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36
Kira waited to leave the bedroom until she knew Lyon was long gone. She didn’t want to stand at the window, pining after him like some Victorian heroine. He was a strong capable man.
A killer. A king.
He would do what had to be done and return to her. Then they would continue with their plan to take over the bratva.
She picked up her book and headed into the living room. Rurik wasn’t warm company, but he was better than nothing.
He nodded at her when she entered the room and returned his face to the TV.
“Isn’t it late for a football game?” she asked.
“Overtime,” he said. “On the East Coast.”
He was a man of few words, which wasn’t necessarily a bad thing, but she wished they were in the apartment instead of the homely house in Brighton Park. At least then she could talk to Zoya or play with Odette and Dimitri. She’d only been away from them for a little over a week, but it felt like much longer. She missed her strange little family, to say nothing of her father.
She opened her book and started reading. She’d read Anna Karenina when she was a teenager, and the words were like old friends, given special meaning because the book had come from Lyon.
She’d just reached the second chapter when her phone rang from the pocket of her sweater.
She hurried to pick it up. It could only be one of three people — Lyon, Zoya, or her father. They were the only ones who had the number of the burner phone.
“Hello?” she said.
There was a pause, and then Galina’s voice, breathless and frantic. “Kira… he’s sick… oh my god… why does he have to be so stubborn?”
Kira sat up straighter. “Lina? What’s going on? What are you talking about?”
“Your father… he isn’t well, Kira. He’s having trouble breathing. His face is…”
Kira lost the last word in a muffle of noise that sounded like Lina had dropped the phone. “He looked what? How does he look, Lina?”
“He looks gray, Kira.” Lina’s panic was obvious. “He won’t let me take him to the doctor. He won’t let me call the ambulance.”
Kira got to her feet, aware that Rurik had stood as well, that he was homed in on her face like a beacon. “I’m on my way, Lina.” She was moving for the door, stuffing her feet into sneakers. “Is there baby aspirin in the house?”
“There is no baby in the house,” Lina said, misunderstanding.
Lira shook her head. “Never mind. I’ll be there soon. Call an ambulance. I don’t care what he says.”
She hung up the phone and set it down to grab her bag, then turned to find Rurik blocking the door.
“Get out of the way, Rurik.”
His face was stony, his arms crossed over his broad, muscled chest. “Mr. Antonov said you’re not to leave.”
She took a deep breath and straightened her spine. “You listen to me, Rurik. I am the mistress of the Antonov household. I don’t care what Lyon told you. My father is sick, and I am going to him. You may either drive me or you may stay here, but you will not stop me or it will be the last day you serve my household.”
His face betrayed no emotion as the words sat between them. Finally, he reached for his coat and the gun he’d left on the side table.
“I’ll drive.”
