The City

by London Miller

  “Why do you think that?”

  His eyes roamed her face, taking in her expression, and maybe because he was trying to ease the fear inside of her, he smiled. “It will work out, I’m sure.”

  “I want you to remember something, Lauren, because I’m sure you will think I don’t in the upcoming months.”

  “Anything…”

  “I love you.”

  “I know that, Mish.”

  “And I love my sister, and I’ll do anything I have to in order to protect the both of you. Even if I have to make sacrifices to do so. Do you get this?”

  “There’s something you’re not telling me, Mish. I’m not going to freak out—much. You can tell me.”

  He sighed, kissing her forehead, and she knew, despite her request, he wouldn’t be telling her anything more. And while they lay together under the stars on the last night of their honeymoon, she wondered what they would be walking into when they got back home.

  Epilogue

  6 weeks later…

  At three in the morning, the streets of Manhattan were still bustling, though not nearly as busy as it usually was during the day. While most were asleep at this unreasonable hour, Lauren was hunched over a toilet, dry heaving since there was very little left in her to throw up. She had been in this position for a little more than ten minutes, but it felt like an eternity as she kneeled on the cool tiles, purging everything from her stomach.

  When she was sure that she was done—or was able to move without that churning feeling in her stomach—Lauren slowly got to her feet, going over to the sink to splash water on her face and brush her teeth, breathing deeply through her nose, more than glad that the nausea was passing. Her hands were shaking just slightly, a light sheen of sweat on her face and sticking the shirt she wore to her back, but it was more because of her nerves than anything else.

  That, she was sure of.

  When she and Mishca had returned from Sardinia weeks ago, things had gone from good to better, especially since things had been quiet around Mishca. Since she was practically helping run one of the clubs, Lauren had chalked her fatigue up to the hectic work schedule, but now…she didn’t think so, especially when that nausea grew worse.

  Of course, she had wanted to say it was something she had eaten, but from what she’d read about food poisoning, its symptoms weren’t anything like what she was going through. And it definitely didn’t last for weeks at a time.

  Besides, she was hardly eating in the first place.

  A sneaking suspicion had hit her when that first wave of nausea hit, but she dismissed it just as quickly, knowing that it wasn’t possible considering she was on birth control.

  Then, at the first thought of that little pill she was meant to take daily, she thought of their lost luggage…and the fact that they had been tucked away in the side pouch of her bag. She had meant to refill her order since then, but she had forgotten all about it until a few weeks ago.

  Lauren wanted to ignore her symptoms, hoping that it would pass, but after tonight—another night spent on the floor of the bathroom—she had no other choice. She had to know for sure.

  Dressing in a pair of sweatpants, along with a light jacket, she grabbed her keys, closing the bedroom door behind her as she exited.

  “Heading out?”

  She nearly jumped a foot in the air at Alik’s question, surprised by his casual presence in her home. He was stretched out on the couch, Timberland boots placed on the floor neatly beside where he sat. The TV was on, a movie playing that she didn’t recognize. The volume was so low that he couldn’t possibly have been paying it much attention.

  Lauren glanced around, her hand tightening on the strap of her bag as she contemplated what to do next. “What are you doing here?”

  “It’s Thursday.”

  He didn’t have to explain what he meant. Though the monthly meeting between the bosses was usually held during the day, Mishca had a habit of switching things up now, never holding the meeting in the same place, nor during the same hours.

  “That still doesn’t explain why you’re here.”

  “Your boss asked my boss for a favor. I’m just following orders.”

  “Right. Okay then…”

  “What can I do for you?”

  Lauren shook her head. “Nothing, I’m just going to the store—”

  He shrugged, already reaching for his boots to pull on. “Let’s go.”

  She didn’t think it was in her best interest to argue with him, so instead of arguing, she waited for him to finish lacing up his shoes and followed him onto the elevator.

  Despite the fact that the street was nearly deserted, Alik stuck close to her side, his hands tucked into the front pockets of his jeans. There was a small bodega at the corner, the beaming sign at the top of the window still on. There was a girl, one older than Lauren, behind the front counter, her attention on the book she was reading.

  Lauren scanned the hanging boards above the aisles, spotting the one she needed to browse. She looked over at Alik. “Can I shop by myself?”

  “You got five minutes.”

  She didn’t have to ask what he would be doing in the meantime. With those parting words, he headed toward the front counter.

  Lauren went to aisle seven, scanning the countless rows of tests. Prices varied; some promised results in less than three minutes and others promised to even tell how far along she was.

  As she perused them, she couldn’t help but think of all the times she had passed this aisle in various stores, never paying them any mind. Not because she didn’t think she could get pregnant, but because she hadn’t even thought of having kids this young.

  Plucking a few—or ten—off the shelves, she carried them to the front counter, wishing she could send Alik off somewhere so she could do this in private. The girl behind the counter was so engrossed by Alik that she didn’t even notice Lauren’s presence as she walked up, at least not until she placed the tests on the counter.

  The girl looked back and forth between Alik and her, then down at Lauren’s rings and Alik’s notably absent ones. If Alik’s smirk was anything to go by, he knew exactly what she was thinking but didn’t bother to correct her assumption. It took no time at all for them to be rung up, and once they were done and back at her place, Alik made himself scarce while Lauren locked herself away in the bathroom.

  For the next two hours, she took every test she bought, alternately guzzling water and checking each one.

  At the first positive, she shook her head, refusing to believe it.

  The second, the first tremor of something stirred to life in her chest.

  The third? Her hands were shaking.

  The fifth, sixth, and through the tenth, she was utterly convinced that this many tests couldn’t be wrong. By the time she was done, Lauren was sniffling, not entirely sure why she was crying, only that she knew this would change everything, and at the moment, she wasn’t sure if it was a good thing or not.

  There was a knock on the door, followed by the sound of someone trying to open the door. “Lauren?”

  The sound of Mishca’s voice brought a fresh wave of tears to her eyes as she squeezed her eyes shut. The sticks were still spread out in front of her on the floor. Just the thought of them, knowing that he was about to see them at any moment, increased her anxiety. What would he say? What would he think?

  Would he be happy?

  Or would he be upset?

  “Lauren?” He was growing impatient, his next knock not as gentle as the first. “Alik got a message to me. Open the door.”

  Gathering up the tests, Lauren held them in one hand as she went over to the door, opening it slowly, her heart in her throat. At the first sight of her, the concern on his face deepened, his hands reaching to cup her face, his thumbs brushing away her tears.

  “Tell me.”

  As she met his gaze, she was struck by a curious thought, speaking it aloud. “I always found your eyes interesting. Do you think if we had a child,
they would have your eyes?”

  He tucked an errant strand of her hair behind her ear, trying his best not to look confused. “O chem ty govorish’—What are you talking about?”

  Lauren didn’t have to answer because in the next second, his eyes drifted down to what she held. His brows drew together as he gently pulled them from her hand. As soon as he read the first one, every emotion, every nuance of a reaction vanished from his face. He read them one by one—as she had—placing them down on the counter once he was finished.

  “I—” He swallowed, his gaze going from the tests to her stomach, his expression still unreadable. “Oh.”

  He seemed genuinely at a loss for words, making her heart hammer faster. She couldn’t tell whether he was upset by the news but explained herself anyway. “My birth control was in my bag, the one that got lost when we were in Sardinia. I forgot all about it while we were there…I don’t really know how to explain this and—”

  “Lyubov’ moya—My love. Stop.” His words were gentle as he drew her into his arms.

  “Mish, I—”

  “Lauren, stop. Don’t apologize to me.”

  “Then what do I say?” she said pulling free from him. “I’m supposed to start med school in January. You have the Bratva to think about. I don’t know what—”

  He kissed her suddenly, carefully cutting off her protests. Beneath him, she calmed, her hands going to his chest, curling her fingers into the fabric of his shirt, feeling heartbeat beneath her fists.

  “We’re fine.”

  “But, Mish, I’m pregnant.”

  It was the first time she said the words, and the first time she fully acknowledged it. While the fear of the unknown was there, there was also a trace of excitement within her, and judging from the slowly blooming smile on Mishca’ face, it was inside of him, too.

  “I see this.”

  He reached down, his hand sliding beneath her shirt, over the span of her stomach, rubbing at a non-existent bump.

  “No matter what happens,” he went on, his chin resting on top of her head, his words a whisper. “I will never let anything happen to you or the baby, even if I have to have Niklaus and his team shadow you.”

  Laughing earnestly, she shook her head. “He would never agree to that.”

  “We’ll see, but for now, I don’t want you to worry about anything. We will figure it out. We always do.”

  “Ya tebya lyublyu—I love you.”

  He kissed both of her cheeks then her forehead. “I love you, too.”

  She smiled up at him, wrapping her arms around his shoulders. The future was more uncertain than ever, but at that moment, she refused to think of what could possibly go wrong and chose to focus on the present.

  “Until the end?”

  His smile was slow, but sure, as he inclined his head. “Until the end.”

  Valon: What Once Was

  Valon: What Once Was

  Copyright © 2015 London Miller

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, distributed, stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, without express permission from the author, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages for review purposes.

  This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to any person, living or dead, or any events or occurrences, is purely coincidental.

  Used under license from dollarphotoclub.com

  H,

  Because you saw me through my own darkness.

  Introduction

  Valon, or if you are familiar with my past works, you may know him as Luka, is not an easy person to understand. I had never intended to actually explore his story when he made his first appearance in Until the End. I loved him, yes, just as much as I loved Mishca and Lauren and Alex. It wasn’t until The Final Hour when he went to the bar and the subsequent events that followed, did I even begin to delve into who Luka really was.

  How could someone who seemed to care so deeply, be capable of what he did daily as an enforcer for the Bratva?

  That was the first question I asked myself when I made the decision to start from the beginning and see where it took me. Through the journey, I found myself questioning whether or not this was too much, whether it would be hard for any reader to truly understand the gravity in which Luka had suffered. Even I was a bit afraid to delve into the true horrors that my happy-go-lucky Luka had gone through…

  But to understand who he is now, I thought it was important to see it through his eyes. Not only did I acquire a better understanding of someone I thought I knew pretty well (hell, I’m the author), I now know that writing this, purging it from my system was worth every moment that I doubted myself and the pain I felt with each word.

  There are going to be moments in this story that will be uncomfortable, that will probably make you want to hit something, but if you make it to the end, it will be worth it.

  Trust me.

  x LM

  All changes, even the most longed for, have their melancholy;

  For what we leave behind us is a part of ourselves.

  We must die in one life before we can enter another.

  Anatole France

  Chapter 1

  Racing through the sloping and broken cobblestone streets, Valon Ahmeti felt the cold air whipping through his curling blond hair, his bag slapping against the back of his legs as he sprinted. Not far behind him was another boy, Fatos, one year younger, who tried his hardest to catch up, but with his much shorter legs, it was a losing battle.

  By the time they reached the corner—in which Valon would turn left and his companion would continue forward to his own home down the road—both were out of breath. Despite the two being the best of friends, Valon couldn’t help but feel a small thrill at his victory.

  Fatos, understandably, didn’t look as happy, his already reddened cheeks darkening further as he kicked a pebble out onto the street, the small stone skipping a few paces before settling. It wouldn’t be the first—or last—time he had come second to Valon.

  Even at the young age of eleven, Valon knew all too well what disappointment felt like, and while he could have gloated as many children did when they won at something, he opted to cheer his friend up instead.

  “You were close.”

  Fatos nodded, but he didn’t seem to take Valon’s words to heart. “But close is still not a victory.”

  Shifting his bag to his opposite shoulder, Valon silently pondered those words, knowing without asking where they had originated. They both had their own battles, he knew, since Valon was not the only one who spawned from royalty within The Organization. The only difference was that Fatos’ father, Bastian, was still a welcome name in those circles.

  Not knowing what else to say, Valon clapped him on the shoulder. “I will see you Monday.”

  With a wave of his hand, Valon headed off. He glanced back when he was a short distance away and saw Fatos still standing there, looking dejected, before he too continued on his way. Turning back, Valon’s eyes roamed over the sky, taking in the fading hues of twilight as the large apartment building he walked toward loomed ahead.

  Already, he could smell the heavenly aroma of pastries drifting from the one open window on the third floor. The decadent aroma made his stomach pinch with hunger. Since he and his mother were poor, and he often went without eating—sometimes for days at a time—Valon often looked forward to Fridays when he knew old lady Baton baked her custards and pies, always saving some for him once he returned from school.

  Truthfully, she was the only friend he and his mother had in the building, if only because the others thought themselves better though they too lived in squalor. With paper-thin walls between the apartments, Valon often overheard the whispers and the names they called his mother, and just as often, though it did not have the same effect, the names they called him.

  Whore.

  Bastard.

&
nbsp; At one time, no one would have ever thought to speak so disrespectfully of Valon because of who his father was, but it was no secret that Ahmeti—as most referred to him—no longer had the respect of The Organization, let alone the community.

  Several years ago, before Valon was born, Ahmeti had the prestige he had always worked for with a crew of his own, but while he was reluctant to admit it, there were a number of mistakes on his part that contributed to his downfall.

  The first of which was his affair with Valon’s mother, Galina, a young Russian woman Ahmeti had met during his travels out of the country. “Met” was a rather polite term when the truth was that Ahmeti had bought her time, and like many arrogant men before him, thought it was a good idea to bring his mistress back to his home country. Valon knew nothing about Ahmeti’s former wife, only that she was no longer around.

  No sooner had Ahmeti brought Galina to Albania that his fortunes began to dwindle. Law enforcement picked him up for one of his many crimes, but unlike the other times, he wasn’t able to skate by on a technicality nor were the police bullied into releasing him. The evidence had been overwhelming, and as a result, Ahmeti had spent ten years in prison, leaving Galina to care for herself and their unborn child.

  Ahmeti had always prided himself on being a good soldier, never revealing his secrets to those who meant them harm. So after serving his sentence, he expected to be accepted with open arms by the same men who watched him go away, but as the years passed, power shifted, and those who he had once considered his allies were no longer at the top of the chain. A group of men who were far less disciplined and cared not for the incarcerated men who could no longer serve a purpose were taking over.

  Arrogance was the downfall of man, and that could definitely be said of Ahmeti. He could not bring himself to beg, would never lower himself to that position, so he resigned himself to a life of solitude with his mistress and a son he did not know. Rumors spread of this quickly enough, and by the time they got back to Ahmeti, the truth of the situation had been warped to something that made him feel like less than a man. Since there was no way for him to retaliate against them, he sought out a bottle instead.