The City Read online

  The City

  Volkov Bratva Novella Collection

  London Miller

  LM Books

  Contents

  Newsletter

  Also by London Miller

  Time Stood Still

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Epilogue

  Valon: What Once Was

  Introduction

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Epilogue

  Bonus Story.

  About the Author

  Newsletter

  Keep up with all things London Miller, including exclusive cover reveals, giveaways, and more!

  http://eepurl.com/-fxKD

  Also by London Miller

  Volkov Bratva

  In the Beginning

  Until the End

  The Final Hour

  Valon: What Once Was

  Hidden Monsters

  The Morning

  Den of Mercenaries

  Red.

  Celt.

  Nix.

  Calavera.

  The Wild Bunch

  Crooks & Kings

  Shadows & Silence

  Seasons of Betrayal

  Where the Sun Hides

  Where the Snow Falls

  Where the Wind Whispers

  Time Stood Still

  Copyright © 2014 by London Miller

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Mom,

  Thank you of the inspiration.

  Chapter 1

  “Just a little to the left…no, back to the right. Okay, just—”

  “Make up your damn mind!” Klaus snapped, the muscles of his arms straining from holding the stuffed armchair Lauren had bought for her new office.

  It was still wrapped in a protective layer of plastic, but instead of him letting the delivery men bring it in, as they were prepared to do, he’d carried it. Seemingly unbothered by the weight of it, he didn’t complain until he had brought it into the office and she was trying to direct him where to put it.

  “You keep moving. You’re throwing me off.”

  “I’m about to kill you.”

  Still smiling, she waved for him to move the chair again. Despite his rather hostile demeanor, after getting to know him over the last few months, Lauren found that Klaus rarely meant half of the things he said…except to Mishca. While he might not have completely thawed, their relationship was significantly better.

  “Have you considered his proposal?”

  Klaus was silent for so long, she wondered if he would answer. It was a question he’d been asked for a while now, mostly by Mishca, but once he had brought it up to her, she figured Klaus might be more willing to actually give her an answer.

  Since Mishca had relocated many of Mikhail’s men in the Bratva, a number of open positions needed to be filled. Namely, who his underbosses were going to be. Surprisingly, the first person he considered was Klaus, though there were still details that had to be worked out with the other Pakhans as far as his involvement was concerned. It wouldn’t be as though he was starting at the bottom and working his way up the ranks; he was immediately being offered a top-tier job…and it didn’t help that he had rather publicly vowed to kill Mishca.

  But Mishca didn’t care what they thought, and despite their recommendations, he had his own thoughts about what he wanted.

  “I’m a mercenary. I don’t do politics, and I for damn sure don’t want that Russian breathing down my neck.”

  Rolling her eyes, Lauren took a seat, running a hand through her hair as she pushed the strands back over her shoulder. “You would be a Captain, and besides, it’s not like you would let Mish boss you around.”

  He shrugged, pulling one of his knives free to cut through the plastic. “Look, I’m still thinking about it. We can’t act as if the last five years never happened. There are still some people who need to answer for that.”

  “You two are exhausting. Why don’t the two of you just fight it out already? Yell about how much you hate each other while you’re throwing punches. I feel like that would solve a lot of your problems.”

  A surprised laugh escaped him as he dropped down onto the freshly unwrapped chair, folding his hands behind his head. “I’d kick that Russian’s ass.”

  “Not a chance. Mish could totally take you out.”

  “Wanna wager?”

  She nodded. “What do you want? But, I’ll only agree to this if you truly think about accepting his offer and stop stalling.”

  Dropping his booted feet down, he grinned at her. “I’ll do you one better. Once my current contract is up, I’ll go freelance while I give the position a shot, but only if he plays by my rules and agrees to my demands. I win, he pays me triple my current salary, and I decide what role I play. He wins—”

  “He wins and you have to start calling him by his actual name, and you try to mend your relationship with him. And even if you lose, you should do that anyway. Let go of some of that anger you carry around.”

  It was clearly the right thing to bet. His entire face scrunched up in horror. “That’ll never happen.”

  Glancing down at her watch and noting the time, Lauren grabbed her coat and purse. “Then don’t lose.”

  “Yeah, whatever. Going to see the Russian?”

  The way he put emphasis on it made Lauren laugh. “Yep.”

  “I’ll give you a ride.”

  “I thought you had a job in the city.”

  He grimaced, looking very much like Mishca as he rubbed the back of his neck. Since Jetmir, Klaus had been acting weird about whatever new assignment he’d been given. He hadn’t shared any information about the actual job, only said that he had one—one of the reasons he had given as to why he hadn’t planned to accept Mishca’s offer.

  “I forgot how fucking nosy you can be.”

  Out on the sidewalk, Lauren pulled on her coat. Klaus was ever the imposing sight, leading the way to his car. Lauren had only ridden in it once before, but even she knew it was impressive.

  Perhaps, she should have bet on his car.

  It had taken two months for things to finally settle enough so that Mishca Volkov could take a step back from the dangerous world he lived in and take a breath. Since he had gotten married, a mercenary hired by his stepmother had nearly killed him, and he’d been targeted by the Albanian Organization that had once tortured and nearly killed his brother, Klaus. Not only that, but he had been brought up on RICO charges that had been dismissed almost as quickly as they had come up. Though Special Agent Tabitha Green was no longer a problem, he knew that she wouldn’t be the only agent who wanted to use him to make their career.

  Then, there was the new position he had taken as the Pakhan over the Volkov Bratva now that his father, Mikhail, had been ex communicated. It had been a calculated decision on his part, but one that needed to be done if only because he needed to make a statement to those who opposed him. It was rare that a Pakhan was forced from his seat—truthfully, it was unheard of—
but with his track record and the approval of the other Pakhans from the different organizations across the Eastern Seaboard, Mishca had it done. The ink of the cross—a symbol of his new position—had barely dried on his back before he’d had another placed on his chest, its rightful spot. Some of the others liked to remind him that he was far too young for the role, but with time, he was sure they would get over that assumption. Even still, he knew every move he made was being watched carefully.

  Now that he had this mark of power, Mishca was still in the process of changing the very structure of the organization he was head of. Unlike his father, he needed people he trusted to stand beside him, not just those who were eager to spill blood in the name of climbing the ranks—excluding Luka, who killed just to do it and not to receive any recognition for it. And more importantly, he only wanted people whose loyalty was to him alone. Some of Mikhail’s men had already walked away once they learned of his current predicament—that had taken care of at least a third of them—but that brought problems of its own as well, mainly because he had fewer bodies to put into his territories.

  This was why, even though he was unsure of why he’d come forth, Mishca decided to meet with Roman Pavlov, Viktor’s bastard son—a description that he himself chose to go by. Mishca had never particularly had a problem with him, but he did make assumptions about his character based on his knowledge of Roman’s mother, a woman who made Anya look tame. One thing he did know, however, was that Roman would be a good ally to have, if only until he betrayed him.

  Roman was a part of the Pavlov Bratva, one that he headed himself though he had less notoriety than what he probably preferred. This was why he had suggested a partnership. It would be an alliance of sorts to send a message to their perspective enemies. It would only help their businesses in the long run, so Mishca had agreed.

  Now, they were moving on to the next stage.

  “What are you suggesting?” Roman asked, voice even now that he knew Mishca was going along with what he wanted.

  Mishca tapped his pen against the desk, meeting the eyes of the man who was family though he knew hardly anything about him. A little over half an hour ago, Roman had presented him with the business plan that he’d prepared. He could have begun the construction without Mishca’s approval, so the fact that he was coming to him at all told Mishca that Roman was planning to respect his role…at least for the moment.

  Opening a gambling parlor was tricky enough since it wasn’t legal by any means, but Roman’s concept was solid and could very well be profitable for both of them.

  “Green Hill won’t be easy,” Mishca responded. “The city is overrun with Colombians and Italians, but to my understanding, you already have a good working relationship with the Colombians, no?”

  Roman looked very much like his father—same cold, gray eyes, square jaw, and slightly tanned skin—and now he wore the expression of a man who was not used to defeat.

  “I do, but even if I hadn’t, they wouldn’t be a problem.”

  “See that it’s done. I’ll pay you a visit in a few weeks.”

  Nodding once, Roman stood, buttoning the front of his jacket. He reached to shake Mishca’s hand as he stood. “Give my regards to the missus.”

  “Will do.”

  As Roman was leaving, Mishca could hear voices out in the hallway and already could feel the headache that those two were going to bring him before they even cleared his doorway.

  Sure enough—as they always were it seemed—Alex and Luka came bursting through the door, whatever argument they’d been having tapering off to meaningful glares.

  “What is it?” Mishca asked, aimed more toward Luka than Alex.

  Before Luka could respond to his inquiry, Alex asked, “Why was Roman here?”

  Mishca knew that their parentage was still a sore subject for her and seeing Roman was probably a reminder of that.

  “Business.”

  He didn’t elaborate and wouldn’t even if he wanted to. She was fine, Mishca knew, though he did wonder how the trials of what she had been through still fared on her.

  Alex met his eyes for a lengthy moment, shrugged, and then walked over to the couch on the other side of his office. “Anyway, I came here to tell you what a shitty husband you are.”

  Smirking, Luka went and took the seat Roman had just vacated, propping his muddy boots up on the table. Some days—on days very much like this one—Mishca still didn’t know why he kept Luka around.

  Not too long ago, when Luka had made a call that Mishca hadn’t readily agreed with, he had reacted badly and as a result, Luka broke his finger. It had initially pissed him off to the point that Mishca had seriously considered demoting the enforcer, but he’d eventually gotten over it. And despite Luka’s rather eclectic personality—and a past Mishca knew nothing about—he trusted Luka implicitly.

  Contemplating pushing Luka’s feet off the table, Mishca knew there was no point since Luka would just put them back. Since he wasn’t going to like wherever this conversation was heading, Mishca tossed his pen down, counting backward from ten in his head.

  “What are you going on about, Aleksandra?”

  “I’m just saying. If I were married to you, your ass would have been divorced two weeks in.”

  Luka, the idiot, cleared his throat, raising his hand in the air as though they were in school and he needed permission to speak. Exasperated, Mishca pointed to him.

  “She has a point.”

  That was it. That was all he said.

  His hand twitching with the urge to do violence, Mishca looked over at Alex, hoping she would add something meaningful to this conversation before he ended it entirely.

  “Let’s review the facts. Viktor killed her father, tried to kill her, and then Ross years later—oh and that cunt you used to stick your dick in—”

  Mishca cut her off to ask, “When did you become so crude?”

  She pointed to Luka, who, of course, pointed at himself.

  “Perhaps I need to reassign him.”

  Mishca had initially believed, partly because Lauren suggested it, that Luka and Alex would be good together because she was more willing to open up to the enforcer than she was to Mishca. But he also didn’t miss the fact that his sister had had a crush on Luka since he had begun working for him. He hadn’t read too much into this, only because Luka hadn’t seemed receptive. He still frequented the Gilded Room, but that didn’t mean he knew the enforcer’s true feelings.

  “If you’re worried that he’s sticking his dick in me, no worries. He’s not.”

  Even Luka glared at her this time.

  Ignoring Mishca entirely, she returned that glare. “What? It’s the truth.” Back to Mishca. “Anyway, as I was saying. The chick you slept with came waltzing back, tried to have her killed by crazy-ass Albanians—no offense there, Tiger.”

  Luka smirked but didn’t offer a response.

  “Oh, and let’s not forget my mother hired a mercenary to take her out. I mean, if I was her, I’d think I’d married into the worst family ever.”

  “And you had the nerve to get shot on her wedding day,” Luka added looking reproachful.

  Mishca didn’t respond to this. He didn’t admit that he had already thought of all this before. Even worse, though they didn’t mention it, Lauren had planned a trip for them after the wedding for their honeymoon, but the chaos that had ensued had prevented them from going. She had never spoken about it, but while he was still recovering, she’d been the one who had to cancel all of their reservations. Though she would never voice how that hurt her, he knew it did.

  “What do you suggest then?” Mishca asked candidly, willing to listen to Alex’s recommendation. If there was one thing he could say about her, it was that she believed in true love and grand acts of affection.

  “Don’t go to Brazil,” Luka said with a laugh. “The last time you took her there, you were busy getting off with the crazy bitch who got her kidnapped. Word of advice, never go back to that fucking country. F
ucking memory is a bitch. It lingers.”

  “I am dangerously close to throwing you out,” Mishca warned.

  Giving him a look of mock hurt, Luka said, “And I am dangerously close to not giving a single shit. Not. One.”

  “What he means is,” Alex said, jumping in, “that you should do something really special for her. You know, a thanks-for-sticking-by-me-though-I-bled-all-over-your-wedding-dress kind of thing. Aren’t Susan and Ross getting married this weekend? That’s a start.”

  “Wait.” Luka held his hand up, looking over at Alex. “Michigan? You want them to go to Michigan for a honeymoon? It’s boring as fuck there. What are they going to do, fish?”

  Rolling her eyes, Alex said, “I didn’t mean for them to stay there for the honeymoon. I was suggesting for him to wait until they’re there for him to surprise her with the honeymoon. I’m sure you wouldn’t know anything about surprises, since the only affection you know how to give is leaving money on the bedside table for your—”

  Luka lost his easy smile, his gaze turning cold. “Don’t call her that.”

  It was like watching two opposing forces come together. Alex climbed to her feet. Leaning over in front of Luka, she stopped, her face only inches from his. She had always been bold, refusing to back down from anything, but Luka was just as stubborn, and the two of them together promised trouble.

  “Or. What?” she asked, not flinching away from the hostility that was bleeding out of him now.