11. Luna
The bed is empty when I wake the next morning, a small dip the only proof he was here last night. I don’t know why, but I thought one of us would have ended up on the couch. He was right, though—this bed is comfortable and big enough that we don’t even need to be close to each other.
I push up out of bed, my silk pajama shorts twisted around my waist. Pulling my shirt down, I pad into the living area.
No Nikolai—er, Nik.
I drag my finger over the couch, the buttery leather soft against my fingertip. On the wall, between two large windows, is a big-screen TV. A leather chair sits facing out into the apartment beneath it.
Walking over, I stare down at the warehouse. Twenty-plus men are working; forklifts lift and move crates, and guns are being inspected. The constant movement doesn’t jive with the silence in the apartment.
I dart away from the windows and shuffle to the kitchen to pull open the fridge. A snort escapes me and I shake my head. Beer, energy drinks, and steak are the few things in here. It’s clear Nik isn’t around too often. Or, at least, he isn’t cooking gourmet meals.
I let the freezer door close after inspecting that, too. Moving to open the cabinets, I search for a glass to fill with water. Since there isn’t bottled water anywhere I can see, I use the fridge’s water dispenser.
I gulp it down, looking around.
What now?
After getting ready for the day—in jeans, a t-shirt, and simple makeup—I decide to tackle the bed.
I can’t help but remember how comfortable it was last night. The silky sheets were luxurious and inviting; no wonder Nik wrinkled his nose at the suggestion one of us should take the couch. Considering the world we live in, his bed is probably one of the only havens of relaxation he has.
I pull down the covers, the fabric catching the natural light with a glimmer. The cream is a soothing, neutral color, the exact opposite of the cool tones of navy, gray, and white that make up the majority of this apartment. After methodically arranging the pillows, I offer a chop to each one, creating a V in the middle like I’ve seen the professionals do.
I step back, admiring my work, and a slight flutter low in my belly causes my stomach to flip. It snaps me out of my wandering thoughts, and I march away. There’s no way I’ll be thinking about this bed in that way. Especially not with all the women I’m sure he’s had in it.
I’m no stranger to the meandering ways of men. After my father ended Alessio’s life, I learned the truth about the multiple women who’d been with the man I thought I loved. And while I grieved his death, I also grieved for my heart—hurt and torn over what I never genuinely had with him. What we had wasn’t the rare gem I hung on to. It was an average rock.
I make note of how clean Nik’s place is. Not a scrap of paper out of place. Dishes are clean and put away. There aren’t extra shoes scattered on the floor, and there isn’t laundry flung around the bedroom. We had Giulia, and our house was never this perfect.
It almost reminds me of a rental property.
A space like this wouldn’t run a woman off. In reality, it would probably do the opposite. But there isn’t a single female touch present. Why, at thirty-three, is he still single?
After poking through the rest of the apartment, I grab one of my books and venture out the door and down the stairs. Hopping down the last step a figure stationed there startles me, causing me to yelp.
“Mrs. Balakin, are you all right?”
A man in a well-tailored suit—maybe mid-forties, with deep green eyes and slicked-back hair—stands right beside the stairs.
“Did you need something, Mrs. Balakin?”
“Oh, no, I’m Luna—” My mouth closes before I say Buscetta.
That’s not me anymore.
The man tilts his head, probably trying to figure out how insane I am.
“I was going to take a walk,” I say, holding up my book for proof. Because, apparently, I think I need to show him I’m not trying to escape.
“Of course, let me radio Lev and he’ll escort you.”
“Oh, no, that’s not?—”
But the man is already speaking into a well-hidden earpiece. My eyes shoot to my shoes; my beige Vans feel too informal for an escorted walk. But, goodness, it feels good to wear something besides the pumps or flats lining the floor of my closet back home. If my mother saw the sneakers on my feet right now …
“He’ll meet you right outside, Mrs. Balakin.”
Inwardly wincing at the name, I manage a smile and a thank you.
The staircase to the upstairs penthouse apartment sits in the middle of a narrow hallway. Nik showed me the training room at the end of the hall last night, and on the other side, the hallway leads to double doors outside. Past that, the hall opens up into the massive warehouse area where all the Bratva weapons shipments filter in and out.
I walk straight ahead and out the double doors, grateful that to leave the warehouse I don’t have to walk through the main facility.
“Ah, Mrs. Balakin,” a deep, raspy—yet young sounding—voice greets me as soon as I exit.
I huff out an annoyed breath at hearing that foreign last name again.
“I’m Lev.”
The sun’s blinding behind him, and I have to squint in his direction. His hair is a dirty blond, and his handsome face is free of any facial hair. He doesn’t look a day older than twenty-five.
“Uh, hi,” I say, offering a small smile before looking down to my book. “I was just going to read a bit. I’m sorry to bother you.” My eyes dart to his tie, then back to his face.
He chuckles, a wide smile breaking out over his mouth. “Well, how about I keep you company? I wouldn’t want Nikolai removing my hands because I failed to keep you safe.”
My eyes bulge as I process what he said. Nik wouldn’t really remove his hands, would he? No. This man has to be joking. He winks at me, and his lighthearted demeanor instantly calms my worry. Okay. Definitely joking.
“Do you know where there’s a good place to walk or read?”
I scan the surrounding area. This warehouse is remote—not easy to get to between the access gate and stationed guards. It’s enveloped by dense, untamed woodland. The seclusion should worry me—being tucked away with strangers. But the sound of rustling leaves and distant bird calls offer a soothing backdrop to the industrial marvel the Bratva has built out here.
When I woke this morning, I couldn’t help imagining all the secluded areas that would be perfect for getting lost in a book.
“The gravel road weaves through the woods a mile or two before you get to the main road,” Lev tells me, pointing.
I glance in the direction he’s indicating. Large trees have created a shadowed canopy over the drive.
“They also cleared out a good bit behind the warehouse. No trails to walk on, but there are some nice places to relax.” He smiles, head tipping toward my book, and his eyes crinkle.
“Thank you.” I smile back, truly appreciating the genuine conversation. It’s the most anyone around here has said to me.
“Lead the way, Mrs. Balakin.” He tugs down his suit jacket, eyes roving up my body. I flush, turning away.
“Luna is fine. Do you happen to know the other guard’s name?” I pull my hand over my forehead to see him better. “He didn’t mention it …”
“That would be Frank.”
I snort. “Frank?”
Immediately, I’m mortified at my casual amusement—but the very non-Russian name threw me.
Lev’s smile widens. “Yeah, he isn’t Russian. Owed Mr. Morozov’s father, and Luka allowed him to work off his debt. Permanently.”
“Frank it is, then.”
We end up walking and talking for half an hour before the pangs of hunger beckon me back to the front of the warehouse, and I ask Lev if he’d mind taking me to the nearest store to get a few things.
Lev nods. “There’s a place about five miles from here. Do you want to go now? I can get a car ready.”
Relief floods through me at his offer, and I smile at him. “Please. There isn’t much in the fridge here.”
“Doesn’t surprise me. Mr. Balakin is either working or out for most of his meals.”
A pit forms low in my stomach, overtaking my hunger. So, will he ever be around? I swallow the sour taste in my mouth.
“Here, let’s go get your stuff and we’ll get a car ready,” Lev says.
A warm hand connects with my back, and I pull in a breath, an uncomfortable sensation slithering up my spine.
I ignore it.
The sudden crunch of gravel echoes off the metal building, and Nik’s BMW comes into view. He’s barreling forward in a hurry. The warmth on my back disappears as Nik throws the car into park, opens the door, and starts striding toward us. His eyes shuffle between us, and I take a small step away from Lev.
Nik’s nostrils flare, his gaze settling on me. “Luna.”
Is that a greeting or reprimand?
“Hi.”
“Lev, what are you doing?” Nik’s bark makes me jump. His stare doesn’t leave my face, even while addressing the other man.
“Mrs. Balakin?—”
Nik stiffens when Lev calls me that. Guess I’m not the only one uncomfortable with my new title. His hazel eyes finally leave mine, and a weight lifts off my chest.
“She wanted to take a walk, sir. I was escorting her. She also wants to go to the grocery store. I was about to get a car ready.”
“I see. Proceed with the car. I need to speak with Luna for a minute.”
I grimace at Nik’s tone.
Lev moves toward where several black SUVs sit lined up. He glances back and offers a tense smile.
“Luna, let’s go.”
Nik motions toward the warehouse’s front doors, and I follow him into the building. When we pass Frank standing guard by the stairs, he gives us a nod.
“Frank.” Nik nods back, then steps aside, waiting for me to climb the stairs first. The silence between us is getting more and more uncomfortable.
When we make it into the apartment, he turns to me and pulls something out of his back pocket. A champagne-colored smartphone.
“This is what I could get last minute from Anya; she runs our tech. A few numbers have been preprogrammed for you.”
His eyes flick down to where I’m reaching for the device, and they linger on my bare left hand. He shakes his head, removing a glazed look from his face.
“Anyway, I wanted to get this to you so you don’t feel trapped. But it seems like you were doing fine.” He moves, suddenly, to the kitchen, pulling out a water from a discreet beverage fridge below the island.
Huh. Didn’t find that in all my snooping.
We both stand there, the soundproof apartment amplifying the awkward silence.
“D-do you need anything from the store?”
Nik stiffens again, his finger tracing a crooked line of black through the granite countertop. When he glances up at me, he looks annoyed. As if he’d been hoping to avoid having to talk to me anymore. But we can’t just ignore each other forever. He must realize this.
“No,” he finally answers.
“Okay,” I turn around, ready to go back downstairs.
“Luna,” Nik grits out. “Don’t forget this.”
He reaches down to pick up the credit card I left on the counter last night. Striding forward, he glares at me—the card extended in his hand.
“Oh, right. Thanks.” I take it from him, and I know I’ve stared too long when he jerks away and heads back to the kitchen.
While I walk down the stairs, I can think of only one thing.
He was wearing his ring.