Page 87 of Heritage of Fire

In the living room, perched on the back of the couch, is one of her books. I walk over, then flip through the pages. My eyes linger on the spot with Luna’s bookmark.

“A reader lives a thousand lives before he dies.”

The quote is scrolled over a watercolor background, and I sneer at it. A laugh of disdain bubbles out of me. Luna has experienced nothing in her life aside from the fictional lives she lives in her books.

At the realization, blood roars in my ears and sends adrenaline racing through my body. I hurl the book into the window—a sharpthwopsounds and it falls to the floor. Guilt gnaws at me, and I move to recover it, smoothing it under my hand before I put it on the island.

Fists clenched at my sides, I stalk to the bedroom, itching for destruction. In the closet, fabric glides through my fingers. I snatch fistfuls of it, hangers cracking as clothes are ripped from where they hang. I yell, scream, and roar while ten-thousand-dollar suits fly across the room.

Eventually, I slump to the floor, my back hitting the bed rail as I face the open window—her open window.

She always has them open. I wonder if it’s her way of creating a sense of freedom in her otherwise caged world. Trees rustle in the wind, branches scratching the warehouse’s metal siding. It’s all I hear until I pass out.

“Their demands came through?” I ask, smashing through the office door in the morning.

Salvatore and Luka sit across from one another. I woke up plastered to the floor and barely had time to shower before Luka called with an update.

“Yedo still exist.” A deep brogue accent captures my attention, and my head snaps in its direction. Kieran.

“What the hell are you doing here?”

This is not the time for a social call from the Irish Mob. I raise my brows at Luka, who narrows his eyes at me. I don’t question him, ever, but I’m finding his judgment more than a little infuriating at the moment.

“I requested he be here,” he answers sternly.

“You’ve been briefed?” I ask Kieran.

“Aye.”

Luka stands, turning his computer monitor around to face the rest of us, and my stomach drops.

Enlarged on the screen is a photo of Luna tied to a metal chair. Her hair is wind blown, falling in front of her face. A scowl trumps the fear in the photo.

Good girl, Luna. Don’t let them break you.

As quickly as the pride swells in my chest, it abates when I see the blood dripping down her face. It’s hard to tell exactly where her injury is with her hair covering her.

“They’ve hurt her,” I growl through clenched teeth. When I get my hands on them …

“But she’salive. Now, what of their demands?” Salvatore snaps.

Luka clicks off the photo and I close my eyes, committing it to memory.

His sigh has me giving him my full attention. He folds his arms, and his eyes glaze over with a faraway look as he says, “In exchange for Luna alive and unharmed, they request that the alliance between the Cosa Nostra and Bratva be dissolved, and all our shipments currently going to Salvatore are to be rerouted to them.”

I blink. The irony of dissolving our alliance to get Luna back—when she’s only in this positionbecauseof said alliance—is not lost on any of us at this moment.

“They require both parties to be in agreement for this transaction,” Luka finishes.

“Luna is aware of her position,” Salvatore says. “She does not expect rescue. She was prepped for this all her life. She will understand.”

Hold up.

“What are you saying,Sal?” I hiss his name disrespectfully.

“That she is not worth the demands being put on two powerful billion-dollar organizations. I am not willing to give up this alliance when I worked hard to institute it. The Cosa Nostra needs our share of the weapons. The Bratva needs our manpower to hold this city in the palm of its hand.”

“We were doing fine before your little alliance proposition,” I snap. “The Bratva needs no one.”

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