Page 4 of Heritage of Fire

“A marriage," he continues, "needs to be between those who have influence in both our organizations—or it’s just a marriage, not an alliance.”

“Antonio didn’t have children,” Luka barks, “and from what I understand, you are married already, Mr. Buscetta.”

I snort at what Luka just implied and end up choking on my spit.

One of Salvatore’s guards, the only one with hair blonder than mine, turns to hide his laughter. Salvatore, however, doesn’t miss a beat. “I have two daughters. The marriage would be with my oldest, Luna.”

I roll the words around in my head—Luna Buscetta. The sudden desire to put a face with her name strikes.

I lean on Luka’s mahogany desk, lightheaded. My drink from earlier has done nothing to help my nerves during this meeting. Eyeing the bar across the room, I contemplate how bad it would look if I went to refill my glass. Luka would probably kill me.

We grew up together, and I witnessed firsthand his father’s brutality in leadership. My own father, who was a terrible example, was fluffy cake compared to Luka’s. I still remember the day Luka broke down, at eight years old, because the pakhan made him kill a man. I knew then I would stand by his side, loyal to him for as long as he needed me. Our friendship is more than business—we’re brothers.

Letting this alliance crash and burn would be self-serving and not in the best interest of our organization. If there’s anything I learned from my father, it’s that loyalty reigns above all. Even if it costs you love.

Salvatore and Luka are still arguing, their raised voices muffled by my own uncontrolled thoughts. They’re to blame when I finally blurt, “I’ll think about it.”

Luka turns to gape at me, and a smile breaches Salvatore’s mouth. He’s not hiding his enjoyment. Luka looks ready to blow a gasket, and I’m bracing myself for a tongue-lashing when this meeting is over.

“That is all I ask.” Salvatore stands, extending his hand to Luka, but is greeted with a growl. He moves his hand in front of me, eyebrows raised, and I take it, squeezing a little too hard with each shake up and down.

“I will have my lawyers draw up a marriage contract outlining what the Cosa Nostra will supply. Comb over it and include whatever your lawyers deem appropriate. This is a good thing, Mr. Morozov. The bloodshed will end. The fight for territory will cease.”

I roll my eyes.

In theory, this alliance could bring forth a whole new era for both the Cosa Nostra and the Bratva, but in reality—I’m not sure decades of feuding can be solved all because two people got married.

Marriage. Now there’s a word I never thought I’d utter in relation to myself. I enjoy women. More than the average male, I’m sure. But settling down with one, tying myself to someone until death do us part—that’s not me.

From a young age, I watched my father drown in guilt and heartache, and I told myself I’d avoid going down the same path at all costs. I grew up repeating it to myself whenever a relationship got too serious or demanded more of my time than I was willing to give. I keep women at a distance—because they always leave anyway. Always.

Salvatore is signing over his oldest daughter without hesitation, with zero emotion on his face. All for a power trip. All with a simple handshake.

I’m not naïve; I know how fathers view their daughters in this underworld. They limit their contact with others, keeping themlocked away as virgins—all for the sake of an arrangement to benefit the organization.

Poor girl is being treated like property. Wait, girl? No, woman—I hope. I clear my throat. I can’t believe I’m going to ask this.

“Sheislegal, right?”

Salvatore’s face contorts into a grimace. “Yes, she’s twenty.”

I sigh with relief.

One of Mr. Buscetta’s guards opens the office door, and as Salvatore turns toward it, he says, “I’ll be in touch.” Then he saunters out—like he didn’t just rock my world and throw it into an entirely new universe.

Luka stares at me, not even being discreet about it. I can hear the accusations behind his grimace. You wanted to meet with him and look where it got you.

“You know, if that face is how you got Kate to fall in love with you ...” Honestly though, how he managed to score someone like Kate is beyond me, with his furrowed brows and inability to laugh.

“Cut the crap, Nikolai,” he says.

Oh, my full name. This should be good.

“You married is so far from anything I can imagine, and on top of that, doing it for an alliance with the Cosa Nostra.” Luka’s voice raises with each word. “Why are you even considering this?”

“Because I know you won’t,” I say, dragging a hand over the slight stubble on my chin.

Luka turns from his large desk to peer down at the New York City streets. Seemingly normal people walking below criminal entrepreneurs like us.

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