Until the End

by London Miller

  It seemed so long ago now and he wished he could go back to when things were simpler between them.

  “Why are you buttering me up anyway?” Alex asked after several heartbeats, peering up at him beneath wet lashes.

  “I’m not.”

  “Or maybe it’s because you want me to be okay with you pursuing her?”

  He couldn’t lie to her if he tried. While he did want to make her feel better, he also didn’t want there to be problems between her and Lauren if she ever came back—and she would if he had anything to do with it.

  But from the quickly escalating anger on Alex’s face, it would take more than a two minute conversation before she would accept it.

  “Fuck you too, Mishca!”

  She stormed out of his office, slamming the door so hard that he was sure it could be heard over the pounding music. Everything around him was falling to shit, and there was nothing he could do to fix it. Not yet at least.

  Even as he entertained going after her and apologizing again, a stronger urge to go see Lauren rode him hard.

  Ten minutes.

  That was all he needed.

  She hadn’t looked angry when she saw him, surprised yes, but not angry. If there wasn’t that, then maybe they could work it out.

  But her last words before disappearing made him wonder what exactly she was apologizing for.

  “Remind me never to listen to your suggestions,” Amber grumbled the next morning, buried beneath a mountain of blankets on the couch, a pillow pressed against her head.

  “Or listen to your own suggestions,” Lauren responded with a wry smile, trying to keep her voice down knowing her friend had a terrible hangover.

  She protested weakly, but didn’t argue. Lauren set the bottle of Tylenol and orange juice on the table, laughing softly as Amber peeked out, snatching the bottle of pills and taking two.

  “Where are you off to?” Amber asked settling back.

  “I’ve got an appointment with my advisor to change my major.”

  “Oh, you finally decided?”

  “Yep. Pre-med.”

  “Well, shit that’s awesome.”

  She hadn’t even told Susan yet, but as she said the words to Amber, they felt right.

  One step forward.

  “Do you need anything before I go? I’m not sure when I’ll be back, I have work right after.”

  “Don’t worry about me, I’ve had worse hangovers, trust me.”

  Lauren was out on the sidewalk a few minutes later, looking over at her car. It really made no sense driving the short distance to campus when she had walked it all last year.

  It was stupid really, the anxiety she felt as she walked. Just because she had run into Mishca last night didn’t mean that he would be stalking her every movement. He lived in Manhattan after all, and there was no reason for him to be on this side of town…especially not at their old spot.

  Reaching the corner where she would usually cross the street to go inside the café to meet Mishca, she continued forward instead, but even still, she turned at the last moment, peering inside the large windows to the table where they used to sit.

  Today, it was empty.

  Logically, she knew it would be, but a part of her still hoped to see him…while another part hoped that she would never see him again in her life.

  She couldn’t make up her mind.

  Ten minutes later, she was waiting in the sitting area for her advisor to call her in. A friendly looking receptionist was behind a white counter, typing away on the computer and there were a couple of people seated near her. Besides them, the office was rather empty.

  Certificates and school memorabilia hung on the walls, yet it still felt a little sterile.

  “Lauren?”

  She looked up at the middle-aged woman wearing tortoise shell glasses and a pin-striped suit. Her graying blonde hair was pulled back into a severe looking bun, but she had a friendly smile.

  Lauren followed her into a smaller office, sitting in one of the leather chairs. A manila folder with her name on it was resting on the desk in front of her.

  Maggie Douglas, her advisor’s name was, sat down, pressing a few buttons on the phone to stop the ringing.

  “If I understand correctly, you want to change your major?”

  Lauren nodded, folding her hands in her lap, rubbing her thumb across the back of her knuckles.

  “Can I ask what made you choose Pre-med?” She opened the folder, looking over a few of the documents inside.

  One had Lauren’s grades from the pat year as well as her transfer credits. Another was a letter from the hospital Lauren volunteered at the summer after her senior year in high school.

  Before leaving Michigan, she had stopped by, not really sure what to ask of them, but one of the doctors she had worked with was there and she told him about her decision. He offered to write a letter of recommendation—she guessed to keep on file since it didn’t really make a difference at NYU.

  “My father was a doctor.” While she did enjoy helping people, that wasn’t her sole reason for choosing this path. “It’s what he would have wanted me to do.”

  Maggie smiled kindly, like she had heard this reason before. “But are you sure this is what you want. I know a lot of students whose parents wanted them to go in a certain direction, but it wasn’t what they really wanted.”

  “More than anything.”

  Nodding, Maggie made the entry in the computer, then proceeded to go over the course work Lauren would have to complete to graduate on time. A few times Lauren’s eyes widened, but she was more determined than nervous about it all.

  It was a rather quick process and by the time it was over, Lauren had a new schedule for the upcoming semester.

  Leaving campus again, she paused at the intersection, noticing the man across the street. He had a very distinctive look and it didn’t help that he stood out rather prominently in the sea of smaller men around him.

  He didn’t seem to notice that Lauren had spotted him and she didn’t make it a point to alert him of that fact.

  She continued on, deciding that she would stop by the café anyway. Occasionally, she would peek behind her to see if he was still there…he was.

  Vlad was Mishca’s bodyguard…or something else for the Bratva that she didn’t know the name of. While mostly reserved, the few times they had talked he seemed kind enough, if saying a maximum of ten words on those encounters were anything to judge by, but Lauren had no idea why he was on this side of town now.

  At first, she had thought Mishca was somewhere nearby since she had never seen one without the other—unless Mishca was with her—and momentarily panicked thinking that he was going to see her, but she didn’t see him.

  Inside the café, Lauren waited the short time in the line and at the register, Lauren ordered her usual while ordering a medium black coffee for Vlad. She didn’t know how he took his, so she just grabbed a few sugar packets and creamers.

  Back outside, she headed in his direction, smiling when she noticed him pretending not to notice her. When she was within earshot, she smiled.

  “Nice to see you again, Vlad.” She held out the cup to him, nodding when he took it hesitantly. “What can I do for you?”

  He shrugged good-naturedly. “I need to talk to you.”

  He gestured over to the park where a good number of people were minding their business. Maybe he chose this spot because he knew she wouldn’t go anywhere with him alone.

  Seated on the bench, she tried to pass him the sugars, but he declined, taking a long drink of his coffee.

  “You did not need to do this,” he said looking down at the cup.

  “Thought you might want it since you’ve been following me for…” She trailed off, hoping he would fill in the blanks, but Vlad was too seasoned to fall for that. “I’m assuming because you’re here everyone knows I’m back.” And by everyone she meant Mikhail.

  “We knew as soon as you hit the interstate.”

 
She grimaced, looking away. That was seriously creepy, but she had to stop underestimating the Bratva’s reach.

  “So why are you here. Did…did Mishca send you?”

  She cast her gaze around, trying to spot his car anywhere in the vicinity, but no luck.

  He nodded once. “Mikhail will want to see you.”

  That made her blood run cold. “Why?”

  “You spoke of a journal, he will want it.”

  She had been waiting for this. “Where exactly?”

  Vlad looked at her head on, his gaze unwavering. “Wherever you are, he can find you.” He didn’t give her time to fret on that, saying, “I suggest you find somewhere public to be tonight if it will make you more comfortable…though if he wanted, he could kill you still.”

  “Right,” she said dryly. “Was that supposed to make me feel better?”

  He shrugged again. “Just the truth.”

  “Is that what this meeting is about?”

  “Nyet. Captain wouldn’t allow it if it were.”

  “Good to know.” Did Mishca even have that power? “Was that all you needed with me?”

  He nodded, standing and tossing his cup in the trash. He straightened, smoothing the front of his suit jacket. While Mishca wore three piece suits, Vlad had on a black shirt beneath his jacket.

  “Take care, Lauren.”

  “Vlad?”

  He looked back expectantly.

  “How is he?” She didn’t have to iterate who she meant.

  He seemed to think over his answer. “Lost.”

  Before Lauren headed into work, she dropped by her apartment, picking up the journal. As she left—this time taking her car—she felt saddened by the fact that she might not ever see it again. Inside it were her father’s private thoughts and the thought of anyone else reading them bothered her, but she had no choice.

  “Good to see you back,” Diego said as he mussed her hair like he always did when she came in.

  There were a few new people, a boy named Johnny and a girl with a sleeve of tattoos on the upper part of her right arm. Tara was in the back, trying one of the new deserts when Lauren walked in.

  Abandoning it, she rushed over to hug Lauren like she had been gone for years. Sometimes, it felt like it.

  “I heard what happened. How are you doing?”

  “I’m fine.” Any other time, those words would have come out evenly, but tonight, with what she might be facing, they were shaky and breathless.

  “If you need anything, anything at all, just let me know.”

  She smiled gratefully, giving her one final squeeze before pulling back. “How’s Timmy?”

  That made Tara laugh, lifting the sudden dark mood. “Bad as ever.”

  They talked more as Lauren wrapped the apron around her waist. With her notepad, she tucked the journal into one of the front pockets.

  Hours passed with little fanfare, the morning crowd dwindling away to the night customers. Her mind had been too preoccupied with work to remember that Mikhail was supposed to be dropping by. It wasn’t until she came back out from filling an order that she knew it was time.

  The guests were dwindling quickly, half-finished courses left on the table, money casually thrown down.

  She looked to Diego, wondering what was going on, but he looked just as confused as she felt. The bells at the entrance chimed as a new customer walked in.

  Tara was at the front asking, “How can I help you?”

  “Table for one please.”

  Lauren froze at the voice. How he had managed to empty an entire restaurant in less than ten minutes baffled her. They might not have known the truth behind the man, but it was clear that there was something dangerous about him. That’s just how Mikhail Volkov was.

  He was at least six-foot-one with a head full of graying black hair that he normally kept greased back from his face, with steel gray eyes that were as menacing as they were cold. In the few occasions that Lauren had been around him, she thought him to be a bit odd and menacing, only difference now was she knew why.

  He was the Pakhan of the Volkov Bratva, an extension of the Vory v Zakone. As the Boss, he led an army of men and liked to think he had more power than God himself.

  Keeping her head held high, she refused to show fear as she crossed the room. To them, fear was a sign of weakness and she was no longer weak.

  “I can take them,” Lauren said cheerfully to Tara, gesturing for Mikhail and the three men accompanying him to follow her.

  She sat them at one of the empty booths in her section, conscious of the fact that the other workers were watching them.

  “Please,” Mikhail said after he was seated. “Join me for a drink.”

  “I can’t. I’m working.”

  “I am sure they can spare you for a moment. It is rather empty, no?”

  It didn’t sound like she had much of a choice and she thought it would be best not to challenge him just yet when she didn’t know his plan, so she did as told.

  “At least let me get your drink. Vodka?”

  He nodded.

  Giving him her back, she walked the short distance to the bar, keeping her eyes trained on Diego.

  “You okay?” He asked softly, briefly glancing behind her. “I can ask them to leave.”

  “No,” Lauren said a bit too quickly, trying for a weak smile when he looked suspicious. “I can handle it. I do need a Vodka on the rocks though and, uh, can I take my break.”

  “Sure, but just say the word and I’ll…well I’ll call somebody.”

  As Diego took his time about fixing the drink, Lauren thought of how she would handle this. Ross would have wanted her to call Rodriguez instead of confronting them, but she thought that would only make it worse.

  She had to trust that what Vlad had said was true.

  Back at the table, she set the glass down in front of Mikhail and took her seat, focusing on his face, refusing to break eye contact. Men like him valued strength, and although she was terrified inside, she had to keep up appearances.

  “You have something for me, yes?” Mikhail asked without preamble.

  Lauren blinked, not entirely confused by his question.

  “The good doctor’s journal,” he explained patiently.

  Beneath the table, she fidgeted with the tablecloth, knowing that she would have to come clean. Eventually, if he even bothered to read it, he would see that there was hardly, if any, entries about the Volkov Bratva, and the ones that were there were so obscure that one wouldn’t think that they had anything to do with the crime syndicate.

  “There’s no need,” she said trying to keep her voice even. “Nothing in it shows any connection between my father and your…well you.”

  He ran the tip of his finger around the rim of his glass, still studying her. “All the same, I would like to have it. And—” he went on as she opened her mouth to interrupt him, “—if I find it okay, I will return it to you.”

  Now that had Lauren frowning. “You would give it back? Why?”

  “My son values your happiness.” Mikhail looked oddly amused by that fact.

  “What does that matter to you though?”

  He chuckled. “I fear that it would be in my best interest to honor his wishes.”

  So it was true. She didn’t know what had happened between Mikhail and Mishca in the time she was gone, but it seemed there was a slight shift of power.

  Reaching into her apron, she felt the worn leather, closing her eyes for a moment as she savored the feel of it. Despite what he said, she didn’t think she would ever get it back.

  She slid it over to him, not taking her eyes off it until it disappeared into the hands of one of Mikhail’s men.

  “Our business is done.”

  That was it? It seemed rather anti-climactic now that Lauren thought about it, but she wasn’t ready for him to go yet.

  Mikhail stood to leave, but Lauren reached for him, halting him mid-climb. His men moved to grab her, but Mikhail held his hand up to st
op them.

  Lauren removed her hand.

  “What can I do for you, young Lauren?”

  There were only two people that knew her father well enough to explain his actions. Susan and Mikhail, but only one of them could explain why her father chose a life with the Russian Mafia.

  “I—I need to know why he did it. Why did he work for you?”

  Mikhail sat back down, downing his Vodka in one giant swallow. “I will tell you, but I am not sure it will be what you want.”

  Twenty-two-year-old Cameron Thompson stepped out of the yellow taxi, his eyes wide and unsure as he gazed around the sketchy neighborhood he had come to in an act of desperation. Two months ago, he had been accepted to Stanford, the only college he had wanted to attend since he was a boy.

  While in school, Cameron had made sure to apply himself, keeping his grades up so that he would be able to attend the University of his Choice...at least until senior year. His mother had grown ill, a fatal brain tumor that had caused her to be hospitalized for the majority of that time. While his high school had been more accommodating about his plight, his GPA had fallen, causing the scholarship he had worked so hard for to be revoked. So instead of a full ride, he was only given a partial scholarship that would hardly cover his expensive tuition.

  He worked tirelessly around the clock, saving whatever money he could for the upcoming year, but he was still short.

  Cameron was about to give up hope until a good friend of his suggested an alternative revenue source. Billy knew of a man that gave out loans, one that rarely cared who came to him as long as they were willing to pay.

  This was his last chance.

  Turning his collar up, Cameron crossed the street, finding the loan shark exactly where Billy said he would be.

  Cameron couldn’t recall the man’s name, only an initial. D. He was burly, wearing a black leather jacket, black slacks, and a white dress shirt open at the collar with dark springy chest hair peeking out.

  He was standing with two other guys, both much younger than him. D noticed Cameron immediately, tapping one of the guys. They all looked to him, sizing him up.