28. Nik
Luna is trouble. Our make-out session on the couch yesterday, which was somehow better than anything I’ve ever felt, solidified that. Damn it. My perfect little?—
Banging on my car window startles me, and my protein shake sloshes over the side of my cup.
“Igor, what the hell, man?” I fumble with some napkins, trying to soak up the sludge from my pants as the passenger door opens. Sliding inside with a smirk on his face, he slaps a file folder onto the dashboard.
“Coroner’s office was a bust. The guy who was brought in last night wasn’t killed by EV. Throat was slit, but no carvings on his chest.”
I put my drink down and turn the car back on.
“Dang.” I pull away from the building, heading back to the office.
Luka had asked us to check on a suspicious murder from last night. The thought was he might be another one murdered by EV, but it sounds like it wasn’t their handiwork.
Twenty minutes later, Igor breaks the silence, his fingers drumming on his styrofoam cup. “Did you know the two Cosa Nostra men who were killed a couple days ago?”
“Nyet. Luka said Salvatore sent them to poke around. At least we know they aren’t specifically targeting the Bratva.”
I glance at Igor, swirling the last of his smoothie around in the bottom of his cup. His face is downturned, and he looks worried.
“Always work with a brother, Igor. Dmitry won’t be the last Mafia member they try to kill.”
“Da,” he says, and nods.
We arrive back at the office where Luka is waiting with a few other men to start a meeting. We pile into the small conference room where we consume takeout from Luka’s favorite restaurant.
We find out the Cosa Nostra has a low-level worker from EV in their custody, and we’ll be transporting said worker to one of our warehouses for interrogation in a few days. Since we have larger, more secure facilities than the Cosa Nostra, plans to transfer our interrogation along with security need to be discussed. While this is my forte, my mind is wandering.
Nik: Luka is boring to listen to :)
I send the message, hoping she’ll text back. Strange moments of desperation have started to strike me when she isn’t nearby. I’ve never felt compelled to talk to a woman before, but I can’t seem to turn Luna off. Even the other day when I heard the crunch of gravel outside, and knew she was back from Kate and Luka’s, I had to watch her—had to see her coming home.
Luna: Can’t you get shot for saying stuff like that?
Nik: Maybe. Why, worried about me? ;)
Luna: Maybe :)
Nik: We should go to dinner tonight. I’ll let Frank know to bring you to the city to meet me.
Luna: Are you asking?
Nik: Luna, will you go to dinner with me tonight?
Luna: Maybe :)
I snort out loud and the entire conference room of men turns in my direction.
“Nikolai.” Luka’s voice booms from the head of the table.
I send him a wide grin while motioning for him to carry on. His eyes narrow and his nostrils flare, but I don’t miss the tiny twitch curving his mouth.
It’s only later when I’m thinking about it I realize—I asked Luna out on a date and didn’t even notice.
I booked a table at one of my favorite restaurants in the city. Every detail is high-end, from the decorations to the service to the epic culinary creations. It sits high in the sky in a prime location, offering one of the better views of the city skyline.
Leaving my car with the valet, I wait outside in the cool air for Frank to drop Luna off. I specifically requested he bring her and not Lev, and required him to keep me updated on their ETA. They should be arriving soon.
The faint smell of cigar smoke drifts by. Several recognizable businessmen enter the building, beautiful women on their arms. Five minutes later, Frank pulls up to the curb. I stride over to the vehicle and open the door for Luna.
The air is knocked from me as she steps out. A lustrous black fabric hugs her curves. Sleek and fitted, the sleeveless gown gathers at her waist to create a flattering hourglass effect. A plunging neckline outlined with lace vies for my attention. To make things worse, she smiles at me.
I’m stunned. The gown shimmers like stars in the night with every move forward. I pick up her hand, lacing my fingers through hers, and lean in to graze the shell of her ear.
“Trying to kill me, Luna?”
She must be. Her hair spills over her shoulders, and small pearl studs sit on her ears—but it’s her deep chestnut eyes that grab me, alight with embers that burn through me.
As I lead her through the building, I can tell Luna’s awestruck. Her head falls back as she peers up at the massive chandeliers; they’re more pieces of art than functional lights.
I have to practically drag her onto the elevator to keep her moving. As soon as I press the button to the top floor, I step into her. She sucks in a surprised breath, but her face softens, and she sways into me, her scent wrapping around me.
My hand snaps up around her neck, just enough pressure to garner her attention. Her eyes go wide, but she doesn’t pull away. Breath turning slightly ragged she holds my gaze. My thumb presses into her wild pulse.
“You doing this on purpose, Luna? Messing with my head?” Her lips part, and when she doesn’t answer, I growl, squeezing a little harder. Instead of my touch prompting her to speak, her eyes flutter closed. I crack.
I whirl her around, pushing her into the cold steel of the elevator wall, her body mirrored in the reflection. Her panting increases, and I climb my hand up her side.
“What have you done to me, Luna?” My mouth comes to her neck, and I drag my teeth down the column of her dainty throat.
Wrapping my free arm around her waist, I pull her into me, the need to have her close taking over.
The strength I’ve exhibited not letting myself have her wavers with each passing day—each moment. I’m seconds from leaving this place. Screw dinner.
I turn her back around then lean her against the wall to devour her mouth. A groan vibrates deep within my chest as I taste her again—my mouth starved for her lush, plump lips. I delve into her, pressing her face to mine and pulling her lower lip between my teeth.
“I want to destroy you in the worst possible way,” I say, before our mouths clash again. We’re a mess of teeth, tongues, and passion. She meets me in fervor, each of our mouths battling for the upper hand. I’m aching for her.
The slowing of the elevator jostles us, and she pulls away, biting her lower lip seductively.
“I think you’re well on your way, Nik.”
Ah hell.
At the ding of the elevator, I step off, Luna right behind me, as a man with a few women enters.
In order to glimpse Luna’s reaction to the restaurant, I turn and notice her face has gone ashen. And then, the entire mood is killed with one simple name.
“Bella?” Luna’s voice is one part confusion, one part anger. Her gaze darts between the older man and two other girls with him. They’re all dressed in expensive-looking skintight dresses and high heels. They’re beautiful women, but there’s obvious tension surrounding them.
“Luna?” her sister says.
The older man is tall, with black hair peppered with gray. His steel-gray eyes scrutinize Luna, gaze roaming her body.
Nyet.
I step back on the elevator and lean against the doors to keep them from closing. Isabella’s eyes widen when she notices me.
The man’s eyes flick over me, expression unimpressed. He’s obviously unaware of who I am.
“Get out. We need to leave,” he says to Luna, and she bristles before taking a step toward her sister.
She points at Isabella. “I want to talk to her first.”
Her sister’s hair is pulled back in a sleek ponytail that swishes back and forth as she shakes her head in answer. “No, I’ll see you in class on Monday.” She widens her eyes in silent communication.
Luna’s lips curl into a snarl—a look I’ve never seen on her before. “I want to know?—”
“Get off or I will remove you myself,” the man booms.
“Touch her, and I will split you in half,” I say calmly, stepping farther into the elevator to offer Luna my hand. She hesitates to take it. Her eyes plead with mine, then flick to her sister to do the same.
The man huffs out a breath of impatience, like this whole encounter is a waste of his time. He brings the girls under his arms.
“I’ll text you.” Isabella smiles what seems to be a genuine smile, and Luna finally takes my hand, nodding at her sister.
She’s shaking, and I can tell she’s uncomfortable leaving her sister, but I manage to pull her off the elevator before the doors close. When they smack together, Luna flips.
“Nik, I have to go get her. She’s seventeen with a man triple her age. What is she even doing with him? And school? I don’t go to school with her, I’m her sister. What is she thinking?—”
“Luna.” My tone is stern, and her voice falters while her shoulders slump. “I’ll make a call.”
She lets out a sigh of relief and barrels into me for a hug I’m not prepared for. I swallow, trying to ease the unidentifiable baseball-size emotion down my throat.
I text Igor to have him check cameras in this building and to trace Isabella Buscetta’s movements back to determine where she came from.
I take Luna’s hand and lead her to the glass doors of the restaurant.
Despite her concerned mood, I can tell she’s impressed by the art deco interior. Cozy chandeliers with soft ambient lighting illuminate the midcentury modern booths and tables. Floor-to-ceiling windows encircle the entire restaurant, allowing for a panoramic view of the city skyline. The gentle hum of conversation overpowers the classical background music.
“Mr. Balakin,” the ma?tre d’ says. “Your table is ready, sir.”
I nod and guide Luna toward our table, noticing her gaze keeps flicking back to the elevator every so often. Once we’re seated and have ordered drinks, I check my phone and then leave it face up on the table so I won’t miss any messages about Isabella.
Luna pulls out her phone as well and types a message. Her hands wring together when she sets it down, eyes etched with worry, and I want to track down that asshole—who’s wining and dining underage women—and run his face into a concrete wall.
Fiddling with the embossed logo on the menu, Luna sighs. “I’m sorry. I’m worried and probably won’t be a very?—”
The table vibrates on Luna’s side and her hand darts out to snatch her phone. Her eyes fly over the screen as she reads, and her lips purse.
“She says those girls are friends she goes out with, and the man is someone they met at a club a different night. Apparently, he promised to take them out for a fancy meal before they went to another club. He doesn’t know her last name and she was trying to keep it that way.”
She slams the phone on the table, loud enough that the couple next to us look over. I shoot them a weak smile as Luna crosses her hands over her chest, a snarl on her face. For all she tries, even a snarl is gorgeous on her.
“It’s dangerous, Nik. She’s the same age I was when …”
Her voice trails off, and she shivers. I reach across the table and hold my hand out for hers. Untangling her arms, she places her palm in mine. It’s warm and clammy, but her soft skin feels like heaven—I don’t think I’ll ever get enough. Unfortunately, my phone goes off and I have to pull away too soon.
A text from Igor backs up what Isabella had messaged. She and her friends met the man here before going to a new private club on Billionaire’s Row. Seems like Salvatore’s plan to keep his daughters locked away has backfired.
After thanking Igor and giving him have the rest of the night off, I relay the information to Luna. Even though her spirits pick up during our meal, an undercurrent of worry hovers between us.
Now that she’s has laughed and smiled with me, sharing sides of herself I’m positive no one else has seen, I want more. But what if don’t get more? Unease punches through me, the nearly perfect and overpriced plate of food churning in my gut.
What if she leaves? What if I can’t travel as much as she wants? She’s still young and could choose to want more for her life. Would I force her to stay because of the contract? I’m not sure I could do that to her.
Meeting her at the altar on our wedding day seems like a lifetime ago. But does the time really matter? I’ve let myself fall in too deep with someone who was only supposed to be part of my job—a duty for my brothers and the Bratva.
I stiffen, suddenly annoyed at myself.
By the time we leave the restaurant, both of us have fallen silent. Tension drifts taut in the air around us.
In the elevator, Luna’s eyes find a home staring at the floor, and I occupy the empty space behind her. When the doors open, another couple gets on. Both are older, probably midfifties. Their hands are clasped, and the woman leans into the man, her chin on his shoulder. Her eyes beam up at him, and his wrinkles bunch together as he smiles back at her.
I step up beside Luna, watching as she offers the couple a half smile, resignation further dousing her expression. Her eyes flick to me, and I meet her gaze. I’ve failed somehow. The thought settles over me, an ugly impression stomping on my chest, making it hard to breathe.
We exit the elevator with the other couple, and I instinctively place my hand on Luna’s back to lead her outside. After handing the valet my ticket, we wait.
Honking horns and wailing sirens puncture the air, and laughter spills out from the nearby bars—the unmistakable soundtrack of city life.
My hand skims up the back of Luna’s dress. Her breath hitches, body leaning back a few inches, seeking my touch.
I’ve never viewed myself as powerful, despite my position. That was always reserved for Luka and his commanding ways. Leadership is his strength, not mine. But in this moment—with Luna’s body drawn to mine—power courses through me. I’ve only tapped the surface kissing her, but I know, deep down, I could play her body like my own personal instrument and a symphony would come out.
My phone rings, but I hesitate to grab for it. Cringing, I rip it out and swipe to answer. I never hesitate.
“Nikolai. You’re needed at Warehouse Nine. Salvatore delivered our interrogation early.” Luka’s voice is muffled and echoey. He must be there already.
I sigh, glancing down at Luna.
“Da. I’ll be there.”
Luna turns to me, a questioning expression twisting her eyebrows.
“I have to go. I’m going to call Frank to come take you home.”
“You have to go,” she parrots, nodding her head while wrapping both arms around herself. “Okay. Be safe.” The downward twitch of her mouth turns into a slight quiver, and she spins away from me.
My chest feels like it’s being torn in half. I rotate her back toward me and grip her chin, causing her lips to slightly smush together. My thumb grazes across her bottom lip and finds its place in the dip beneath her mouth. Her eyes well with tears, but I can see her determination not to let them fall.
“Sir.” The valet steps in front of my car, which is now waiting for me on the street. I drop my hand.
“I’ll call Frank,” I say, before quickly getting into my BMW and driving off.
“What do you know about EV?” Luka’s voice booms.
The crunch of a nose being broken is so loud I can hear it behind the glass of the one-way mirror.
By the time I got here, Luka was already interrogating to the man. He looks at the mirror, and I can tell he’s struggling. His eyes are plagued by dark circles, and I know the weight of Dmitry’s death still haunts him.
Rapping my knuckles three times on the glass, I signal for him to come out. Now that I’m here there’s no need for him to continue.
Luka leaves the room, giving me an unobstructed view of the man. His curly red hair is long, hovering just above his shoulders. Freckles line his face beneath blue eyes currently full of fear. He’s strapped to a chair, both hands bound behind him, and there’s a wet spot seeping through the front of his pants.
“What?” Luka barks as the door to the joining room flies open.
“Let me talk to him.”
“Nyet. I can do this.”
“Luka,” I say, giving him a pointed look. “Let me, brother.”
He stares at me, his anger slowly morphing to sadness. Blood is splattered across his white shirt, and sweat beads linger above his top lip.
Striding over, I lay my hand on his shoulder, squeezing once before letting go. “It’s not your fault.”
With that, I plow into the next room. The stench of piss and sweat gags me when I enter, and the man startles when I barrel into him, jabbing my fist into his chin. His head snaps back and a pained scream erupts from his mouth. “What the hell!”
I walk around him, noting several drops of blood pooling in the cracks on the concrete floor. Fisting his hair, I yank up and back. I stare down into his broken face, swelling with black and blue skin.
“How did you come to work for EV? And what is their agenda?”
“Listen, man, I already told the other guy—ah, shit!” He shouts when I pull on his hair, yanking his neck farther back.
“How did you start working for EV?” I yell, patience wearing thin.
“Okay, man, okay …”
I ease up and stomp around to his front, arms folding over my chest.
“It w-w-was Mr. Ravensburger. I worked for him at his office as an errand boy. H-he knew I was strapped for cash, man. I’ve got some gambling debt. He told me he was part of a group in the city that would pay well; that I could make extra money on the side. They brought me on as a server.”
Finally, someone who’s been on the inside.
“Walk me through what you know. Now.”
“I—I don’t know what you mean.”
I let out a breath and poke my finger into the middle of his forehead. It slips with the sweat pouring down his face, but I press harder, shoving his head back.
“What you have in here.” I poke again for emphasis. “I want to know it.” I slap his cheek three times. “Okay, Red?”
“Uh, I don’t know, man … I serve drinks. The high-end shit. I was told not to touch the girls and was told not to talk about them. So much for that. Uh, oh—the EV is led by the Eight.” He shrugs his shoulders. “That’s all I know, man.”
Bursts of vibration in my pocket cause me to pause, and I pull out my phone to see Luna calling. I grip the device, fighting the urge to answer. I’ll have to call her back.
“Tell me about the Eight. Who are they?” I ask, stalking in a circle around the chair. The man tries to follow me with his eyes, his head jerking around each time I pass. Eyeballing the mirror, I stop in my tracks.
The man—I haven’t even gotten his name—is shaking, tremors racking his body. More sweat has soaked through his clothes, and his legs bounce rhythmically against the hard floor.
This is more than fear.
“I—I don’t know, man, come on. All I know is there are eight of them. They’re the leaders. They contribute one representative for EV at the national level, but the Eight are members selected by the other local chapter members.” His shaking increases and his neck keeps rolling in every direction. It’s creeping me out.
“How long have you been using?” Another round of vibrations in my pocket causes me to grimace. I check the caller ID. It’s Luna again. I should?—
“Three years, man. Can you help a brother out?” He blinks the sweat out of his eyes.
I toss my phone back in my pocket. “Tell me what I want to know and I’ll help you out.”
“But I don’t know anything else, man!”
He’s irritable. Good. Desperation is the finest truth serum.
I start toward the door, pretending to leave.
“I—I serve drinks to the members—all big names, I guess. The working girls put on several shows, and they have the others in cages. Some nights they bid on them. Outsiders aren’t allowed to know about the girls; it’s supposed to be discrete, but one of the members told me.”
Interesting. They’re messing around with two of the most powerful mafia organizations in the world, expecting to hide behind money and influence.
“All right, man. Hey, I helped you out. Going to help me out now? I need a f-f-fix, man.”
I glance over my shoulder at him. His pupils are wide and his eyelids are blinking erratically.
“Yeah, I’ll help you out.”
“Thank you, brother, you have no idea?—”
Blood splatters across the back wall of the room. The man’s head snaps back, staring at the ceiling from the force of the bullet I put between his eyes. I grip my gun tight as I shove it back in my holster under my suit.
I’m not your brother.