every reporter in the city was saying about Mishca and the ‘secret life he led.’
She knew there were some things that she didn’t know about the Bratva life, and knew that it dealt with illegal activities, but the way the media was trying to portray him made her cringe.
Lauren hadn’t understood why Alex demanded that she wear sunglasses and a wide-brimmed hat, at least not until they were outside the courthouse. The press was everywhere. Not that Alex hadn’t tried to explain on their way there, speaking on the fact that this was one of the biggest Bratva busts in the last decade.
According to her, the FBI had never tried to touch the Volkovs because like most problems they faced, their obstacles just disappeared. She might not have been paying much attention, but when Lauren heard this, she immediately thought of Ivan and how he was killed in prison, and how his statement had been lost.
No, she didn’t doubt that they took care of their problems.
As soon as they stepped out of the car, reporters were on them, snapping pictures, firing off rapid questions as though they could provide any answers. Following Alex’s lead, Lauren kept her head down and her mouth shut as she hurried up the steps, tuning everything out.
Walking into a courthouse for a marriage license was far different from attending it for an arraignment. Then, she hardly noticed her surroundings. Now. it felt sterile. Once the doors closed off the yelling reporters, Lauren took a deep breath, balling her hands into fists to stop them from shaking. Now more than ever, she felt the weight of her wedding ring.
The actual room in which the arraignment would take place was modestly filled with people, a handful on either side of the room.
Lauren and Alex sat behind the defense’s table, greeting Jessica as she prepared the documents at her table. When she was ready, she waved Lauren over, telling her what to expect for the hearing.
A door to the side opened, a guard escorting Mishca out, his hands shackled in front of him. For someone facing RICO charges, he looked oddly calm, and Lauren couldn’t help but wonder if he knew something she didn’t about what was going on. His eyes scanned over the crowd, stopping on her as his mouth dipped into a frown.
But to her surprise, Mishca wasn’t the only one brought in. Luka strolled in next, ever cheerful, speaking candidly with the guard that was escorting him. He looked more than happy to abandon Luka at the table.
“I guess they’re getting tried together,” Alex whispered, looking just as confused as Lauren felt.
Mikhail was next with his own attorney, sitting at the other end of the table. If he was worried about the impending trial, it didn’t show on his face.
A few more came in, most Lauren had never met, though there were a few Lauren thought she’d seen in the past.
Once they were all settled, though there wasn’t much to do about the noise level since everyone was talking all at once, trying to get advice from the numerous attorneys in the room.
“All rise!” The bailiff announced in a booming voice. “The honorable Judge Larry Dobson presiding.”
Another door opened, a man in black robes entering. He was average height, with snowy white hair and a thick mustache. His mouth looked like it was permanently set in a frown, and when he claimed his seat—everyone else doing the same when he waved his hand—he spoke with an authority of a man with years of experience.
“Ladies and gentlemen, let’s not waste my time. How do the defendants plea?”
Choruses of answers rang out as the men rushed to answer, not waiting for their attorneys to speak for them. Mishca was drumming his fingers on the table, looking annoyed as he leaned over to whisper in Jessica’s ear.
Banging his gavel a few times, Judge Dobson called order, silencing the rallying call.
Jessica cleared her throat. “I believe it is a collective ‘not guilty,’ your honor.”
“So noted.” He turned to the State’s Attorney. “And the state on bail?”
“Remand, your honor,” said the man in a crisp pin-striped suit. “The defendants have been charged under the RICO act—and two of them are high-ranking members of the Russian criminal organization: Vory v Zakone. They have unlimited resources, and should be considered a flight risk.”
“Your honor, neither of my clients have ever been convicted of any crime. Mishca Volkov owns multiple clubs in the Manhattan area, has donated to dozens of local charities, and was recently married. Luka Sergeyev works as Mr. Volkov’s wife personal security. Unless the Attorney General would like to indict Mrs. Volkov, I highly doubt he could commit any crime while tailing her.”
“Your honor!” He didn’t have to yell ‘objection’ it was clear in his voice.
“Save your antics for the trial, Miss. Turney. Bail is set at five-hundred-thousand each, cash or bond. Anything else?”
Jessica dug through her briefcase, pulling out another set of documents. “At this time, I would like to submit a motion to sever.”
She passed the pages to the bailiff, who promptly handed them over to the judge. Nodding, he said, “I will tell you my decision at the next hearing.” He slammed the gavel down. “Next.”
It took ages to get through everyone else—some let out on bail, others remanded because of their prior convictions. After it was over, Jessica came over to Lauren.
“Why is their bail so high?” Lauren asked climbing to her feet.
“It’s common in cases like this, but there’s no reason to worry, London. We’re lucky there was an amount set.”
Accepting that, Lauren nodded, glancing over at Alex. “What do we do now? How do I post bail?”
“Don’t worry about that, I’ll take care of it. And your apartment should be clear now. Mishca should be there in a couple of hours.”
Jessica prepared to walk away, but Lauren wasn’t done. “And what about Luka?”
“You want to post bail for him as well?” She asked, almost like she was surprised by the request.
“Of course. I know they’re accounts are frozen—somebody has to do it.”
Inclining her head, Jessica said, “I’ll see to it.”
Her home looked like a crime scene.
Drawers were pulled out, clothes were strewn everywhere in the closet. They clearly didn’t care about putting the place back in order after their search.
But at the moment, she didn’t care what it looked like, as long a
s Mishca came back soon.
Lauren was sitting alone, despite there being at least a dozen people in her home, all talking in rapid Russian. She had no idea what was going on with Mishca since leaving the courthouse some hours before, let alone why all these people had just shown up, but since Alex was there, she didn’t question it.
She had foolishly never thought of this possibility before, always believing that Mishca and the Bratva were untouchable, yet here she was, panicked, waiting for his phone call.
It was only minutes later that Mishca walked in the door.
Back during the shooting, Mishca had immediately lapsed into business mode, forgetting that she wasn’t accustomed to experiencing something like that, but this time, he came to her first, ignoring everyone else.
He pulled her up and into his arms, stroking her hair. “I’m sorry about this.”
“What’s happening?” She knew his charges, but she didn’t know how much information the FBI had on him.
Mishca glanced back over his shoulder, biting something out in Russian that had them leaving out of the room to give them privacy. When they were alone again, he sat.
He shoved a hand through his hair, sighing as he let the mask drop for just a second. “I don’t want you to worry about any of this.”
“It’s a little late for that, Mish,” she said stepping back from him. “I watched you get arrested. You’re out on bail! Just tell me what you know.”
“Not much more than you, to be honest. I’m still gathering intel, but when I learn something, I’ll tell you. I promise.”
Luka had an odd look on his face as he entered the apartment, looking immediately to Lauren. “Thank you,” he said sincerely, pulling her into his arms for a hug.
Luka was always nice enough, but he had never shown such a blatant display of affection before. If she had to guess, she would assume it was because she paid his bail as well, but if she knew something else about him, he probably didn’t want her to acknowledge it.
“Any time,” she responded instead, returning his hug briefly.
“I need you to stay here with Lauren,” Mishca said as he went over to a drawer in the kitchen, pulling out a small cell phone. “Have everyone switch out their phones.”
“Mish, where are you going?” Lauren asked.
He had just gotten there, and she hadn’t seen him in two days. She understood that he might have had business he needed to take care of, but she still wanted him for a little while longer.
Barely acknowledging her, he kissed her forehead, heading for the door. “I’ll be back.”
Mishca had to meet Klaus out instead of calling, knowing that his calls were probably being monitored. He had thought about them trying to trace Klaus’ phone from the number listed in Mishca’s phone bill, but with Klaus ’s connections, they would never find him.
“Looks like you’re in deep, Russian. What are you doing about it?” Klaus asked, shielded by the shadows he was hiding in.
“I have it under control for now, but we will need to move our plans up.”
“Give me seventy-two hours, then meet me here.”
Nodding, Mishca prepared to leave, but Klaus called out to him.
“Need help with these charges?”
If Mishca was surprised by Klaus’ offer, he didn’t show it. He thought that if he did, Klaus might retract the offer, say something smart instead.
“I’ll let you know.”
Because if it did come down to Klaus having to bail him out, he would probably be too deep for him to do any good.
“No wonder you wear a mask. That’s seriously fucking freaky, mate.”
Klaus rolled his eyes as he and Mishca entered Celt’s loft in Brooklyn. Celt was one of the few mercenaries Klaus knew that actually had a permanent residence as opposed to living in various locations for short bouts of time.
The size of this place, let alone the location made it beyond expensive, and though Klaus knew how well they were payed for their services, it still wouldn’t pay for this. He was learning more about Celt in the last few weeks then the years they had spent around each other. Much like the warehouse that housed his fight club, there was a floor below the ground level, a coded elevator that took them down.
But unlike that place, this place was meticulously clean, this floor was made of concrete and polished steel, the walls lined with various weaponry, even a few rifles that weren’t on the market yet that Klaus had been looking to acquire.
Celt waved them over to a table, internally lit by LED lights. There were blueprints set up along the top of it, a room on the documents circled in red ink.
Klaus had been smart in contacting Celt, one of the best trackers he knew because despite it being a little over twenty-four hours, he had already found Jetmir’s location. He had learned the hard way how to control his reactions to things, and the only time he showed an emotion was when he wanted to.
Now, Klaus kept his excitement to himself as he looked over the plans, hunting for entrances and any possible exit. He had been waiting for this day for a long time, and though he had taken his time, working his way up the list of people that had hurt Sarah, it had all been worth it.
“Two guards in the front, at least ten on the inside throughout these rooms.” Celt pointed to three, one near the front door, another by the back hallway, and the last on the top floor. “Our target will be easy prey once they’re out of the picture. Red, you take the guards, then we breach. I don’t know which of you two are more hard up for the bloke we’re after, so I’ll leave his capture up to you.”
“Security?” The Russian asked speaking up for the first time since they got there.
“Already taken care of.”
The Russian glanced down at his watch. “Then we better get moving.”
“Maybe you should stay back, Russian,” Klaus suggested as he pulled on his mask, looking every bit of the mercenary he was. “You might’ve spent too much time sitting behind a desk.”
Mishca had always had a soft spot for Klaus—though he would never admit that fact aloud—if only because he remembered how broken he had seen him all those years ago. Sometimes Mishca wondered if all the sarcasm was a ploy to make everyone think he didn’t care, that nothing got to him.
Smirking, Mishca strapped on the bulletproof vest. “I’ve been doing this a lot longer than you.”
“You two are fecking annoying, you know that?” Celt spoke up glaring at the two of them.
The remark wasn’t unwarranted, especially when the pair of them were in the same room together. Their habit of bickering was a well known fact to practically everyone that knew them now.
Klaus flipped him off, going over to the edge of the rooftop where his rifle was set up. Mishca felt a pang in his chest at the sight of it, remembering his own wound, but he wisely put it out of his mind, crouching down beside the pair of mercenaries.
Just below them, at least three-hundred yards away, a man casually tossed a burning cigarette to the ground, extinguishing the flame with the toe of his boot as he blew out a thick stream of smoke.
In seconds, once Klaus pulled the trigger, he crumpled to the ground.
A shell casing hit the ground near Mishca’s feet, the sharp sound of the metal just softer than Klaus’s rifle as he reloaded.
The other guard, just as Celt had said, came around the corner, looking to his fallen comrade as he snatched a gun from his belt, as well as a walkie-talkie.
Before he could utter a word, though it was impossible to tell from his vantage point, Mishca watched as his head jerked back, a hole in his forehead.
“Damn,” Klaus muttered as he lifted his rifle from the edge. “I was off by two centimeters.”
Stashing the rifle away, Mishca, Klaus, and Celt headed across the street, looking to each other for a brief moment, an unspoken understanding between them all.
They breached.
As they entered the house, Celt and Klaus leading the way, Mishca decided that he would need to plac
e a few mercenaries on his payroll, unless Klaus decided to stick around.
With effortless precision, all of Jetmir’s guards were taken out one by one in what ultimately became a competition between Celt and Klaus. Having them, Mishca didn’t have to do much besides follow their lead up to the second floor.
Yet Jetmir was nowhere to be found.
Mishca looked to Klaus with a raised brow, but couldn’t discern what expression he was currently receiving in return. Of course, there had been no guarantee that Jetmir would still be here at the exact time they arrived, but Mishca had taken the word of Klaus’…well he didn’t know what Celt was to Klaus exactly.
He would have said friend, but it didn’t seem as though Klaus had friends—and coworker didn’t seem an appropriate fit either.
As he opened his mouth to question them both, a creaking floorboard alerted them to another presence in the house.
Klaus cocked his head to the side, silent, listening, then rather suddenly, he shoved Mishca to the side, just as bullets shot through the floor, almost at the exact spot Mishca had been standing.
Celt took off, surprisingly fast despite the amount of weaponry on his body. Mishca looked from the holes in the floor to Klaus as he prepared to run behind Celt.
“Don’t mention it, Russian. Really, don’t.”
“Bagged and tagged,” Celt called as he appeared back in the doorway.
Back downstairs, sure enough, Jetmir was on his stomach on the floor, hogtied, a black bag over his head. He was squirming, trying to break free, his curses muffled by whatever Celt had stuffed in his mouth.
“Right, so there’s your guy. I’ll take care of things here. Oh and Volkov—” Celt holstered his gun, smiling brightly. “—I’ll send you my bill.”
They hustled him into the freezer, easily overpowering his useless resistance. Shoving him down into the chair Mishca had set up hours ago, they hooked his arms into the restraints, then his legs. In seconds, he couldn’t move at all.
Mishca snatched the bag from his head, watching as Jetmir tried to focus on him, trying to adjust to the dim lighting in the warehouse. Sadly, Mishca hadn’t been able to take him back to that industrial building he’d been so fond of, but seeing as how Jetmir would die before the night’s end, it didn’t bother him as much.
The Final Hour Page 25