41. Nik
Ididn’t want to get out of bed this morning. Luna’s hair had been splayed across the silk pillowcase, her olive skin peeking out from under the sheet. All I wanted was to pull her underneath me again.
But the stress of today got me up, and I focused on getting ready, quiet enough to let Luna sleep. When I went out to the kitchen, I took in all the touches of her around the apartment, mourning the loss of them already. I don’t want her to leave, but I need to give her this opportunity. I can’t be like her father—or mine. I can’t hold on to her, trapping her in this life.
The day moved forward with tactical planning and rounding the teams together. Matteo and his men showed up to the office early, while Salvatore strolled in much later in the day. Luka’s constant pacing and facial tics were driving me nuts, and I couldn’t seem to get Luna out of my head no matter how hard I tried. Despite needing to be clearheaded going into tonight, thoughts of her kept wrapping around me, just like her scent. As the day wore on, I just kept thinking—how can I possibly let her go?
You don’t want this life for her. That’s how.
Night finally falls and something shifts in my mind. By now, Luna’s arrived at the airport and is on her way to something better. My chest aches, but after running through all reasons I don’t deserve her—Luna’s kidnapping being the most prominent—I’m finally able to focus in on what Luka and Salvatore are saying.
“We head out soon,” Luka tells us. “Two cars, four men in each. Approach the back entrance with caution. This is a reminder—any of the Eight willing to provide us with information should be spared and apprehended. We need to question them for Kieran.”
“Remember,” Salvatore adds. “They have armed security who will fight back, and they themselves are most likely armed. Most will not hesitate to shoot you. Be prepared.”
Wearing full tactical vests and uniforms, we squish into the SUVs together. The clothing is bulky and uncomfortable. Blood pounds in my ears, and my heart hammers faster and faster the closer we get.
Fat raindrops flood the windshield as we follow the GPS to a discreet restaurant in an upscale part of the city. From what we understand, the large buildings surrounding this specific restaurant are home to several of the Eight.
Steady rain pours around us, and the back parking area is dark and dank when we finally emerge from our vehicles. Even though there are no guards back here, we maintain position around each of the vehicles, waiting for Luka and Salvatore’s go ahead.
My fingers twitch along my AK, drumming in time with the patter of rain. Luka’s voice in my ear is quiet.
“We’re almost in position,” he says. He and Salvatore, along with a small team of security, are at the park across the street. Far enough away from the gunfire, but close enough to still lead their teams.
“On my go in three, two, one, go.”
Crouched low, I motion forward with two fingers and begin moving methodically through the rain. Two Cosa Nostra men flank the door while one of my men cuts the bolt along the side.
This building is old, and the greenish metal door is riddled with rust spots. We pull, slow and steady. The door grinds open, and we take our first EV guard by surprise as he rounds the corner.
He’s scrolling on his phone when he sees us. The cigarette in his mouth falls to the floor as he pulls his weapon, but he isn’t fast enough. Matteo takes him down, the loud bang of gunfire echoing in the steel kitchen.
The stainless-steel surfaces are tarnished with rust and grime. Large counters line the space, and pots and pans hang from the ceiling. The layers of paint on the walls are peeling to reveal oak paneling. I can hardly believe this is where they chose to have their meeting.
We move, picking up our pace now that our presence has been announced. In lines of four, we clear the kitchen. Almost immediately we hit another two guards, they both raise their weapons getting a couple shots off. I duck, then aim for their legs, taking both men down. A member of the Cosa Nostra ends them. Shouts from nearby swirl around us. We move toward the sound.
“Let’s move, let’s move!” I yell, picking up my stride. We push down a hallway and Igor kicks in a pair of oak doors. Inside the room, shots explode from several of the Eight’s security, and we take cover behind a bar to the left. Several men are ducking under tables. Sweat beads down my forehead, and I blink away the sting as it trickles into my eyes.
A body drops next to me just outside the protection of the bar. One of Matteo’s men groans in agony as he clutches his shoulder. Blood seeps through his fingers, staining his uniform dark red, and I yell out for cover as I snag him under his arms. As soon as I drag him behind the bar, I press a towel to his shoulder.
“Stay down!” I shift on my knees, prepared to advance. A forceful grip on my arm pulls me back.
“Please,” the man begs. “Tell my wife?—”
More blood from his wound pools around us, and I shove the last of the bar towels at him. “You’ll be okay, man. Keep pressure on it.”
But the towels soak through in seconds, and the idea this is a surface shoulder shot is quickly fading. It’s too close to his chest.
“Tell my wife I love her.” The man clings to my arm, forgoing the pressure on his chest. “I always tell her before I leave for work, and I didn’t today. Please.”
I shake my head, sweat stinging my eyes as it travels into them. Shit—how could I have done that to Luna? I told her I love her in a damn note. I should’ve said it to her face. Should’ve told her she’s my everything, and that I don’t want to live life without her. I wanted her safe and happy. But I need?—
“Please,” the man pleads again. I’m drawn back to the present moment as more gunfire erupts around me.
“Yeah, man. I’ll tell her. But hold on, fight for her.”
Fight for her. Fight for her.
Those words echo in my head as I pop up, scanning the chaos. Members of the Eight are armed and fighting back. Three are down, unmoving. Senator Hope meets my eyes, and I charge. He aims his gun at me, but I drop, rolling forward then springing back up again. Luka wants him alive. And I won’t deny Pakhan the revenge he deserves.
Reaching Hope, I drive the butt of my gun into his head. He staggers back, then scrambles to right himself. When he struggles to lift his weapon, I make my move. Trying not to slip on the blood spilled on the floor, I grab his arms and twist them behind his back.
I pull Senator Hope to the side behind a booth. Pain lances through my elbow when I shove it in his face, rendering him unconscious, and I grab my zip ties to bind his arms. When Hope is secure, I look around for Mr. Rose.
A moment later, I spot him, gun raised and firing off shots as he moves to an emergency exit.
“In pursuit!” I yell to my men and take off after him. I follow Rose through a side door that dumps us into the narrow alley between the restaurant and neighboring building. Instantly, the smell of rank trash invades my nose. I take a deep breath and hold it, trying not to lose my stomach. Sirens scream in the distance over the sprinkling of rain, and I know we don’t have much time.
Halfway down the alley, Rose spins back toward me and raises his gun. I jump behind the dumpster to reload my weapon.
“Ah, Mr. Balakin!” he shouts before firing a shot that hits the front of the trash bin. “So good of you to lead the charge. Don’t think I haven’t missed that little puppet of yours.”
My knuckles tighten around my gun, torn between wanting to end this pathetic little shit and desiring a lengthy interrogation with him.
“Four minutes,” Luka’s voice sounds in my earpiece. “Four minutes until law enforcement arrives.”
“Mr. Rose, lay down your gun and come with us,” I say, seething internally at my own words. I hoist my gun, aiming straight toward him around the corner of the rusted green dumpster. Pools of rain sloosh beneath my feet, and the light drops that hit my face when I plowed into the alley are now coming down steadily.
“You think I’m going to subject myself to an inquisition from the Bratva?” His cackle rises above the patter of the rain, and he lifts his pistol, firing two more shots in my direction.
Hoping that would be his answer, I leap up and fire three shots.
I don’t miss.
Mr. Rose goes down, blood from his leg wound mixing with the rainwater collecting around him. I slowly rise from my crouched position and stalk toward him. His head lifts in agony, and his hand floats along the concrete, searching for his weapon that fell beside him. Chuckling, some blood spills out of his mouth, and he licks it away. The gurgle in his lungs grows louder with each breath he takes.
“Last chance, Rose,” I say, aiming my weapon at his heart.
He connects with his gun and turns it on me, but I fire first. His body slumps back against the stained alley floor, and the gun in his hand falls beside him.
“You touched my wife,” I spit out, and turn to run back inside to aid my men.
“All men to the back kitchen now! Law enforcement is a minute out.” Matteo’s voice rings in my ear, and I scurry back through the tattered restaurant, mentally counting each member of the Eight I see.
Six. I count six men, down and dead. Two of our men are also gone.
When I meet the group at the back exit, one of the Cosa Nostra men is dragging an unconscious Senator Hope and another member of the Eight is with Igor. We file out of the building and load into the vehicles, taking off seconds before law enforcement and SWAT storm the restaurant.
The plan is to meet back with Luka and Salvatore for further instruction. We make the short drive to the nearby park and pull in next to the other security.
Luka and Salvatore stand together under an umbrella, both their arms crossed. The rain is chilling, but it’s insignificant compared to our victory against EV.
Several men pat my shoulder, and I shake Matteo’s hand as Senator Hope hisses at his side. I smirk, knowing what Luka has planned for the man.
One of our Bratva SUVs comes into view, and I squint through the rain as the driver exits the car. Frank dashes around to the other side, but my eyes leave him immediately when the passenger door opens.
Dark brown hair, soaked down to near black.
Luna.
I shove several men out of my way and run to her. My legs can’t move fast enough. I barely feel the rain pelting my face as I sprint across the muddy park.
She shouldn’t be here. She?—
She crashes into me. Our mouths collide, and I taste the rain on her lips and tongue. Pure love replaces the anguished hate I was feeling minutes ago in the alleyway and relief hits me square in the chest. I didn’t have to say goodbye.
I ravage her. Pouring out all my emotions from today and months with her. My palms glide up her arms, and I wrap a hand around her neck, savoring her pulse, alive and well—loving every thump. Loving her skin beneath the pads of my fingertips.
I’m at war with myself. She shouldn’t be here. She should be free, and safe. But those thoughts don’t stop me from cradling her head and angling it for better access to her mouth. I press myself against her. I want to hold her here forever?—
She rips away from me. “How could you?” she snaps.
Her chest is heaving, and her makeup is smeared—from the rain or from crying, I’m not sure. She lifts both hands and shoves at my chest. I stumble back, unprepared for her rage. Fire radiates from her glare, and I shiver under her unrelenting disappointment.
“You!” She shoves me again. “You tried to get rid of me!”
“I was trying to protect you from?—”
“You were just going to let me go? Without telling me you were here?” Her voice wavers, and the tears mix with the rain on her face.
I reach for her, but she backs away. A shaking hand raises to point at me, and the next words out of her mouth crack my heart in two.
“You—you don’t want me?” She sobs, arms wrapping around her middle, and I crave so much to touch her, to pull her back in. Shit, she’s all I want. All of her. But I don’t want her to feel forced to stay.
“I want more for you, Luna. For you to do the things you want to do. To travel, and be free to make your own decisions—without the Mafia in the back of your mind.” I stride to her, but she backs away again. I growl at her retreat.
“And who says that’s what I want, Nik? Huh?” She steps up to me, pushing a finger into my chest. “Because you’re wrong. I want to be here for you. I want to travel with you. I love you.”
My heart stammers at her words, and I snatch her wrist yanking her to me. Her wet clothes slap into mine. Looking down into her eyes, I drag my thumb across her mouth—pulling on her lower lip, grazing her chin. Her breath hitches, and more tears well in her eyes as I tell her. Tell her what I need her to know.
I hold her gaze. “I don’t want to be with you for the sake of duty, or for an alliance. I want you for you. I want to make a life with you. A family. We go beyond duty now, Luna. You’re mine—my life. I’m madly in love with you.”
Her eyes flutter closed at my words, then open again. The deep breath she takes tickles the underside of my wrist. I barely register the roar of vehicles revving to life or the movement happening around me.
“I’m not your mom, Nik. I don’t want to leave. I choose this. I choose you.”
I’ve heard enough. My mouth slams back against hers, and I pull her close, tangling my fist in her hair.
I’m never letting go. Ever.
It’s my mission to get Luna home as fast as possible. I screwed up. I know it, and she knows it.
“I have to wrap things up with Luka and the brothers. Can you wait for me in the car?”
Luna’s head bobs up and down, and I pull her in to kiss her forehead. When she steps away, I can’t help but notice her red-rimmed eyes and equally reddened, kissed lips. I’d be lying if I said seeing her rush from the car to me wasn’t comforting. It’s a consolation to have her choose me instead of leaving on her own.
Frank opens the door for her, and she climbs into the back seat. I stare at the raindrops scattered like jewels along the sleek black surface of the car. Light from the park’s lamp posts reflects in each drop, making them glisten as they slide down the door.
Wrap it up. Get her home,I repeat to myself.
“Sir, I-I’m sorry, but she jumped in the front seat at the airport. She demanded I bring her to you, and I didn’t want her to?—”
“Frank?”
“Yes, sir?” he asks, wringing both hands together.
I sigh. “I’m going to go home with my wife, and you’re going to take the night off.”
His eyes widen, with fear on his face, and I know he’s assuming the worst. “But, Nikolai, please?—”
“Frank. Thank you for bringing her to me. Take the night off after we get home.”
I leave him open-mouthed as I turn to go talk with Luka. We go over the minor details, like where Igor should take Hope and the other EV man for interrogations, and then Luka ducks out to go home to Kate.
I turn to go home as well.
Luna and I ride silently in the back of the SUV while Frank drives us to the warehouse. Our hands meet in the middle of the seat, and I grip her fingers the whole way home.
Pulling up to the warehouse, I exhale deeply and strip my tactical gear off before we even hit the steps.
“I’m starving,” I say as we enter the apartment.
Luna drops her small duffel and spins to face me. “Me too.”
Her eyes trail down my front and I raise my eyebrows, confused. Tilting my head, I add, “I’m going to call in for some pizza and breadsticks. Are you good with that? They should still be open.”
She holds my eyes and nods as she peels her soaked shirt from her body.
My heart jumps.
“I’m cold,” she says while reaching around her back and letting her bra fall to the ground.
I take a step forward, and she takes one back. I smirk. “That’s probably because you’re missing some clothes, wife.”
She takes another step away from me, still holding my gaze. She is acting uncharacteristically bold, and, hell, I love it.
“I’m going to get in the shower to warm up.”
I nod. “Yeah, yeah we—you should do that.”
She licks her lips and lets them fall into a pout. Her hands move to the button on her jeans and rest there. “Nik?”
“Yeah?” I say, breathy and eager, and damn is this maddening.
She curls her finger, beckoning me to her. I don’t hesitate. I stalk to her. Gently gripping the side of her face, I lower my forehead to hers.
Oh, yes, I do. I really do.
Luna and I tumble in the bathroom, and she strips me down while the shower warms.
The water grows hot, and steam drifts and whirls around us, but it doesn’t compare to the heat of my need for her. “I’m sorry,” I whisper across the shell of her ear after we get in.
Water cascades over us. I brush her hair over her shoulder, exposing it, and lower my mouth to her skin.
“I’m sorry,” I say, again, and I’m rewarded when I coax a small moan from her lips. I move to her neck, and she tilts back, welcoming me. “I’m sorry.”
I watch a single tear drip down her cheek, quickly meeting the shower spray and washing away. My fingertips glide up her arms and keep rising until I’m cradling her face and drawing it to mine. “I love you, Luna Balakin. I’m sorry.”
She shivers while tracing my tattoo, starting at my shoulder and following the swoops and swirls of ink to my chest. Then she carefully takes both my hands from her face. “I love you, too,” she sighs out.
With our wet bodies pressed together, she rests her head on my chest. As she relaxes in my arms, I vow to never let a day go by where she doesn’t know how much I love her—how much I need her.
She pulls away and peers up at me, her eyes heavy—and laden with desire. Reaching between us, she says, “And just how sorry are you, Nikolai?”
I lower my mouth to hers and show her. All night long.