Page 76 of Heritage of Fire

When Frank pulls up, I’m relieved. The loneliness I was feeling since Nik had to leave tempers when I get in the car and hear the older man’s familiar voice.

“How was dinner, Mrs. Balakin?”

“It was good, Frank. Sorry to make you pick me up.” I wince, because it was Nik who called. Why am I apologizing? “I’m going to have a night in with my book and some popcorn, so you should take the rest of the night off.”

He gives me a soft smile in the rearview mirror, likely reading my disappointment. “It’s never a burden, Mrs. Balakin.”

The rest of the ride home is silent, and when we hit the gravel road, weaving through the dark woods, instead of dread, I feel … calm. I’m anticipating a relaxing night. No one likes to be pitied, even when it comes from themselves.

Frank parks the car, and we head into the warehouse.

“Hey, Peter. Hi Mikhail.” Two of the warehouse workers are leaning over a crate of Kalashnikov SR-1s—it’s crazy what I’ve come to learn—each of them sorting through paperwork.

They both ditch the papers and turn to me with smiles on their faces. I’ve enjoyed getting to know many of the men whorotate in and out of the warehouse. Our raccoon friend truly bonded us.

“Good evening, Ms. Luna. How was your trip into the city?” Peter asks, his unnaturally blue eyes darting to Frank and then back to me.

Stressful. Worrying. But, also, romantic. I could clearly picture my future with Nik this evening. Even with the worry over my sister. The way his body hugged mine—I’ve never felt so safe.

“It was good,” I answer instead. “Didn’t snag you any dessert, though.”

Peter laughs. “That’s okay, Ms. Luna. I’ll take your chocolate chip cookies anytime.”

I shake my head with a smile at the same time Frank lights up a cigarette.

Mikhail is quiet. He’s slouched over the weapons crate, chin propped on his hand, dark blue circles under his eyes. Poor guy.

“How are the twins?” I ask.

He grins, and all the tiredness on his face morphs into joy. “They’re wonderful. Thank you for asking.”

Mikhail and his wife have six-month-old twins, and he’s mentioned they aren’t sleeping well—or, at all. I’ve made a point to bring him coffee in the mornings when he’s on the day shift.

“I’ve got a few cold ones, Frank,” Peter says. “Mikhail and I are going to go pick up some pizza. Care to join?” Frank nods and flicks his cigarette to the ground before stepping on it. Peter looks at me. “Ms. Luna?”

I smile. “No thanks. I have a date with popcorn and a book.”

The three of them stride through the long warehouse toward their personal cars, their laughter echoing throughout the metal building.

I make my way back to the stairs, where Lev is on shift at the bottom. I offer him a smile, stepping onto the first tread, but a clammy hand grabs mine.

“Do you need some company, Luna?” His voice sounds sure and confident.

Why does he think it’s okay to ask things like this—because Nik isn’t around?

“It’s not appropriate to invite you up, Lev. I’ll be fine.” I walk by him and plaster an even wider smile on my face to mask how uncomfortable I’m suddenly feeling.

“Someone like you deserves to be worshiped, Luna,” he whispers.

I turn to glare down at him, mouth dropping open, but I’m unable to reach for the right words. So I stare. Wondering why this guard, loyal to the Bratva and the Morozov family, would risk those words on me.

Perhaps Ishouldbe worshiped. Although, I doubt it’s anything I deserve. But if itwere, the only person I’d want would be Nik, and Nik alone.

“Lev, I’m grateful for our friendship. You befriended me when I needed it the most, but that’s where it ends.”

“Luna …” Lev pulls my hand close to his chest. “He’s never home. I see the way you long for something more. The way you want companionship. I could be that for you.”

“I’m married, Lev. To your Bratva brotherandboss. I know how my father handled insubordination like this, and I don’t wish that on you. Please know I’m okay. Nik is …”

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