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Lyon walked out onto the dock jutting over the water. It was bigger and stronger than the small dock that had been there when Lyon was a boy, but standing on the edge of it now gave him the same feeling: as if he were at the edge of the world.
There was no boat. Not anymore, although Lyon had always planned to buy one. As a boy, he’d loved being on the boat with his father: the freedom of it, the feeling of being untethered from everything ugly in the world.
Now he wondered if he’d get the chance.
It didn’t make sense.
The lake was dark, a handful of lights shimmering from other houses on its shoreline, and he sat at the end of the dock, his phone in his hands as he tried to gather his thoughts.
He and Musa were at war for control of the bratva. That much was clear. If there were others vying for power, Lyon hadn’t heard news of it.
Musa had obviously felt safe invading the lake house, which meant the Spies weren’t going to sanction him — and that meant they thought he was justified because of what Lyon had done to Musa’s holding at the Port.
The only reason he wasn’t dead was because Musa was toeing the line of the rules. Once Lyon’s status changed from exiled to hit, nothing would stop Musa from putting a bullet in his brain if he got close enough.
To say nothing of what he’d do to Kira.
It was this last thought that made Lyon’s blood run cold. He’d wanted to kill Musa for threatening Kira, for talking to her the way he had.
No, it hadn’t been as simple as wanting to kill him. Lyon had wanted to tear him limb from limb with his bare hands, had wanted to annihilate everything Musa held dear.
Except Musa held nothing dear, and that meant he had no weaknesses.
Lyon shook his head. That wasn’t true. Every man had weaknesses.
Kira’s face swam in his mind, a message from his brain that his heart didn’t want to hear.
He shook it off. He was fine. He was not allowing Kira to get under his skin, and the way he’d handled Musa proved it. Yes, Lyon had wanted to murder him for the way he’d talked at Kira, but he hadn’t.
He’d kept his head, and that meant he was still in control.
He ignored the voice that called him a liar and looked at his phone, dialed the number he knew by heart.
“Lyon, I was wondering when I would hear from you,” Ivan said.
“You might have called to tell me I’ve been exiled.” He had never been angry with Ivan before. He didn’t like the feeling. It was like falling out with a beloved parent.
“It’s only happened in the last few hours,” Ivan said. “I wanted to have more information before I contacted you.”
“It happened long enough ago that Musa had time to fly to New York and destroy my house,” Lyon said.
“Ah,” Ivan said. “I’m sorry to hear that. I didn’t know anyone knew about the lake house.”
“Neither did I.” Lyon hadn’t bothered hiding his ownership of the house in Lake George behind shell companies. It was still in his father’s name, and he hadn’t expected anyone to look at the property records of a dead man. “Are you all right?”
It was another possibility that had been swimming in Lyon’s mind: that Ivan had become a victim of Lyon’s plans, that somehow the Spies had learned Ivan had been helping him and had ordered Ivan’s execution.
“I’m fine,” Ivan said. “Things are just a bit more… complicated than I expected.”
“Complicated how?” Lyon asked.
“The Spies aren’t as amenable to forgiving your move at the Port as I expected.”
Lyon stared at a pair of lights in the middle of the lake. Someone was taking their boat out for a night cruise. “You led me to believe I could count on their support.”
“I didn’t expect it to be an issue. The organization is in limbo without a successor to Viktor. I assumed the other Spies would be eager to see one rise to the top.”
