Page 40 of Heritage of Fire

“Does anyone live here?” I ask, surprising myself with my question. I don’t want to come across as nosey, but as far as I’m aware, the Morozov family has a mansion in New York.

“Nyet,” Luka says. “We keep minimal staff and use it for our men when any of them make the trip here. Nik’s father lives near Moscow but helps manage the estate and in country operations when he can—even though he’s retired.”

I swallow, working a knot down my throat. Nik’s father? I wonder if I’ll meet him. He wasn’t at the wedding, and I’m unsure what their relationship is like. I can’t help but think about the woman in his photo, too. Where is his mother?

I turn to gauge Nik’s expression, but he plows past us, hauling both our bags inside.

A middle-aged woman scurries behind him. “Mr. Balakin, you can take those up to?—”

The front doors shut before she can finish, and I’m left standing outside with Luka and Igor. A breeze blows through, sending leaves dancing along the brown cobblestone, and I shiver. The sweater and coat I’m wearing aren’t enough for the chill here.

Crossing my arms, I shuffle into the home behind Luka. We walk through a set of richly stained doors carved with intricate designs. A marble floor swirling with blues and creams spreads before me, guiding us through the foyer. The high ceiling houses two large chandeliers. I’m already in awe of this place and I’ve only seen a small portion of it.

A grand staircase with a chunky banister embellished with elaborate designs sits off to the side of the entrance hall, its steps matching the rich wood of the front doors. A family crest hangs above an entryway table to my right. It reminds me of my own family’s crest that’s proudly displayed in mynonno’shouse. It’s a sizeable shield and intricate supporters hover over a motto I can’t interpret.

“Luna.” Nik’s voice echoes down from the top of the staircase, and I pull away from Luka and Igor as they continue on. He is staring down at me, arms crossed, legs spread wide—like he’s going to tackle someone.

I pad up the steps, keeping my eyes down, trying to stay undistracted by his thundering form that I want to run my hands over and explore. Wait. What? No.

Suede boots creep into my vision and I lift my head. He winks at me and my core flutters, my breath picking up speed. Crap.

“This way, Moonbeam. There are enough rooms in this place you can have your own.”

He strides down the hall, but I can’t move.

Moonbeam?

Why does it sound like a junior high nickname coming from the guy who won’t stop pulling at my pigtails? Am I a joke to him?

My face feels hot, and suddenly the need to get out of my coat is urgent. I rip it off, flinching when the zipper smacks my burned fingers. I stalk behind Nik to myownroom.

I’m left alone for a while in one of the guest rooms. The high ceiling and natural light make the space seem massive. An antique king-size bed with a mammoth headboard is situated against the far wall, across from the door. There’s even a fireplace, though it’s caked in accumulated dust, ash, and cobwebs. It looks like it hasn’t been used in over a century.

I melt into a large, tufted armchair facing the windows, admiring the view of the woods encroaching on the back of the house. Considering the size of the property and the need for security, I’m surprised none of the trees have been cleared out.

I wonder if this is what convinced Nik to live at the warehouse instead of in the city. Even my yearning for city life has been abated by the serenity of his apartment.

A little while later, a petite woman brings in several fresh towels and tells me dinner will be served in an hour. Or, at least, that’s what I gather from her broken English and hand gestures.

After the door shuts, I scramble for my phone, baffled by it being dinner time when it feels like morning. I open my bag to hang and fold some of the items I brought. Apparently it’s still cold in late spring here, so I leave my jeans and thigh-length sweater on then move into the bathroom to freshen up.

This room has an ensuite. A large soaking tub is pressed up against a small stained glass window, and the double-sink vanity, shaded a beautiful cherry color, is topped with white marble countertop. I wash my face and reapply some makeup before calling it good enough and venturing downstairs.

Voices beckon me toward a swinging door, and curiosity has me pushing it open.

Wow. Giulia would be jealous of this kitchen.

It’s enormous. Commercial grade appliances, and a large island, double the standard size, fills the middle of the space. Nik, Igor, and two female staff members are enjoying a charcuterie board, their laughter ringing freely while they sip their drinks.

One of the women says something and flashes Nik a wide smile. He winks at her.

Clearly, his wink at me earlier was nothing special.

Igor glances my way and I stiffen.

Great. Now you’re awkwardly creeping, Luna.

“Uh, sorry, was just exploring,” I half-lie. Embarrassment licks my cheeks for wanting to be included.

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