19. Nik
Luna’s eyes widen at my acknowledgment of my father. Of all the times for him to show up. Now is not the time.
First of all, we’re soaked. Her wet jeans cling to her hips, and her long-sleeve shirt is splotchy in all the wrong places—but, damn, I can’t stop sneaking glances at her. I’m currently fueled with adrenaline, and I have an overwhelming desire to either hit the gym or?—
Now is not the time, I chide myself.
My father being here is the last thing I need—the last thing Luna needs.
“Heard you had some trouble on the road, Nikolai.” His voice booms down the hall, in an authoritative, commanding tone that could rival Vladamir Morozov himself.
People used to shake in fear when in the presence of the Bratva brigadier, who had as little compassion as the pakhan. Viktor Balakin was a force to be reckoned with.
He still is, in his own way.
Part of him became lost, though, when Vladamir died. My father spent thirty-plus years dedicated to the Morozov family. They were friends and Bratva brothers. Loyal unto death.
Often, I wonder if he stepped away because he couldn’t imagine a Bratva world without Vlad. He respects Luka’s position as the pakhan and wants him to thrive as our boss. But I know how I’d feel if something happened to Luka … I don’t even want to consider it.
Unfortunately, even though he is retired, his criticism of my work has not. “Da,” I answer him.
Luna’s gaze flickers back and forth between us as she shuffles on her feet. I raise a brow at her obvious uncertainty.
This isn’t how I wanted to introduce them. I knew it was inevitable they’d meet when we landed in the country—I had a plan. I’d take Luna to a breakfast place; with her actually aware she’s going to meet my father. He’s always happier when food or alcohol is in front of him. And no matter how annoyed he is at my marriage, we’d be in public. And he’s typically self-restrained in public.
“Father, this is Luna Buscetta.” I gesture to her then extend my hand toward my father. “Luna, this is my father, Viktor Balakin.”
“Nice to meet you, sir.” Luna gives him a shaky smile. One he doesn’t return.
“Ah yes, the Buscetta princess,” he replies, disgust etched on his face.
“Father …”
Luna’s face contorts, but her chin lifts slightly as he moves forward.
My father snorts. “I’ll be the first to admit, I don’t know anything about you. But I do know your family.”
Her eyes pierce the distance between them with a fiery intensity. “Well, I look forward to getting to know you, Mr. Balakin.” She turns to me. “I’m going to go change.”
She bolts up the stairs, peering down at me from the top before she frowns and walks off.
“Father, as you know, we were practically run off the road. Allow me to change and I will have a drink with you.”
“Nyet, Nikolai. I want a meeting with you and Luka. Now. The pakhan has already agreed.” He tilts his head toward Luka’s office.
I nod. Vowing not to show how irritated I am, I stride past him to the office.
Luka’s office here is larger than his one back in New York. The ample space mimics a conference room of sorts. Three big-screen TVs hang on the wall, each broadcasting a different Russian news station, and a small bar cart is located in the corner.
Luka is already seated at the large center table with paperwork in front of him, and a glass tumbler of clear liquor in his hand. He stands, eyes narrowing on me, most likely searching for injury.
“Glad you are well, Nikolai. Viktor, it’s good to see you.” He extends a hand to my father, who takes it and offers a firm shake.
“Da. I was hoping to have a conversation about this sham of a marriage.” My father helps himself to a seat at the table.
I move by Luka’s side while he frowns at my father. Then, a chuckle rolls out the pakhan, and he slaps my shoulder, making me jump. Casual Luka does not bode well for this conversation.
“It’s no sham, Viktor. Nikolai and Luna are legally bound. In addition, we signed a marriage contract.” He sits, picks up his glass again, and takes a small sip. I follow suit, scooting close. Hoping to try to catch a peek at the papers he has in front of him.
“I understand, Luka, but the Cosa Nostra? Your father would be ashamed.”
Luka stiffens but says nothing.
“Has the marriage even been consummated yet? There is time for an annulment.”
The hairs on the back of my neck prickle when he mentions consummation, like it’s some sort of duty to prove a marriage. Except, in his generation, it was. It’s archaic, but more common in Mafia circles than you’d think.
I glare at my father, trying hard not to take this personally. He never sought companionship after my mother, and Luka’s father never pushed him to get remarried. That didn’t stop him from seeking pleasure with women, but relationships, love—those he swore off. What is it they say about apples and how far they fall?
“It’s my honor to serve the Bratva, father. I’m sure you can understand.” I’ve told him this before. This marriage is for the Bratva, for my brothers, for the Morozov family legacy.
“Da, I can,” he says, then shifts his focus back to Luka. “But Vladamir would know better than to get in bed with the Cosa Nostra.” His voice is agitated, growing louder. “You’ve allowed the Cosa Nostra to whore out their mafia princess to gain access to your father’s legacy.”
“Hey!” I snap. Luka taps his fingers on the table. My father continues.
“Or maybe it’s the other way around. You are being sold out, Nikolai. What about our family line and legacy? This is unacceptable.”
Luka stands suddenly, pulls his gun, and aims for my father—right between his raging eyes.
My blood runs cold.
I freeze, staring at Luka’s face. He’s calm, stoic even, but I know him. He’s hanging on by a thread.
“The only reason there isn’t a bullet in your head for raising your voice at me is because of who you are to Nikolai, and who you were to my father. Do not mistake my silence for acceptance. I am not my father. The legacy I’m building is for my future family.
“Nikolai was not forced, nor would he ever be forced to continue in this marriage. I would break the contract and go to war for him, but he sees the bigger picture—what the alliance offers, what it is currently offering.” Luka’s gaze darts to the paperwork on the table, then back to my father, who hangs his head.
“I apologize, Pakhan. Forgive my outburst. I only want what is best for Nikolai.”
I snort. Sure he does. It’s bull, but I let it slide, more curious about this offering from Salvatore Buscetta. “What did you get from the Cosa Nostra?” I ask.
Luka lowers his weapon, not taking his gaze off my father. I can tell the inferno is burning deep, like it does whenever anyone mentions his father.
Leaving his weapon on the table, he shuffles the paperwork, stacking the loose pages into a neat pile. I’m hoping this is more information about Echelon Vanguard. We need to make some headway there. It’s unlike the Bratva to ignore a large group like this, and now that Salvatore has secured our alliance, I doubt he will, either.
“Salvatore Buscetta was able to obtain a list of currently active EV members. The names are powerful and shocking, even for me.” Luka slides the papers to me and lifts his glass once again, but instead of taking a sip, he downs the rest in one swig.
This is bothering him.
I start at the top. Names appear in alphabetical order, and each page is filled with them. Successful businessmen, senators and congressmen, governors and drug dealers—all big names who are masters in dominance and ruling with influence.
My heart beats in my ears, amplified when I clench my teeth together. I suddenly understand Salvatore’s push for an alliance. This many powerful people, in one society, with the ability to eliminate our organizations with their policies or by pouring money into it?—
“Antonio thought he was using them to gather support to take over the Cosa Nostra and infiltrate the Bratva, but EV was using him,” Luka says. “Senator Hope secured money from us and facilitated ways to maintain our shipments, but in both instances, they were priming our organizations to need them. To be indebted to them. Another way to demonstrate their power. This alliance with the Cosa Nostra keeps us strong and sends a message to EV—we aren’t to be messed with.”
I pin my father with a stare, hoping he understands this marriage does more than upset Luka’s father in the grave. He stares off, seemingly paying attention to the blonde reporter on television standing in front of the Kremlin.
Then, finally, he says, “However I can be of use, please let me know.” My father stands, pausing. Waiting for approval to leave. Luka raises an eyebrow. A moment later, a sharp sigh leaves his clenched mouth.
“Dismissed.”
My father leaves the room, and I chuckle. “Can you believe he used the word consummate?”
Luka’s mouth twitches, and he pulls an invisible piece of dust off his suit jacket.
“No, I cannot.”
Another day passes with continued cloudy skies, and I decide to hit the gym before we all go out tonight. Yesterday, we had our meeting with our supplier, and this evening Luka is going out with some government officials. Nothing formal, just a few friends who have been loyal to the Bratva even while across the ocean.
Luka mentioned Luna is welcome to come, it being our last night here, and relatively low risk. Honestly, she could probably use a relaxing night out after the events of the other day.
I rack two more plates on the squat rack and dive underneath the bar. The unmistakable burn in my thighs is something I relish. Frustration and concerns leave my body with every press up.
I hiss out my next rep, mind wandering to Luna’s willingness to jump in during the car chase despite her fear. Her next to me, trying to provide help rather than panic during the situation. We collectively worked together. And she simply stepped in, something my mother would’ve never done.
With another rep, the smell of sweaty rubber fills my nose, wafting up from the floor. I modeled the warehouse gym after this one.
Surround sound allows me to play my favorite music, and the light-colored walls coupled with full wall mirrors motivate a good session.
After finishing my last set, I remove the plates from the bar and replace the rack with bumpers. Tingling up my neck prompts me to turn toward the door. Out of habit, I reach down for my weapon.
A pair of cream-colored Vans cross the gym’s threshold. Luna’s frayed jeans hug her legs, and a gray sweater hangs off her one shoulder, exposing the tantalizing olive tone of her skin. Her outfit is the exact opposite of what I would picture for a mafia princess from the Cosa Nostra. It’s low maintenance and—very Luna.
“Hey,” I huff out, snagging my water bottle from the floor and grabbing a fresh towel from the stack.
“Hi.”
Her eyes rove over my sweat-soaked shirt, and she pauses on my shoulders, her appreciative stare like a caress. What would her hands on me feel like?
I clear my throat and she jumps, eyes going wide. “Uh, sorry. Luka said we were going out tonight. What should I wear?”
“Anything is fine. It’s a fairly casual place.” I wipe down my face and leave the towel around my neck, then reach for the spray to disinfect the bench and other equipment.
When I’m finished, I move to the door, Luna still casually watching me. There are embers in her irises, reflecting off the gym’s ceiling lights. She stands there, lingering in the door frame. I slip past, barely squeezing by her tiny frame. Her breath catches in a soft sigh, the noise shooting low. Ah, hell.
“You going to get ready?” I ask. My voice sounds breathy. Must be from my workout.
“Yeah. I am,” she says. It comes out in a whisper. Her eyes ping-pong back and forth between mine, and I smirk. Luna is attracted to me.
She still isn’t moving. She drags a hand through her rich chocolate brown hair, and the movement pushes half of it into her face.
The urge to touch her is aggravating. Leaning into her jasmine scent, my face ends up only a couple inches from hers. She sucks in a sharp breath.
“You’re not moving, Moonbeam.”
Her lower lip tucks behind her top teeth and I groan internally. Forfeiting the battle to not touch her, I tuck her hair behind her ear. Small diamond studs decorate them, shimmering with every inhale she takes.
A woman’s ears have never been something I’ve given consideration. Not once. But Luna’s are delicate. Tan and smooth, and begging for me to nip at them. The overwhelming desire to trail my mouth behind them and down the nape of her neck hits me like a punch to the gut. I stiffen and straighten before I do something stupid.
As if reading my change in demeanor, she says, “I’ll see you in a bit,” and darts down the hallway.
Kill me.
It doesn’t get any better. Igor and I are sharing a drink in the kitchen when the sound of heels echoes down the hall. It’s not a sound I associate with Luna, so I don’t pay it much attention, but then the door opens and—crap.
A classic black cocktail dress hugs her body, the material accentuates her curves. The V neckline draws my gaze and heat grows on the back of my neck. My focus trails and traces over her bare legs, ending at a pair of red heels.
My fist tightens around my drink. I raise it to my lips and throw it back before slamming the glass back on the counter.
“Where is your coat?” I growl.
“It’s in the foyer. I’ll grab it before we go. I wanted to grab a water.”
She clicks over to the fridge, giving me an unobstructed view of the back of her dress. Silk dips down to the middle of her back. I spot a small zipper and thoughts of undoing it flutter through my mind. Shutting my eyes, I take a beat, then open them to see Igor smirking at me.
Water bottle in hand, Luna shuts the fridge. I watch as she opens it and wraps those lush red lips around the top. Desire pulses through me with every small gulp. I’m suddenly very aware of my tighter suit pants, the navy fabric strangling me.
“Ready?” Luka pops his head into the kitchen. “We’re taking three SUVs. We’ll all be in the middle, security in the outer two.”
Igor pushes his stool back and heads out the door. Luna sets her water down and offers me an innocent smile before following him.
I don’t move.
“Nikolai,” Luka barks. “What are you doing?”
My lips fold into a thin line. “Nothing.”
I adjust myself before standing. Luka’s eyes meet mine and a wide grin spreads over his face. As he turns to leave, he howls in laughter.
I’m in deep shit.
The drive to the restaurant is a good distraction. I ride up front with Igor, keeping an eye out for fringe groups trying to play Grand Turismo.
We’re meeting with the previous deputy prime minister and his wife, along with the current minister of foreign affairs and his mistress—the wife couldn’t make it. Since security will be present tonight, it makes bringing Luna bearable. I’d hate to return home to tell Salvatore I took his daughter to Russia and lost her.
The restaurant is busier than I’d like. We have reserved seating—a plush leather booth rounded into a half circle. It’s the perfect vantage point, allowing Igor and I to keep an eye out if someone gets past our security deposited around the bar.
A waitress comes over and places a tray of caviar, bilinis, and smoked salmon in front of us before taking our order for the first round of drinks.
“And for you, handsome?” She winks at me, and I offer her a wide grin.
The other women at the table glance at Luna sitting next to me. And, as if aware of their stares, her mouth curls into a frown. I give the waitress my order and she points to Luna. “And for your friend?” I open my mouth, but then slam it shut when Luna doesn’t give me a chance to reply.
“I’ll have a glass of champagne, please,” Luna says, staring at the waitress with what looks like equal parts disdain and mortification. She shifts away from me.
When the drinks arrive, Luna takes a long sip of hers, emptying half the flute. Unease stabs me—I don’t think I’ve seen her drink before. Granted, she isn’t twenty-one, but here that doesn’t matter.
I immerse myself in conversation with Luka and our friends, catching up on recent politics and sharing our success in New York. Luna appears to be conversing with the other women and enjoying herself.
A flush of red climbs up her neck as the deputy prime minister’s wife asks her a question. The flush breaks out over her cheeks, and she reaches for her glass again. Her gaze plummets to her lap, hands wringing together, and I know something’s wrong. I lean into her, but she keeps her focus pinned on her legs.
“Are you all right?”
“Fine.” She doesn’t turn to me, and I want to grab her face. Look at me.
Polina, the minister of foreign affiars’s mistress, stands and announces she’s headed to the bar to get another drink. She beckons Luna and the deputy prime minister’s wife to come with her, and when they stand, she pulls them both by their arms to the bar seating. I nod toward security, making sure they watch that area as well, and I dive back into conversation.
An hour goes by, and Luna still isn’t back. The women have gathered a group of other patrons around them. Mostly men in suits, plus a few other women. My mind begins to shut out the talking around me in favor of watching Luna. I nurse my fourth drink, watching her head snap back and laugh at something a tall man with black hair just said—a clone of Luka.
I shift, angling my ear to see if I can pick up on her laugh, but nothing. I haven’t heard her laugh, and this joker has made her laugh twice in the past twenty minutes. I continue to sip my drink, eyes boring into the man with this cheap suit and twitchy hands.
Luka says something to me, but I only catch the last half.
“—think, Nikolai?”
“Uh, yeah.” I shift to stand. “I’ll be right back.”
Without seeking permission, I stride to the bar. The waitress from earlier passes by me, smiling for attention. I barely acknowledge her.
Dragging my hand through my hair and then shoving my hands in my pockets, I slide up to the bar behind Luna and Dipshit McGee. I pin him with a scowl, watching as he occasionally moves his hand to where he can purposely brush Luna’s arm. When he finally notices me standing there, he narrows his eyes. I smile, giving him a small wave.
Luna turns around, looking for whatever is distracting the man. “Nik?”
“Who’s your friend?” I ask.
“Ah, this is Pavel.” She turns back to Pavel and smiles. “Pavel, this is Nik.”
I reach across her, knocking her back in her stool, and extend my hand to shake his, telling him to get lost and to keep his damn hands to himself—all in Russian, of course.
His nostrils flare and his eyes widen before backing away. Luna rotates to face me, and my body hums with satisfaction now that I have her full attention. Her eyes are glassy, and her cheeks flushed. I bet she’s feeling as tipsy as I am.
“Where did he go?”
“Bathroom,” I deadpan.
“Huh.” She picks up her champagne and downs the rest. Setting the flute back on the bar, she starts twirling the stem while chewing at her lip. At the same time, the bartender places a napkin in front of where I’m seated. Good. I definitely need another drink.
“So, you come here often?” I flash her a wide grin. The noise level in this place has dialed up, and I can barely hear myself over the chatter and music.
Luna snorts. “Nice.”
“What?”
“Nice line. I bet that works well for you.” She pulls her lips into a tight line, clearly agitated, and her knee starts to bounce, causing the silky fabric of her dress to ride up her thigh.
“Luna,” I say going serious. I cradle her knee, pressing down to stop her fidgeting. “Luna …”
I hold her gaze, my drinks emboldening my touch—my need. Her eyes flutter as my fingers make small circles on the inside of her thigh. Her skin is pure silk, smooth and tantalizing. It takes everything in me not to plaster my hand there and grip her.
“Do you want to take a walk?” I ask. Desire throbs through me. The drinks mixed with stupid Pavel are getting to me, but I want her alone.
Her chest rises and falls, faster than before, and I start to fantasize about things I have no business thinking about. Alluring visions conjured by my need to hear her laugh and a primal need for my …
This is ridiculous. I only have one finger on the inside of her thigh—I’m screwed if I ever get my hands on her.
I level her with a smirk, getting ready to push away from the bar and take her to a secluded area, but she shakes her head.
“I’m sorry.” Her sharp tone snaps me out of my less than innocent thoughts. “I’m sorry, I can’t.”
She pushes off her stool, knocking my hand from her leg, and strides back to our table. I watch her go, my eyes landing on Luka while she takes a seat.
He grins and raises his glass.