Page 13 of Heritage of Fire

I wipe my hands on my gym shirt and offer him a wide-toothed grin.“She loves me.” Pulling a paper towel from the roll, I clean my mouth. “So, all this way at 9 p.m. to tell me my TV is too large?”

I laugh, but quickly shut up when Luka’s almost smile drifts off. With a loud slap, the file folder he walked in with hits the cold granite of the island. He slides it over to me.

Flicking open the top, I see photos Igor and I took of the alleyway the other week. The large door with EV carved into it brings back memories of silky red velvet mixed with the sensualsmells of musky vanilla and spicy florals. I flip through the familiar pictures before looking at the rest of the folder.

There are additional images of black business cards, with only two letters embossed on them. E and V. Continuing on, I see several murdered men, tortured and mutilated, with EV written in blood near the crime scene.

The food in my stomach sours, and I’m normally not bothered by this type of violence.

“This is what the Cosa Nostra and I have come up with. A few murdered men, and high-powered politicians and businessmen waving around a card with EV on it, but that’s the extent of our knowledge. Antonio took everything he knew to his grave with him. We know what you found is a private club, but EV clearly operates outside of it.” Luka’s face hardens with resolve. “We need more information. I may need to send someone in.”

“I’ll do it,” I say. The volunteer blurts from my mouth. Mostly due to the fact those eerie two letters haunt me.

“Nyet. You’re getting married,” Luka says, waving me off. “We’ll try some other methods to acquire information first.”

Walking over to the living room’s floor-to-ceiling windows, he looks down into the main warehouse area, staring down at his empire. Several armed men are on duty, pacing around pallets of recent shipments as night security.

He doesn’t look back at me, while he says, “An unknown enemy is dangerous. I don’t want them to burn us.” His hand goes to his pocket, and he pulls out his phone, his contemplative expression faltering when he reads a message, most likely from Kate. The light in his eyes is pure delight and desire. “Kate’s waiting for me,” he says, pushing away from the window and heading back to the counter to gather the EV file.

“Goodnight, Luka.”

He waves a hand and opens the door to head down the steps. A pang in my chest has me rubbing my sternum. Luka has changed so much since knowing Kate. He loves her.

In another world, I might have wanted that.

My father did. He had that with my mother—until she left us when I was eight. She claimed she couldn’t be married to a man married to the Bratva. Viktor Balakin was the second to Vladimir Morozov, Luka’s father, which meant he was summoned often. His family came second to the Morozov bloodline. As does mine.

They always leave.

I shake those thoughts from my mind and reach for my phone. Mindy is a girl I met last Friday out at a bar. I scroll to the last message she sent and type a quick one of my own before heading to the shower to get cleaned up. Her reply comes through before I step in.

See ya soon ;)

Mindy’s apartment is only twenty minutes outside the city, which made it overly convenient last week when we left the bar together. Tonight, traffic is annoying, and I’m only halfway there when Igor calls. I answer on my car’s Bluetooth, weaving through the congestion.

“What’s up?”

“Guess who showed up with Senator Hope at the EV club?”

I have to admit my curiosity is immediately piqued, and thoughts of the blonde are replaced with images of a weasel senator.

Referring to EV as a club feels like we’re coming up short. The depravity of those kills, the presumed carnal pleasuresseeping out of the door—“club” feels like saying it’s a child’s ball pit.

“Who?” I bite out at Igor’s question.

“Larry Ravensburger.” He lets out a chuckle while I shiver at the name. He’s a disgusting pig. Luka never gave him the time of day, which is good. He has a reputation for enjoying unwilling women, forcing them to participate in his sick fetishes and kinks. I’d love nothing more than to bury him six feet under.

“You still there?” I ask. The clock in my car says 10:30 p.m., and I sigh, knowing I’m about to turn down a beautiful woman. For some reason, though, I’m not feeling overly committed this evening.

“Da,” Igor answers. “I’m watching the alley this evening, trying to identify some of those coming and going.”

“I’m on my way.” I crank my radio and shift directions.

When I get there, Igor slides into the passenger seat of my car and I hand him a coffee. There are quite a few people strolling around this evening, many of them dressed to go clubbing. Some couples walk by holding hands, while others chat on street corners.

But they’re all passing the alley as if it doesn’t exist. I guess you’d have to be looking for it. Ever since Igor saw Ravensburger go down there, nobody else has come in or out.

Two hours pass. I’m starting to drift off to sleep—Igor as well—when a flash of lights grabs my attention, and a long limo rolls up to the entrance of the alley. I grab Igor’s binoculars and strain to get a glimpse of who’s exiting.

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