20. Luna
The ride back to the airport sucks.
It’s early the next morning, and Igor, as always, is quietly brooding in the driver’s seat, while Nik moans against the window with his jacket over his face. He undoubtedly drank too much. Luka is seated next to me, on the phone with Kate, and has been for most of the ride.
The sour taste of bitterness churns my stomach. It’s clear Nik has a double standard. His charming personality has a habit of coming out around members of the opposite sex—frequently. But what happens when I meet and talk with another man? Then he pays attention. I don’t know what I thought would happen in this marriage; maybe I had too much hope.
I don’t expect him to fall in love with me—to even want me. But I had hoped we could experience life together. That perhaps I’d find something to contribute besides my title of wife—I could be a friend, a companion, someone to ease his burdens. Then maybe, just maybe, that connection might grow.
We pass through Moscow, the city that ignited something within me. Traveling wasn’t something I ever thought about doing, probably because I had no reference for what it could be like. But if I learned anything this trip, it’s that I want to travel. To explore and experience other cultures firsthand. To leave my sheltered past behind and embrace my newly found freedom.
But I don’t want to do it alone.
Seeing Luka, Nik, and Igor’s enthusiasm for their country—laughing, enjoying the food, and going out together. It’s more fun when you get to experience that with others.
“Agh, I don’t want to get on a plane right now,” Nik groans.
Luka, who has since ended his call, rolls his eyes, and Igor swings us onto the tarmac where our private jet awaits.
After exiting the car, I open the trunk and reach for my bag. An arm bats mine out of the way, and Nik fumbles for my luggage.
“I could’ve gotten it,” I snap. He smiles at me, that one-sided dimple causing me to waver. I want to kiss it—kiss him. My eyes widen at my revelation. No. His behavior toward you … No, Luna.
I fall back, bumping into Igor as he comes around for his suitcase. “Sorry?—”
“Nikolai,” Luka barks from the top of the plane’s stairs.
“Coming, Boss.”
Nik lifts his pointer finger and twirls it around, indicating he wants me to turn around. With a sigh, I do, following Igor to the plane. Nik comes up behind me, his computer bag bumping my backside, and I’m not sure if it’s intentional or not.
When I reach the last step before stepping onto the plane, I pause and turn to watch the sun drift up above the horizon. A fresh start, a new day. Heaving in a deep breath, I shuffle through the door and find a seat.
The way Luka’s jet is laid out, two rows of two seats line the right side while a large table, with four seats surrounding it, sits on the left. There’s a bar in the back, probably stocked with a fine selection of liquor. A staff member stands there, setting out breakfast platters of fruit and pastries. Two carafes of orange juice rest securely in their holders.
The pilot comes over the speaker to announce our departure. “Good morning, Mr. Morozov. We are preparing for takeoff and will be in the air shortly.”
I stand, my stomach growling to be fed. Last night, I didn’t get to eat much. Both women I was talking to didn’t reach for any food, and I didn’t want to be the only one eating. Plus, between their vivid descriptions of intimacy with their partners, and my keen awareness of the lack thereof in my marriage, I wasn’t very hungry.
Having had so little food and several glasses of champagne, my body is screaming for some sustenance. I move to the bar, grab a banana and a water bottle, and scan the rest of the trays. The muffins smell delicious, but my mother’s voice rings in my head. Straight to your hips, Luna.
I pass on the carbs and turn—only to collide with a solid slab of muscle. Nik must have been standing almost on top of me.
“Moonbeam.” He smiles, and I roll my eyes at him. I hate that nickname. The urge to shake him is steadily getting stronger.
“You can stop with the junior high nickname, Nik.” As soon as the words are past my lips, I snap them shut. He stares, attention flicking to my mouth. His smile slowly diminishes, and his expression softens.
“Luna …” His fingers graze the underside of my chin, lifting my face. The pads of his fingertips are rough, and the touch sets my skin ablaze. He moves his hand to the side of my face, reaching for a piece of hair that fell out of my ponytail, but I duck out of the way, avoiding him.
“We should take our seats,” I say, pushing past him.
A hand wraps around my wrist, deft fingers circling with enough pressure to cause a surge of panic. The engines pulse to life, and the plane moves to taxi the runway. I tug at my wrist, but he doesn’t let go. He stares at me with an expression of confusion and—something else.
“Nikolai, sit down.” Luka’s voice fills the cabin, and he finally lets go of my arm, jerking his chin toward my seat.
Planting myself against the plush leather, I pull my legs up to fold underneath me. Then I crack open my water and eat my banana. Afterward, with a full stomach and the lull of the plane, my eyes flutter, my body feeling the heaviness of exhaustion. Four hours of sleep was not enough.
Resting my forehead against the window, the cool surface soothes my heated skin. Why do I let him affect me so much? And when will this lingering sense of longing fade away?
Inwardly, I steady myself, grounding my thoughts. Be resilient. Am I attracted to him? Yes. Can I put up with the emotional whiplash anymore? No.
The plane ascends into the sky. Anticipation hums in my chest. Perhaps, I think, I’m finally taking flight as well.
It’s not long into the journey when the window becomes the most uncomfortable pillow. One of the benefits of flying on a private jet owned by the leader of the Bratva? Multiple seats I can sprawl out on.
I must fall back asleep for a while, because when I wake, heat envelops me, and a scratchy fabric tickles my lower face. Rubbing my eyes, I pat down my body and freeze.
A plush blanket is covering me, the end tucked under my feet. I glance around the plane, not wanting to fully sit up and lose the warmth hugging me. Igor is facing forward in the seat in front of me, headphones over his ears, seemingly asleep.
At the table, Luka is furiously typing on his computer while Nik sits across from him, scanning a long list of something. As if he can sense my attention, he swivels his head in my direction, and I pull on my lower lip with my teeth, pointing to the blanket.
“Thank you,” I mouth.
He nods and props his chin on the palm of his hand, a genuine smile peeking through.
Heat pools low in my belly, and my stomach flutters.
No … no, no, no. I’m supposed to be resilient and unaffected. Be unaffected, Luna.
Nik winks, like he can read my thoughts, and I cocoon myself back under the blanket.
The first few days of the new week drag, and by Wednesday I wish I could fast forward right through this evening. Nik hasn’t been home many of the nights since we returned, and I’ve been keeping meals simple with salads and sandwiches. Earlier today, Lev took me to the library to return my books, then to the store to pick up some ingredients to make chocolate chip cookies for the guys at the warehouse. I also grabbed some premade cookies in case baking goes as well as my cooking.
The men working in the warehouse have been surprisingly kind. Always waving at me on my walks or propping the door open when I have a handful of groceries. The community among them is something I’ve never seen in the Cosa Nostra. Something my father has been desperately trying to change since Antonio.
If a warehouse is where I have to live, this is the best option.
Attempting to hide the dark circles under my eyes, I dab on concealer and fan it out. I absently wonder if Nik will be late again tonight. Even though I’ve been in bed at 10 p.m. every night since we’ve returned, I usually lie awake, waiting to hear the door open so I know he made it home all right.
Once the shower turns on, only then can I sink into the deep sleep my body craves. Unfortunately, that means I haven’t been falling asleep until 2 a.m.
Finished with my makeup, I take my hair down from its clip and run a hand through it. Dry shampoo is a must-have, and I take full advantage of its benefits. Tipping my head upside down, I spray the underside and create the volume my mother would be proud of. I step back, studying myself in the mirror. It’s been so long since I’ve seen this person.
I adjust my black pencil skirt, tucking my cami underneath before pulling on my button-down. Then I throw on a black leather jacket and put some earrings in. Peering at my reflection one last time, I shrug. This will have to do.
I reach for the black heels I left on the bed and I carry them to the living room, glancing around to make sure I didn’t leave a mess anywhere. The bowl of cherries I washed is still out, so I pad into the kitchen and dig around in a drawer for a container.
Keeping Nik’s place put together remains a priority. Not because I feel like it’s my job, but because I don’t want my presence to detract from his clearly defined bachelor space.
The door clicks and I freeze. The clock says 5 p.m., and Nik is never home this early. I crouch down, lifting a heel. Although, if someone managed to get past several armed guards in a warehouse full of weapons, I doubt my heel is going to do much.
The door swings open—and it’s Nik. I sigh in relief, and he pauses when he sees me. A second later, he laughs. “Think I was an intruder?” he asks, shutting the door.
I shrug, standing on one foot to place my heel on. “I wasn’t expecting you.”
He moves forward a step, then stops abruptly, clearly taking in my outfit. Eyes drag over my face and caress the top half of my body before dropping to the exposed part of my legs. I lose my balance trying to put on my other heel and have to catch myself on the counter.
“Where you going, Luna?”
“Oh. My parents requested I have dinner with them this week.” I grab my bag off the island and stride toward the door.
“Dinner? With your parents? Just you?” He backpedals his steps until he’s blocking my path.
“Well, they texted when we were in Russia and asked to have dinner with both of us, but I know you’re busy and figured you’d be unavailable.” The handle is out of reach behind his imposing form. If I could just?—
Warm, calloused fingers snap around my wrist. I pause, my outstretched hand barely grazing the black knob.
“Where are you having dinner?” He doesn’t let go.
“Il meglio dell’Italia. It’s in the city. Lev said he would drive me.”
“Nyet. Luna, you are not going into a Cosa Nostra-run restaurant to have dinner with your parents alone?—”
“I told them I was coming, Nik,” I interrupt, bristling at his words.
“Not without me.” A muscle in his jaw ticks. While it’s almost too soft to feel, Nik’s thumb starts tracing circles where his hand engulfs my wrist.
“You … you want to come?”
“Let me change my shirt. This has blood on it.”
My eyes snap to his white button-down. Under the navy suit, which is classic Nik, are small constellations of blood splatter. Probably not something I want to ask about.
I nod.
He lets go of my wrist and strides to the bedroom, emerging two minutes later with a new white shirt under what looks like the same suit. He struts over, his muscular form limber and sexy, and his masculine pine scent slams into me as he walks past. Heart pounding, I will away the heat blooming all over my body.
“Ready?” He opens the door. “I’m driving.”
We arrive at the restaurant right at six, and I procrastinate getting out of the car. The lot is full. Which means many of the Cosa Nostra are here tonight. The realization that bringing a member of the Bratva here may have been a bad idea enters my mind. We don’t have security tonight, and while there is an alliance in place, I’m sure there are members who aren’t on board with it.
Nik clears his throat. I sigh, pulling the handle to get out of the car.
With every step closer to the restaurant, the pressure in my chest becomes tighter and tighter. Come on, Luna. It’s just your parents.
Nik places a hand on the small of my back, and even through my multiple layers, I feel his warmth. His security. That simple gesture bestows a smidge of confidence in me, and makes me feel like I’m not quite so alone this evening.
He opens the door for me and loud voices spill out.
Stepping in, Dante greets us. He’s Cosa Nostra but also the ma?tre d’ of this place, and he has been with us for over ten years now.
“Luna Buscetta. It has been a long time, sei bella.” He leans in to kiss each of my cheeks, and Nik’s hand flexes on my back.
“Thanks, Dante. This is my … this is Nik.” Dante leans back and doesn’t extend his hand to Nik, and my stomach bottoms out. I was right. Having Nik here is not a good idea.
Dante leads us back through the restaurant.
A shiver slithers up my spine as I take in Antonio’s creation. Since my father has taken over, the stigma surrounding the Cosa Nostra venues has lifted some. But not for me. My uncle’s deranged actions still ignite fury within me.
Warm, muted colors remind me of the watercolor paintings of Italy’s vineyards hanging in our home—my parents’ home. Rich wood chairs and tables are covered in fine linens. The main seating area is full, a mix of Cosa Nostra families and those from the city craving true, authentic Italian cuisine.
When Antonio remodeled this place, he included a private dining area for more intimate family meetings. But when Antonio started deviating from my grandfather’s vision for the Cosa Nostra, my nonno refused to keep coming here and my father followed suit. Now that this place is under my father’s control, it’s doing well. My nonna would be happy.
My parents are seated together on one side of a soft leather booth with deep-colored wood. My mother spots us first, and her eyes move over me briefly before they beam over to Nik. Father’s gaze follows hers, and he stands, extending a hand to Nik.
“Nikolai, thank you for joining us. Maria and I were just talking about how much we miss Luna.”
Nik smiles. “Wouldn’t miss it.”
He guides me into the booth before him. Then glancing around, he unbuttons the last button on his suit jacket before sitting down. My father captures the attention of a waiter and we order our drinks and appetizers. There isn’t much conversation outside of small talk which I’m fine with.
“So, Luna, what have you been doing?” my mother asks.
I take a sip of my red wine. My father’s eyes land on the glass and narrow, like he just now realized what I ordered.
“I’ve just been?—”
“Luna, you are not twenty-one. You know underage drinking in our restaurants is forbidden.” My father levels a disappointed look at me.
I grimace, chewing on my lip. Nik takes a sip of his own drink and then sets it down with more force than necessary. My eyes flick to him.
“Oh, come on, Salvatore. You can pawn your daughter off to get married, but she can’t have a glass of Italian wine with dinner?” He lets out a chuckle, like it’s an inside joke rather than an insult.
I wince and pick up my menu—for no reason, really. I already know I’m going to have a salad. Although, the homemade bread on the table is already tempting me.
“How’s Isabella?” I ask.
As much as I don’t miss the constant criticism at home, I still miss the family dynamic. And there was never a dull moment. Arguments between my sister and I, the comings and goings of my father’s men, large family dinners with my aunts and extended family. Now, even though there are always men downstairs, sometimes the warehouse gets a little too quiet.
“She’s doing well. Playing tennis. You know how she is. A social butterfly, that one.” It was me who asked the question, but my mother’s smile is on Nik.
The waiter comes to take our order and Nik nudges me. “I’m unsure what to order, what do you recommend?”
“Spaghetti carbonara has always been a favorite of mine, or chicken parmesan.” I give him a shaky smile, reluctantly pulling away from where he’d leaned in. I imagine he’s eaten Italian before, so why does he need my recommendation?
“Ah, yes,” my mother says. “Can’t keep Luna away from the spaghetti carbonara. Good thing she can’t cook, or you’d be eating it every night.”
She giggles at the same time I flinch. Rubbing my forehead, I look down at the table.
This was such a bad idea.