Page 24 of Heritage of Fire

“Uh, hi,” I say, offering a small smile before looking down to my book. “I was just going to read a bit. I’m sorry to bother you.” My eyes dart to his tie, then back to his face.

He chuckles, a wide smile breaking out over his mouth. “Well, how about I keep you company? I wouldn’t want Nikolai removing my hands because I failed to keep you safe.”

My eyes bulge as I process what he said. Nik wouldn’treallyremove his hands, would he? No. This man has to be joking. He winks at me, and his lighthearted demeanor instantly calms my worry. Okay. Definitely joking.

“Do you know where there’s a good place to walk or read?”

I scan the surrounding area. This warehouse is remote—not easy to get to between the access gate and stationed guards. It’senveloped by dense, untamed woodland. The seclusion should worry me—being tucked away with strangers. But the sound of rustling leaves and distant bird calls offer a soothing backdrop to the industrial marvel the Bratva has built out here.

When I woke this morning, I couldn’t help imagining all the secluded areas that would be perfect for getting lost in a book.

“The gravel road weaves through the woods a mile or two before you get to the main road,” Lev tells me, pointing.

I glance in the direction he’s indicating. Large trees have created a shadowed canopy over the drive.

“They also cleared out a good bit behind the warehouse. No trails to walk on, but there are some nice places to relax.” He smiles, head tipping toward my book, and his eyes crinkle.

“Thank you.” I smile back, truly appreciating the genuine conversation. It’s the most anyone around here has said to me.

“Lead the way, Mrs. Balakin.” He tugs down his suit jacket, eyes roving up my body. I flush, turning away.

“Luna is fine. Do you happen to know the other guard’s name?” I pull my hand over my forehead to see him better. “He didn’t mention it …”

“That would be Frank.”

I snort. “Frank?”

Immediately, I’m mortified at my casual amusement—but the verynon-Russian name threw me.

Lev’s smile widens. “Yeah, he isn’t Russian. Owed Mr. Morozov’s father, and Luka allowed him to work off his debt. Permanently.”

“Frank it is, then.”

We end up walking and talking for half an hour before the pangs of hunger beckon me back to the front of the warehouse, and I ask Lev if he’d mind taking me to the nearest store to get a few things.

Lev nods. “There’s a place about five miles from here. Do you want to go now? I can get a car ready.”

Relief floods through me at his offer, and I smile at him. “Please. There isn’t much in the fridge here.”

“Doesn’t surprise me. Mr. Balakin is either working or out for most of his meals.”

A pit forms low in my stomach, overtaking my hunger. So, will he ever be around? I swallow the sour taste in my mouth.

“Here, let’s go get your stuff and we’ll get a car ready,” Lev says.

A warm hand connects with my back, and I pull in a breath, an uncomfortable sensation slithering up my spine.

I ignore it.

The sudden crunch of gravel echoes off the metal building, and Nik’s BMW comes into view. He’s barreling forward in a hurry. The warmth on my back disappears as Nik throws the car into park, opens the door, and starts striding toward us. His eyes shuffle between us, and I take a small step away from Lev.

Nik’s nostrils flare, his gaze settling on me. “Luna.”

Is that a greeting or reprimand?

“Hi.”

“Lev, what are you doing?” Nik’s bark makes me jump. His stare doesn’t leave my face, even while addressing the other man.

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