Until the End (8 page)

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 stop 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.

“What can I do for you, kid?”

“I need a favor.” That was the code, Billy had said.

They all laughed, but it was D who responded. “Do I know you?”

“I’m a friend of Billy’s.”

“Oh, yea? Billy, with the bad hair. I know
him
, but I don’t know you.”

He had a distinct accent, one that Cameron had never heard before and Cameron might have headed the warning in D’s voice, but he wasn’t ready to give up yet.

“I’m willing to do anything,” Cameron said. “Please.”

D was silent for so long that Cameron just knew that he was going to send him off, but he was shocked when D nodded.

“What do you need?”

“Forty.”

D didn’t deal in small amounts. When someone came to him for a loan, it was done in thousands, not a penny less.

“For school,” Cameron went on to explain as though that might help his case. “Medical school. I’m trying to become a doctor.”

When he only got an amused look from D, Cameron finally stopped talking, shifting on his feet.

Snapping his fingers, D gestured to one of the boys, waiting for him to hand over a small notepad and pen.

“Come to this address tomorrow at noon. Don’t be late.”

This was said with a level stare, a thick finger pointed in Cameron’s face before he was handed a scrap of paper. Clutching it in his hand, Cameron didn’t bother with a thank you.

They had already dismissed him.

The following day, Cameron arrived at a local restaurant in Brighton Beach ten minutes early. It was a rather run-down place, filled with men in different states of dress.

One of the guys from the previous night recognized Cameron, waving him over to where he stood near the bar.

“D is waiting for you in the back,” he explained before pushing Cameron through the door, slamming it shut behind him.

Thick smoke made it hard to see, but Cameron kept going, trying to ignore the glares of the men watching his every step.

D was seated at a round table in the back, several men surrounding him, but they all seemed to be angled around a single man.

Even Cameron could tell there was something different about him. He wasn’t dressed as lavishly as the others, and unlike the empty glasses in front of the others, his glass was full.

Cameron wasn’t sure what to do when two men stood, refusing to let him pass. He looked to D, but he was leaning over to the man in the center, speaking rapidly in another language.

Nodding, the man waved for them to let Cameron through. He tentatively stepped forward.

“Please, sit.”

Cameron took up the vacant seat, folding his hands in his lap. Sweat formed at the nape of his neck, his nerves getting the best of him as he became the subject of everyone’s attention.

“My associate tells me you are in a predicament, yes?”

When the man spoke, everyone stopped to listen. It sounded unbearably loud when Cameron cleared his throat.

“Yes, sir.”

“And you want this money to be a doctor?”

Cameron nodded.

Surprising them all, the man reached into his coat pocket, withdrawing a hefty envelope, tapping it against the table.

“How do you expect to pay me back?”

“I have a job,” he spoke up. “I can get you the money.”

“You work at a supermarket to pay for your mother’s care. How long would that take, young Cameron Thompson?”

Cameron was stunned speechless. He had never even given his name to anyone, yet they knew all this information about him. He should have known then that he was way over his head.

“I’ll do anything,” he pleaded instead.

D smirked, shaking his head as though he already knew what the man was going to do, but he frowned when the man slid the envelope across the table.

“Do not worry about the money,” the man said, shocking everyone. “One day, your debt will come due, and on that day, you will answer to me. Do you agree to my terms.”

Cameron stared down at the envelope, hesitating. For all he knew, the man could ask him to kill someone. Was he really willing to take that chance?

As Cameron left that room, the envelope tucked safely into his back pocket, he would later regret ever doing business with the Russians in that back room.

When he finished, Lauren couldn’t look at him. It was an impossible situation to understand. Her father’s desire to go to school by any means necessary was admirable, but how could he think that
that
was a good option.

“You could have said no,” Lauren said quietly.

“And he could have turned down the money,” Mikhail retorted. “I am a businessman. I do not care for sentiment. At the time, he was what I needed and he served his purpose.”

Red, hot anger filled Lauren and she was close to saying something she knew she would regret.

“I warned you that it would not be what you wanted to hear, you persisted,
but
,”—he raised his hand when she meant to cut him off—“that does not mean I do not feel sorry for what he suffered. He was a good man in a world of thieves. He knew the risks. Know that Viktor paid for what he did and leave it at that.”