Page 52 of Heritage of Fire

“Oh, come on, Salvatore. You can pawn your daughter off to get married, but she can’t have a glass of Italian wine with dinner?” He lets out a chuckle, like it’s an inside joke rather than an insult.

I wince and pick up my menu—for no reason, really. I already know I’m going to have a salad. Although, the homemade bread on the table is already tempting me.

“How’s Isabella?” I ask.

As much as I don’t miss the constant criticism at home, I still miss the family dynamic.Andthere was never a dull moment. Arguments between my sister and I, the comings and goings of my father’s men, large family dinners with my aunts and extended family. Now, even though there are always men downstairs, sometimes the warehouse gets a little too quiet.

“She’s doing well. Playing tennis. You know how she is. A social butterfly, that one.” It was me who asked the question, but my mother’s smile is on Nik.

The waiter comes to take our order and Nik nudges me. “I’m unsure what to order, what do you recommend?”

“Spaghetti carbonara has always been a favorite of mine, or chicken parmesan.” I give him a shaky smile, reluctantly pulling away from where he’d leaned in. I imagine he’s eaten Italian before, so why does he need my recommendation?

“Ah, yes,” my mother says. “Can’t keep Luna away from the spaghetti carbonara. Good thing she can’t cook, or you’d be eating it every night.”

She giggles at the same time I flinch. Rubbing my forehead, I look down at the table.

This was such a bad idea.

Chapter 21

Nik

Luna is stammering and stuttering her way through this dinner. She looks like she’s on the verge of tears, and I wouldn’t blame her at this point. Maria Buscetta is a shark. Every opportunity to cut Luna down, she takes. Luna has shrunk further and further into herself all night, intent on remaining in the background. With her own parents.

After my mom left, my father and I didn’t have the best relationship. Though, how fatherly can a member of the Bratva truly be? Still, he trained me. Taught me loyalty, dedication, service, and most importantly, confidence. Luna’s parents demand obedience. Instead of celebrating who she is asLuna, they’re cutting her down and forcing her to be the womantheybelieve she should be.

It’s pissing me off.

Luna’s body freezes every time she takes a bite of the salad she ordered. Asalad. Who orders a salad when their favorite food is on the menu? Oh, that’s right, someone whose mother is Maria Buscetta. Each time I offer Luna half my bread, she looks to her mom and then shakes her head.

I scoop up a fork full of my carbonara and elbow her.

“Here. Eat a bite of this. You’re right, it’s pretty good.” I offer up my food, but instead of taking the fork, she leans over. Closing her eyes, she opens her mouth for me, and I slide the fork into her mouth. She closes around it, her perfect lips curving up in a smile. I practically jump as a shiver zips up my spine. The hell?I’ve never felt anything like that in my life.

“Thank you,” she says, and my fingers ache to touch her. This isnothow tonight is supposed to be going. Lucky for me, Salvatore is exceptional at interrupting right when you need him to.

“Did Luka assign you guards, Luna?” Her father’s voice sounds stern rather than concerned, raising my interest as to why he asked the question in the first place.

“Yes, Frank and Lev are nice. Lev takes me most anywhere I need, orwant, to go.”

I don’t miss the way she sayswant. Hinting to the fact that she hasn’t been home for a reason. Her father chuckles and brings his elbows onto the table beside his empty plate.

“Be careful with that, Nikolai. Luna has a history with guards.”

Luna goes red in an instant, the flush rising from her neck to cheeks. The worst thing I can do right now is ask about it, but Iwillask. Later.

The air has a crisp, chilly bite to it, and I open the car door for Luna before I round to my own side. I glance at Luna. I hate how bruised she is.

She’s staring out the window, head tilted back as she looks up at the moon. I want to pull her out of her thoughts. Let her shine as deep as the moon illuminating the night—a moonbeam.

Hell.

Her annoyance on the plane when I used that nickname?—

I’m not sure where it even came from. It just spilled out of my mouth when I saw her standing there in the middle of the house’s grandeur. I knew instantly it was right for her. A beacon, illuminating my way past every fear I carry in the dark.

“I’m sorry you had to experience that,” she says suddenly. “It’s part of the reason I didn’t want you to come. I’m sure sitting across from the man who made you marry me was … insulting.”

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