Now? He wasn’t so sure.
He hadn’t expected her to understand his reasoning. He only expected her to respect that he had made the decision. Mishca wasn’t used to explaining his every action, even with Lauren. They had been together for nearly four years, married for almost a year, and she still forced information out of him that he might not have shared initially. The only person who hadn’t seemed angry with him was Klaus, but that wasn’t saying much.
Truthfully, he hadn’t expressed any clear feelings about the entire matter.
Reaching a hand out, Mishca trailed his fingers over Sacha’s hair, softly so as not to wake him. His lips were slightly parted, his little breaths soft, chest rising and falling with each lungful. Sacha was perfect in every sense of the word.
“Mish…”
He turned, smiling softly at the sight of his wife in the doorway. She looked tired, rightfully so, as they had a four-month-old, but her eyes held an alertness to them that told Mishca she had something to say to him.
Walking to her, he spared one last glance to Sacha, heading out of the nursery behind her, pulling the door closed behind them. She sat on the couch, curling her legs up beneath her, arms folded across her chest. Mishca sat across from her, arms open. She looked tempted, but her shoulders tightened, her eyes narrowing slightly.
He couldn’t win her over that easily apparently.
“You fucked up, Mish,” she began softly, her eyes going from determined to anguished in seconds.
Sighing, he scrubbed a hand down his face, tearing his gaze away from her. “Am I going to need a drink for this?”
“Maybe, but I want you to actually hear me. Alcohol will only dull that.”
He frowned, turning so she had his full attention. “I always hear you, Lauren. Always.”
“But not about Luka.”
He should have known she wanted to talk about this. It seemed he wasn’t the only person still hung up on that day six months ago. Truthfully, no one knew how hard that decision had been for him or the thought that had gone into it. It wasn’t until much later did he even think he’d made a mistake.
“His name is Valon.”
That fire was back in her eyes, even if his answer had been lacking its former vehemence.
“The only business that I let you be involved in is legitimate. I’ve tried not to let anything to do with the Bratva touch you. I’m not going to change that now.”
She smirked, pulling the collar of her blouse to the right, revealing one of the two stars he’d inked onto her chest. A symbol of both the life he revered and the lengths he would go to to protect her.
“Too late.”
“Lauren—”
“Explain it to me, Mish,” she interrupted. “If Klaus wasn’t upset—and it wasn’t like he was in the dark about it all—then why were you so angry?”
“Don’t forget that it was supposed to be me in that chair. Had Niklaus never come to New York that weekend, circumstances would be completely different now.”
“You keep thinking of it that way, but the way I see it, Luka helped you in a way that you’re not seeing. Yes, he did reprehensible acts against Klaus—I’m not excusing that—but ultimately, he’d been the one to free him. He called you and told you where to find him. Without him, you would have never known that you had a brother. Since then, Luka has done so much, even more for you. I like to think he was making up for the past.”
It wasn’t like the Albanians’ appearance here had come as a surprise. It wasn’t even a surprise when they asked for him to hand over Luka, knowing that it would have been an act of war if they’d just taken him. For months, ever since the last day of their honeymoon, Mishca had agonized over the truth that he had learned through a single phone call about the one person who he thought he could trust in the Bratva. He had contemplated over and over again what he would do because, despite his personal feelings, an example had to be made.
People in their circles had a terrible habit of gossiping, even if the majority of them were grown men. If word had gotten around that Mishca had accepted someone who had tried so boldly to slight him in the past, especially with what the Albanians had planned to do to him, then that would have made him look weak. He already had one—now two— glaring weaknesses. He didn’t want them to continue to pile up.
But even then, he’d grown to love Luka like a brother, an annoying younger brother actually, and hadn’t wanted to see Luka suffer the way he knew he would. Ultimately, he’d made the only decision he could. One that would preserve face in the view of their organization, and one that he believed would ultimately help Luka in the long-term.
He knew all too well the danger of having a past that was bearing down on you.
“He should have come to me,” Mishca said finally as he pushed his thoughts to the back of his mind for the time being.
Her knowing smile was sad as she asked, “And would your reaction have been any different?”
That, too, was something he’d thought about constantly. Would he have done anything differently had Luka told him as opposed to an outside source?
He went with the truth, or at least what felt like it. “I don’t know. The point is moot.”
“But it’s not. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but Alex is angry with you. More angry than she was when she found out about Anya and Viktor.”
She hadn’t been angry at first, Mishca remembered. She’d looked broken, hurt in a way that had made his heart clench.
“That’s never who I wanted for Alex anyway.”
Scoffing, Lauren rolled her eyes. “Seriously? I’m sure Ross was overjoyed the first time he met you.”
Smiling slightly, Mishca shrugged one shoulder. “Different times.”
“Luka loves her and she loves him. You can’t fight that any more than Ross could have fought you and me. Right now, the only thing Alex is thinking about is how it’s your fault Luka isn’t here.”
Mishca shook his head, as stubborn as he’d always been. “They would have come for him regardless.”
“But you made a choice to hand him over. She watched you willingly let them drag him out. Hell, if I didn’t love you as much as I do, I would be more angry with you than I am.”
“If I recall, you didn’t let me sleep in our bedroom for a week…”
“True, and probably would have been longer if the baby didn’t act like having your hand resting on my stomach was the only thing that helped him sleep at night.” She waved her hand in the air. “That’s besides the point. If you want your sister to come home, and I mean actually come back to stay instead of going out of her way to avoid you every time she’s in New York, then you need to make this right.”
He sighed. “What would you have me do?”
“Go get him.”
“You would have me go to war against the Albanians?”
“If it were you over there, I would have done worse, and you know it. You’re only lucky that Klaus refused to take the job when I asked him to do it.”
His eyes narrowed dangerously, but his displeasure was lost on her—or ignored—as she matched his glare with one of her own.
“Fix this,” Lauren said quietly, “or Sacha will have to grow up without his auntie and uncle because Daddy’s being a dick.”
“Uncle?”
Now she smiled, a genuine one. “They’re inevitable, Mish. Always have been.”
Sighing, he pulled her into his arms, kissing her lightly. “I’ve already taken care of it.”
_____
Six months later…
Klaus turned his collar up to the wind as he headed back to his hotel. He’d spent most of his night standing outside a tavern in the heart of Hell’s Kitchen staring through the large windows to the girl behind the bar. She wore a small black apron around her waist, that familiar burnished red hair pulled into a messy bun and stabbed through with a pencil. Though he stood there for a little more than an hour, she’d been oblivious to his presence. She was lost in the li
fe, whatever life he had left her to after he’d left New York City.
Ever since his return, he’d contemplated going to her, sparking up the conversation they should have had long ago, but he hadn’t been the same person he was now. Still bitter, he still harbored anger toward the world, but at some point, that red film of rage had lifted and he was no longer a slave to it. He didn’t know if he had her to thank for showing him kindness at a time when he needed it.
Klaus never liked being wrong. He hated it, in fact, and more than that, he disliked making mistakes. And now, as he headed home after a long night and time spent wishing for other things—things he had no business wishing for considering the life he led—he might have made a mistake five years ago when he’d left New York City and the girl, Reagan.
Somehow, despite all the people he had met and the sheer volume of information he processed daily, he still remembered her name.
That told him all he needed to know.
Reaching his motel soon after, he dug the key out of his pocket. Before he’d received the brand on his neck, Klaus hadn’t cared what hotel he stayed at as long as it was clean. Now, his stipulations were different. While it still had to be clean, he preferred motels since the managers usually looked the other way and accepted cash only. He also preferred places where an actual key was needed to get into the room. It was all too easy to duplicate an electronic key.
Celt had driven that point home since he was a freak about security.
Disengaging the lock, Klaus turned the knob and pushed, walking through and slamming the door behind him. It was dark in the room, all the lights turned out, but there was just enough moonlight streaking through the blinds for him to see Mishca sitting at the small dining table, turning a cigarette over between his fingers. While he might have felt surprise at seeing him there, especially since he hadn’t noticed anything off about the door, Klaus didn’t let it show.
He shrugged out of his leather jacket, tossing it on the bed, pulling a chair up so he could start unlacing his boots and taking them off. “Are you going to continue and sit in the darkness or get the fuck on with whatever you came here to say?”
Since the Albanians took Luka, Mishca and he hadn’t seen much of each other, and the few times they had was because of Lauren. Klaus didn’t doubt that there would always be this tension between them for the sins of others. But they had come a long way since Klaus had stared at him through the scope of a rifle, contemplating taking his life.
Tossing his boots to an empty corner of the room, Klaus sat back in his chair, laying his arms on the armrests and studying the man across from him. He knew all too well how singular events could change everything. While Mishca had always seemed so cold, except when it came to his wife who he let his guard down around, there was something almost weary about his expression tonight, one that sparked a shred of pity in Klaus.
He might have led a life that was mostly death and darkness, but Mishca was burdened with a legacy that he wasn’t. He still wore his usual blank expression, never wanting to reveal his thoughts even for a moment, but Klaus was finding it easier to read him.
…Or maybe it was because it was easy to read his own reflection.
One eyebrow raised, Klaus decided to break the silence Mishca was seemingly determined to keep. “What do you want, Russian?”
“Where is he?”
Klaus didn’t have to ask who he meant because they both already knew. There was only one person who Mishca would come to him, specifically, about. But the real question was, why now? What had changed that made him track Klaus down in the wee hours of the night?
He tried to reason out the answer on his own, but not coming up with an answer, he decided to ask. “Even if I knew, why would you want to know?”
“My reasons are my own.”
Typical vague Russian bullshit. “Then I can’t help you.”
The muscle in Mishca’s jaw jumped as he ground his teeth, probably in an effort not to give a retort. “Whatever your reason for keeping Valon’s history to yourself is your business. I won’t pry. But on this, I need answers.”
“Why?” Klaus asked, genuinely wanting to know. “I thought he was dead to you.”
Mishca frowned. “You know that’s not true.”
“You wanna know what I don’t understand about you, Russian? You claimed you wanted to hash this shit out, to put the past behind us, but you went to my handler directly.” Klaus shook his head in disgust. “I could have handled that shit on my own.”
“Could you?” Mishca asked in the infuriatingly condescending tone of his. “Do you know the sheer number of people involved in that mission?”
“Obviously. I think I was there, Russian.”
“Then you know about the team who raided the Besnik compound in London? And the other that infiltrated a meeting on a yacht in the middle of the Bering Sea?”
Actually…that was news to Klaus, but he was careful not to let his surprise show.
But Mishca knew the truth.
“What everyone fails to realize is that I didn’t make this decision lightly. When Fatos came to me for Luka, I didn’t want to see him cast out, even if I wanted to strangle the life out of him.”
Klaus could see it, the residual anger lying dormant inside of him, but it was clearly ready to come out.
“Those Albanians were like fucking roaches. Even when one was dead, others took its place. This wasn’t just about getting Luka out of a fucked-up situation, but also about preventing another one from happening. Fatos wasn’t the only person that I wanted taken out. I got rid of their entire network. Because neither you nor him would ever be able to move on with your fucking lives until it ended. So you’re welcome. Now, if the lot of you would get off my fucking back for what you think you know, it would be appreciated.”
Climbing to his feet, Mishca shoved a hand through his hair, getting his temper under control. “You know where he is, and at present, I really don’t care. You tell that little shit that if he wants any future with this Bratva or with my sister, then he better be in my office within seventy-two hours.”
Klaus could only blink as he watched Mishca leave—he didn’t even have the nerve to slam the door as Klaus would have done if the positions were reversed.
Asshole.
Now…it looked like he had to catch a flight.
50
_____
It’s Time
“Are you just going to continue to stalk her,” Klaus began as he came up beside the former enforcer, not surprised in the slightest to find him there, “Or no?”
He’d been honest when he told Mishca that he hadn’t known where Luka was, but he had had an idea.
They were only a few blocks from Alex’s apartment, sitting at a small café near the market where Alex, oblivious to their presence, was busy shopping about a block down, speaking candidly to a boy who trailed beside her. She looked less angry than the last time he’d seen her, but there was a sadness radiating from her. Maybe, if she looked up, just once, and caught them sitting there watching her, maybe that sadness would go away.
Luka looked better, his bruises having faded, and he looked to have put on a little weight though not as much as he probably needed. His hair was still cut short, though it was obvious he was growing it out.
Tapping his fingers against the table to a cadence only he knew, Luka stiffened at Klaus’ unwelcome intrusion even though he kept his gaze on Alex.
Klaus would never admit it, but he missed that sardonic smirk and crude humor of the Albanian sitting across from him. If not for looking at him, he might not have recognized him.
He was just there, as though all the life had been taken from him, and he was now merely a shell.
The same way he looked when they had first met.
“She’s free.”
“What the fuck does that mean?” Klaus asked, frowning.
“I needed to know,” he went on as though Klaus hadn’t spoken at all. “I needed to know she would be okay
without me.”
Luka stood without warning. Alex was on the move, heading in the opposite direction with her male friend. Klaus tossed a bill down on the table, keeping in stride with Luka though it was clear that he wasn’t wanted.
“Listen, you’re needed back in New York.”
“I’m not going back.”
At least he was acknowledging Klaus’ presence. That was progress. “Just because you had a little scuffle doesn’t excuse you from your duties.”
Luka paused, turning to glare at Klaus who merely raised his brows. “Too soon?”
“Fuck off, Klaus.”
He mumbled something Klaus couldn’t hear, digging into his pocket for the pack of cigarettes he had there. Pulling one free, he lit it and took a long drag, exhaling the smoke as they easily moved through the crowd.
After a moment, Klaus realized that they were still following Alex, who was now on the move.
“Are you content doing this?” Klaus asked, sliding his hands into his pockets. “Following her around like a lost puppy when you could be with her. I mean, who’s left to stand in your way. Last I remember, you shot Fatos at point-blank range. Or maybe I imagined that?”
“How could I? After everything I’ve done.”
“She doesn’t care about that.”
“But I do.”
“So, what? Are you just going to walk away?”
Luka took one last drag from the cigarette he was smoking before tossing it down and grinding it out. “Did I ever have a choice?”
Klaus couldn’t explain it, but anger filled him, and as they were crossing the street, he shoved him into the alley. He might not have realized it until that moment, but he had been treating Luka with kid gloves ever since Berat.
Knowing firsthand what torture could do to a person, he’d chosen to give Luka his freedom, giving him time to cope with what he had suffered. But not once had he ever thought that Luka would give up everything.
This life of theirs…this was all he knew.
Hidden Monsters (Volkov Bratva Book 4) Page 36