Page 10 of Conquer

The younger men, the ones who’d been waiting for her father to be replaced, wondering how it would happen, who would fill his spot, watched with narrowed eyes, as if they were trying to work a difficult equation without the benefit of a calculator.

“You did a nice job with the reception,” Lyonya said. “It was very tasteful.”

She looked up at him and felt herself fell into the vortex of his unusual eyes. “Thank you.”

He’d grown into a startlingly handsome man, one with features so finely sculpted they fell just short of hard and a demeanor that commanded attention. Why hadn’t she noticed all those times she’d seen him at organizational events? All the times he’d come to the house with Yakov?

But she knew why. He’d been in disguise. A simple man in jeans and a leather jacket, one who kept quiet, who spoke only when spoken to, who watched her with such attentiveness that she’d looked quickly away, eager to dismiss him, to remember him as the angry little boy he’d been.

Now she had to remind herself not to forget what he was, not to forget that while he was well-mannered and far wealthier than he’d ever let on, he was no different from the other men who worked for the bratva. In some ways, he was worse.

He was the Lion, one of the men her father trusted to do the dirtiest of work, the man Yakov Vitsin had used to do his own dark bidding before he’d been eliminated as part of the marriage bargain.

Some of the fog cleared in her brain. She stiffened and attempted to put some distance between herself and Lyon as the song winded down.

But it was impossible. He held her even more tightly, crushed her body against his so firmly she felt the press of his erection against her belly. Moisture dampened her underwear.

“It’s too late to run, Kira.” He murmured the words into her ear, a hint of menace beneath them. Almost a threat. Or was that her imagination? Goosebumps rose on her flesh. “You’re mine now.”

She glared up at him. “We’re business partners. That’s all. If you think that means you own me, you’re mistaken.”

The song ended, and a ripple of applause broke out on the dance floor in the seconds before a more upbeat song began.

Lyon didn’t relinquish his hold on her. He just stared down at her, a dare lurking in his eyes. “We’ll see.”

He stepped away and kissed her hand with a flourish. Some of the guests sighed their approval, and she forced herself to smile before excusing herself.

She hurried off the dance floor and headed for the house. She needed to be alone, needed to gather her strength before she left the only home she’d ever known later that night.

There would be no honeymoon. There was too much danger for that. Lyon had to be present to claim his place at the top of the bratva hierarchy. Instead they would go to Lyon’s apartment downtown. That would be her new home.

Panic beat at her chest as she hurried across the darkened lawn. What had she done?

“He thinks it will be easy…” The voice, murmured from the shadows, slowed her steps.

A wry laugh. “What form of protection can the old man offer him now? If we can gather a few more men, Antonov will be easily removed.”

She stepped out of the light and into the darkness, following the voices. A moment later, Musa Shapiev came into view, smoking a cigarette, head bowed toward Arman Belsky, Musa’s right-hand man.

They both looked up as she came closer, her dress rustling as she walked.

“If it isn’t the beautiful bride.” Musa took a long drag on the cigarette and let his eyes roam over her body.

She resisted the urge to slap him. She’d never liked him, and not because he was Chechen. It was the way he looked at her father, like he was waiting for an opportune moment to slip a knife into her father’s neck between niceties.

The urge to put distance between them was strong, but she kept walking until she was only a couple feet away from him, forcing herself to stand tall. “I expect disloyalty from you, Musa. But bad manners? I thought your mother raised you better.”

Arman sputtered, caught between laughter and shock as Musa’s eyes widened. He flicked the cigarette into the bushes and took a step toward her.

“You should be very careful,malen’kiy. You might find yourself dissatisfied with your new husband and need a real man.” He touched his index finger to her chin and ran it down her neck. “Why make an enemy when you can make a friend?”

She grabbed his wrist and squeezed.

He froze.

“You dishonor me,” she said. “Worse, you dishonor my husband. And that I won’t allow. Perhaps you’re the one who should be careful.” She let go of his hand. “And I am not yourlittle one.”

She hurried toward the house, half-expecting Musa to come after her, to teach her a lesson.

But that was too risky, even for him. This was Viktor Baranov’s estate, and Kira was still his daughter. That she was also Lyonya Antonov’s wife would take some getting used to, but one thing was clear: men like Musa — whispering and watching while everyone else drank and danced — were the enemy.

She and Lyonya were on the same side now. She may not like her new husband, but she would do her duty by presenting a united front as he conquered the bratva — or fell to it.

In the meantime, she would accumulate her own power so that even if Lyonya Antonov fell, she would remain standing.

And if she were left standing as a queen with no king? So much the better.

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