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Lyon wondered if Kira was fooled by the old man’s suit, his dignified mannerisms. He hoped so. That had been the point in hiring Rurik to run the household: an ex-MVD soldier who had served with Lyon’s father, one who could both pour tea and kill a man with his bare hands.
“Thank you,” Kira said.
“Rurik, please show Zoya to her quarters,” Lyon said.
Panic flashed across Kira’s face, but it was quickly tucked behind the implacable facade he was beginning to recognize as the face she wore for the world. Was there anything behind it? Any passion? Any fire?
Time would tell.
Zoya hesitated and Kira nodded her approval.
“Goodnight,” Zoya said, leaning in to kiss Kira’s cheek.
“Sleep well,” Kira said.
“Follow me.” Rurik turned on his heel and Zoya followed him down one of the hallways leading away from the door.
“I’ll show you to your suite,” Lyon said, leading Kira down the main hall toward the living area.
Her brow furrowed in confusion. “My suite?”
“I thought it best for you to have a space of your own,” Lyon said. “For now.”
Relief washed over her features. “Thank you.”
They emerged from the hall into the penthouse’s living room, a high-ceilinged space with a wall of windows. The city’s lights glimmered from the other side of the glass, the lake a dark mass in the distance.
He watched her take it in, her gaze roaming over the gleaming wood floors, the floating staircase leading to the second floor, the designer furniture, and felt a surge of satisfaction.
“It’s beautiful,” she said, her eyes glued to the windows.
“The kitchen is on the other side of that wall,” he said, gesturing to a wall paneled with Brazilian walnut, “and there’s a terrace with a pool and a view of the lake. But I’m sure you’re tired. You can acquaint yourself with the apartment tomorrow.”
She nodded and he headed for the stairs. He couldn’t help feeling proud taking in the view of the living room as they climbed to the second floor. The penthouse had been a years-long labor, a project he’d hidden from the eyes of everyone, even Ivan. Lyon had worn the cheap leather jacket, had bowed and scraped to Yakov, to Viktor, to everyone.
And all the while he’d been choosing imported wood and marble, custom furniture, and handcrafted fixtures for his new home. Filled with the finest of everything, the house was the perfect place from which to seize control of the bratva.
They stepped onto the second floor landing and continued down a wide hall, the wood floors covered with handmade carpets from Turkey and Iran.
He touched his hand to a set of double doors at the front of the hall. “My suite is here.”
They continued past several other closed doors, then stopped at another set of double doors at the end of the hall. “This is you.”
He opened the doors and let her step in ahead of him. She entered the room slowly, looking up to take in the high ceilings, scanning the windows, dark on this side because they faced the lake, something she wouldn’t realize until morning.
Lyon leaned against the wall by the door and watched her. “I trust you’ll be comfortable here. Feel free to make it yours.”
She crossed the room and opened the door leading to the sitting room. He waited, imagining her taking in the sofa and chairs, the coffee table and flat-screen TV. She returned a moment later and did a cursory inspection of the en suite bathroom and the custom-built walk-in closet.
Her eyes skimmed over the king-size bed before returning to his face. Silence stretched between them.
“You might say thank you,” he said, his voice low.
She lifted her chin, her green eyes flashing. “To my husband? For allowing me a bedroom?”
Anger welled inside him. Kira Baranov was a spoiled princess. Had he expected their marriage to change that?
He pushed off the wall and stalked toward her, stopping when he was close enough that his shirt brushed against her breasts. He’d meant to show her who was in charge, but the slight contact with her body sent a thunderbolt of desire to his cock. He was immediately hard, lust roaring in his veins as her scent filled his nose.
