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“War is sometimes better fought with mind over fists,” Lyon said.
“Nobody ever won a chess game by resigning,” Ivan said, quoting chess Grandmaster Savielly Tartakower.
“Yes, and theblundersare all there on the board, waiting to be made,” Lyon said. Ivan wasn’t the only one who knew Tartakower.
Ivan smiled. “Touché. But still, we must eventually make a move.”
Lyon nodded, his mind already working the problem. “Of course.”
Standing idle wasn’t an option. He’d hoped to have more time to decide on his next course of action, something that would walk the line between what was allowable under the rules of the brotherhood and what would advance his pieces on the board.
But Musa had fired the opening salvo in a war. It would be a war to the death, and it was Lyon’s move.
Ivan rose to his feet and patted Lyon’s shoulder. He looked down at Lyon, and Lyon felt a surge of affection for the old man.
“Do what you must to put him into checkmate. Once he’s off the board, all will be forgiven. I’ll smooth things over with the Spies.”
Lyon nodded and Ivan started for the path. They would leave separately, with at least fifteen minutes between their departures, as always.
Ivan had just reached the path when he turned around. “Might I make a suggestion?”
“Of course.”
“Musa doesn’t honor the old ways, and that will be even more true once you move aggressively against him.” He paused. “All of which is to say, it might be wise to hide your pretty new wife.”
Lyon watched him leave, his mind turning to Kira. He would have to get her out of the city, insulate her from the bloodshed to come.
And he knew just the place.
* * *
Lyon waited until he got to the car to call Alek. Going anywhere alone was dangerous for him now, but meetings with Ivan were one of the few places he drove himself. The Spies were supposed to be neutral in matters of leadership. It would be bad for Ivan if word got out that he’d been helping Lyon in his bid for control.
But it would be worse for Lyon. The men would think he wasn’t capable of ruling on his own. Some of them would resent the assistance from someone as high-placed in the organization as Ivan.
Alek answered on the first ring. “What’s up, boss?”
“We’re going to burn Musa’s distribution at the Port.”
It took Alek a few seconds to respond. “Define burn. I want to make sure I’m not misunderstanding.”
“You’re not. I want it compromised beyond repair. No feds. Something else.” There were a hundred different ways to put a stop to the goods that arrived every minute of every day at the Port of Chicago.
Lyon didn’t care how it was done. Only that it was done.
The thought sent a deep feeling of unease through his body. Disrupting Musa’s supply chain meant disrupting countless income streams for the bratva.
It was setting fire to Samara times a million.
In any other situation, Lyon would be exiled, but Ivan had offered him cover.
And Ivan had gotten him this far.
“How soon do you want it done?” Alek asked. That he didn’t ask for reassurance was a testament to his loyalty. If Lyon was exiled, Alek would be exiled right along with him.
“Now,” Lyon said.
“I’ll get it done.”
