26. Nik
“Mom! Mom! Guess what I got on my math test?”
I jog into the kitchen, searching for her. She spent the last two nights quizzing me on math facts, and I can’t wait to watch her face light up over my awesome grade.
Math is my hardest subject, and those little twerps at the private academy laugh at every failing quiz I get back.My father says not to worry. That I’m destined for more important things in life. But my mom always tells me I can learn anything if I work hard enough.
“Mom?” I yell again. Usually she’s waiting at our kitchen table with a snack. Freshly made cookies, or pirozhki while she smiles up at me and asks about my day at school. Not today, though. The kitchen is quiet, and there is no snack waiting.
I shrug, wandering to my father’s office.
“Come in,” he says when I knock, and I ease the door open to find him sitting at his desk on the phone.
“—yes, Pakhan. I understand.”
I toss my backpack on the blue chair in the corner and fiddle with the patch on my sweater. It has a thread loose and I’ve been picking at it all day.
I look out the window at the city.My mother loves it here. She claims it’s because everything is at her fingertips. Shopping, lunch dates with her friends, and the perfect escape when we need to be out of the house for my father’s “meetings”.
The slap of the phone on the base as he hangs up jolts me from my thoughts, and I turn to see my father standing there, studying me. His eyes are wide as he stares at me. I shrug.
“Where’s mom?”
He slips both hands into his pockets and looks down at his desk. Papers cover every inch of the dark-blue wood, pinching out any usable space.
The room is quiet, and I ask again. “Where’s Mom?”
“She left, Nikolai.”
Reaching for the patch now half hanging off my sweater, I freeze.
“W-w-what do you mean? Did she go out to get dinner?”
“No. She left. She will not be returning.” He avoids looking at me, his cold, bitter tone causing me to shiver. “She did, however, leave you a letter.”
He removes his hands from his pockets, reaching for the letter in a beige envelope.
“Not returning?” I don’t understand. She wouldn’t leave me. She knew I had a math test today. A single tear runs down my cheek. Then another. And another. “S-she wouldn’t do that. Where is she?”
My father stiffens, standing straighter than I’ve ever seen him before.
He swallows, then clears his throat. “Gone. I don’t know where. She does not want a life here with the Bratva. With me.”
“Then go get her! Or …” I pause, chewing on my lip. “Or, can I go with her?”
His nostrils flare and he steps around the desk, striding over to me. “You are a Balakin. And Balakins serve the Morozov family. You remain with me.”
Tears are streaming down my cheeks now, and a mix of panic and discomfort crosses over my father’s face.
“We don’t mourn, Nikolai. We process and get over it. The Bratva depends on it.”
But later that night, when I can’t sleep—after trying to gulp down my sobs so my father wouldn’t hear—I stalk to the kitchen for a cup of water. As I fill the glass, whimpers sound from his office.
I creep toward the cracked door. Hovering around the knob, I see my father sitting at his desk, head in his hands, palms covering his eyes. His shoulders shake with each heaving sob. Strangled sounds I’ve never heard him make before. I’ve never seen him cry.
I run back up the stairs, bolting for my room. Blood roars in my ears as I snatch the letter from my mother off the nightstand. It’s unopened. Saved for a time when I need her—but no more. I fly through the house, making my way to the library, where the fireplace always burns. There are no thoughts, only feelings. Feelings that fester deep, turning sadness and loss into anger and resentment.
With the flick of my wrist, I toss the envelope into the flames and watch the edges curl. Withering away my name scrolled across the front in my mother’s handwriting.
Gone. She’s gone.
I leave the office early tonight, telling myself I need a night to relax after all we’ve been through the past couple of weeks. The closer I get to the warehouse, the more Luna occupies my thoughts.
Luna and I crossing this line is a bad idea, but it’s an idea festering on repeat over and over in my mind.
When I pull up to the building, I notice one of the vehicles is missing, and on my way up the stairs, the sinking feeling I’ll be walking into an empty apartment settles in my gut.
The door is locked, which is pretty much all the confirmation I need. Resigned, I enter and look around. Everything is exactly as it should be—except, there’s no trace of Luna. Not even a book left out.
I trail a finger across the cool island countertops. No plates in the sink, dishwasher empty. The wildflowers she usually keeps near the sink are gone.
I pad into the bedroom, and sigh in relief. Her clothes are still hanging in the closet, and I find her toothbrush propped in the acrylic holder in the bathroom.
Choked by my tie, I loosen it, tossing it onto the bed.
Leave it alone. You don’t need to know.
But my heart pounds faster each minute I don’t know where she is.
Damn it.
I grab my keys and jog back down the stairs to find Frank sitting next to one of the crates, inhaling a cigarette and scrolling his phone.
“Enjoying yourself?” I ask, eyes narrowing on the device in his hand.
“Uh, Mr. Balakin—so sorry, just taking a smoke break since Luna isn’t here.”
I want to shake him.
No shit she isn’t here.
“What’s her location?” My words come out clipped.
“Lev drove her to the library, sir.” Frank winces at my growl.
Lev.
I need to get him replaced. He’s taken too keen of an interest in my … in Luna.
“Get back to work, Frank.”
I dart out the door, back to my car, and stay fixated on Luna being with Lev the whole way into town. Images of Lev walking her to the doors, laughing with her, inundate my mind, and the realization that I’ve made it to my destination doesn’t even hit me until I’ve parked and I’m stalking through the double doors.
I’ve always hated the library. The way the hushed elitists despise you if you’re too loud. Teachers told me I needed to revere this sanctuary of knowledge. All bull. I could never be quiet when we went to the library.
As I move through the building, the combined scent of aged books and musty aisles mingles in the air. Whispers and shuffling papers cut through the silence. I spot Lev sitting at a long wooden table. Feet propped up, scrolling through his phone. He doesn’t look up until I slap my hand on the table, the sound punctuating my smirk.
“Lev. Where is she?”
He takes a deep breath. His face is too calm, and irritation hums through my bloodstream.
“Upstairs.” He sits up, placing his phone face down. For the first time, I notice the U-shaped scar on the side of his neck. That, and a flicker of—jealousy?
Good.
I pursue the second floor, squinting through each book-lined shelf for her. There are a few tables on this level, each with a vintage-looking lamp affixed to them. An evil librarian glares at me over her book cart as I wander, and I offer her a friendly wink.
Finally, I spot her. She’s sitting on the floor between two shelves in a loose t-shirt and jeans, books scattered all around her. Her hair is in a loose ponytail that’s pulled over one shoulder, exposing the soft skin of her neck. I slip my hands into my suit pants pockets and stride up behind her.
“Ah, Moonbeam. Enjoying the floor?” I almost smirk at the way she jumps at my voice, turning around with wide eyes that narrow.
“Nik, what are you doing here?”
“Looking for you. What are you doing?” I step over her and her books, then crouch down to pick one up. A flush hits her cheeks and she fumbles over them to grab it from my hand, falling when I stand up.
How to Travel and See the World on a Budget.
What the hell?
“What is this?” I ask, holding up the book as she gets to her feet.
Her hands smooth over her jeans. Obviously flustered, she blows a piece of hair out of her face. It falls right back into her eyes, and I instinctually tuck it behind her ear.
“I wanted to do some research. I’m not sure what to do with myself now that I’ve been traded for an alliance, and after talking with my sister I realized that I could be doing something.”
“And … travel?” I ask, gripping the book, fighting the urge to toss it out the window.
She shrugs, and a slight smile skates over her lips. “I never had the opportunity to travel. And the trip to Russia … was overwhelming—in a good way.” She grabs a book off the floor. “People live this life. They travel and share their journeys on a blog or by posting videos of their adventures. They make their money to travel that way. I don’t have a college degree, but maybe I could do something like this.”
My brows furrow as I glimpse the book she’s holding; there’s a couple with a camera and a globe on the cover.
I never gave it any thought that Luna didn’t go to college. Does she want to? And money to travel? Wait a minute?—
“Luna, you don’t need money. You have access to whatever you need.”
She gives me a pointed look while fiddling with the hem of her t-shirt. “Nik, what am I supposed to do? Sit in your house and wait for when I need to show my face for the sake of both our organizations?”
She keeps fiddling with her shirt, giving me a peek at her stomach, and my fingers reach to jerk it back down. At her confused expression, I snatch my hands away and mentally chastise myself. I clear my throat. “Our house.”
“What?”
“It’s our house, and you can do whatever you want, Luna.” I start to panic. Does she want to leave? How would that work? We signed a contract. I internally growl at the thought of her leaving.
“You know what I mean. I can’t just sit around. I want a life. And I want it to mean something. I want to be more than a commodity to be traded.” Her eyes glisten.
“You are more than that.” I say. Her gaze snaps up to mine. Damn it. I can’t let this go; I can’t let her go. “What’s your plan, Luna? Leave and go traveling? You and your father signed a contract.”
“A contract you didn’t want, Nik! Being married to me is only a duty for you.” Her voice rises, and a shhh sounds from somewhere in the library. Wincing, she wraps her arms around her middle and steps back. She stares at her feet, the tip of her exposed ear burning red. “You don’t even want me, Nik.”
I grind my teeth, and my jaw aches in protest. Squeezing my hands into fists, I fight the urge to show her how much I do want her, but it becomes too much.
Hoisting her up over my shoulder, I make my way to the shadowed stacks I passed earlier. A light, startled cry tears from her mouth as her hands struggle for purchase against my back. I tighten my grip around her legs and side-eye her perfect body draped over me. The temptation to touch her is overwhelming.
“What are you doing?” She yells in a whisper, but I ignore her, rounding the end of a bookshelf and bringing us into a darkened corner. The books back here are large leather-bound encyclopedias, most of them no longer of use with the Internet now at our fingertips.
I set her down, and she huffs out a breath while dragging a hand through her hair to fix it. Fire burns brightly in her eyes as she narrows them at me. I don’t hesitate.
Pushing her up against the bookshelves, I press into her. A quiet gasp parts her lips. Dust from the untouched shelves floats in the air around us.
“Tell me I don’t want you.” I press even harder against her, and her breath hitches. “You’re all I can think about, Luna, and it’s screwing with my head because I never wanted this—I can’t have this.”
The scent of jasmine wafts from her skin, and I can smell the mint from her toothpaste. Her lower lip quivers as I hover a millimeter from her mouth. Her tongue darts out, wetting her lower lip, eyes heavy and fluttering closed. Leaning in, I brush a light kiss over her, a silent plea for her to open for me.
She surges forward, wrapping her hands around my neck and I get my first taste of Luna Buscetta.
No. Luna Balakin.
I press my tongue to her bottom lip, trailing it up and around her mouth before pressing inside. Mint dances over my taste buds and I nip at her. A shudder racks her body, and she presses farther into me.
I cradle the back of her head, tipping it at the right angle to kiss her deeper. My fingers massage the nape of her neck, and she releases a small whimper where our mouths are connected. My free hand tightens around her waist. She presses forward, searching for more, but I drive her back, knocking a book loose from one of the shelves.
She reaches for me. Nope, not happening. I snatch her wrist and pin it next to her head, her other hand fisting my shirt. She pulls her mouth from mine, panting. Her chest rises and falls with every breath. Lips, ravaged and glistening, part as she comes out of her haze and notices where we are.
“Luna.” My voice is just above a whisper. I bring my mouth to her ear, leaning in close. “You need to be quiet.”
Allowing my fingertips to trail down her forearms, I trace long languid circles.
“Nik,” she whispers, “we—this …”
Her eyes flutter closed, and her grip on my shirt loosens. Regret at kissing her here of all places washes over me, but I couldn’t wait another second. My lips needed to be on hers. If anything, to stomp out this crazy notion I don’t want her.
“You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen,” I tell her, and kiss her again. I feel her smile against my mouth.
Vibrating in my back pocket gives me pause, but I ignore it, intent on finishing what I started here. Luna’s fingers skate along my forearms as her head falls back, providing me the perfect view of her gorgeous neck.
A not-so-silent sound pushes past her lips, and I whisper into her ear once more. “Nyet, Luna,” I tisk, “this is a library.”
“Nik,” she murmurs, and my eyes snap to hers. A single tear falls down her cheek. Shoot—did I hurt her? I ease my hands off her, eyes scanning her face. My heart pounds. What have I done?
Another tear trickles down her cheek, and my chest grows heavy.
“Luna, I’m sorry, did I hurt you?” I wipe the wet drop pooling on her chin.
She peers up at me through dark lashes, and a seemingly uncertain smile works its way onto her lips. “Not yet, Nik.”
Not yet?
“Do you think I’d intentionally hurt you?”
She slides out from between me and the bookshelf. “No. No, it’s not like that …”
I know what she thinks, that before her, girls frequented my apartment. That I had a new woman every night. I’m playful and flirty. What she doesn’t know is I never wanted to be close to those girls. It was all about surface-level connections; no relationships.
But not with Luna.
“There’s been no one else since I married you, Luna. No one. You’re the only woman who’s been in my apartment, in my bed.”
She sniffles and reaches for my hand. I pull her close, planting a kiss on her forehead. Her skin is slightly salty, probably from the stuffiness of the library stacks. And, I’m hoping, the intensity of our kiss.
As I lead her back downstairs to go home, I hope to God she heard me.