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Now he wondered if it had all been a mistake. Perhaps he should have left her in Washington where she had no power over him. Where he couldn’t see her face, peaceful and sweet in sleep, angry and full of fire when her temper got the best of her.
He was the Lion, ruler of the bratva, and this woman still had too much power over him.
He showered and dressed, choosing a pair of dove gray slacks, a white shirt, and leather shoes imported from Italy. Then he left his room — the room he’d shared with Kira in the days when he thought he’d loved her — and stepped into the hall.
Melodic chirping sounded from down the hall. He hesitated before turning toward it.
The door to Kira’s suite of rooms — or what had been Kira’s suite of rooms — was open. He stood on the threshold and watched as Zoya, Kira’s personal attendant, murmured in Russian to the two birds that Kira adored. Zoya’s gray hair was pulled back into a bun, her customary style, and she wore black slacks and a simple white shirt, also customary, although Lyon was sure Kira would have allowed her to wear anything she liked. The older woman was more substitute mother to Kira than maid.
“Move them to your chambers,” he said. “Immediately.”
He’d had the rest of Kira’s thing packed and removed a week after she’d left. He simply hadn’t known what to do with the birds.
Zoya startled and turned toward him. In the split second before she registered that it was him, her face was open and friendly. A moment later, the hatred returned to her eyes.
Zoya lifted her chin, the only sign of her defiance. “Surely Mrs. Antonov will be returning soon.”
It was an inelegant attempt at getting information out of Lyon. Did the older woman know Lyon had brought Kira back to Chicago or was she taking a shot in the dark?
“That remains to be seen,” Lyon said. “Regardless, I won’t be disturbed one day longer by the infernal chirping of these creatures.”
He had a flash of memory: standing with Kira in her bedroom, watching as the birds played with a hanging ball of string, Kira delighting in his curiosity, his questions about them.
That had been the beginning of the end, the day he’d started to see her as more than a tool for his eventual power. She’d looked so young. She’d invited him to dinner that same evening and had cooked a delicious meal of homemade borodinsky and plov, a meal he remembered his mother making before she’d returned to Russia.
Zoya hesitated, and for a moment, Lyon wondered if she would refuse to obey his orders. “As you wish.”
He nodded and turned, striding down the hall to the staircase suspended over the penthouse’s living area. Beyond the room, a wall of glass offered views of the pool and terrace, Lake Michigan glinting like a sea of stars in the distance.
He started the coffee machine and turned to face the wall of glass, his mind clearing as he looked at the partially frozen lake. His coffee had just finished brewing, the machine emitting a last sputter of steam, when Rurik entered the kitchen.
“Good morning,” Rurik said.
“Good morning.” Lyon picked up the mug. “Let’s go.”
Rurik followed him to the door, a reminder of how much things had changed. A month ago, Kira was in his home, his bed, and Rurik had spent his days managing the penthouse.
Now Rurik spent his days watching Lyon’s back, a necessity with Musa waiting for an opportunity to exact revenge.
Lyon had gotten used to having Alek with him most of the time, but Alek was now needed at the house in Lake Forest to keep an eye on Kira, and Rurik was more than equipped to step in as Lyon’s bodyguard and driver. Better yet, Rurik could be easily discounted by someone who didn’t know better: with his deeply lined face and gray hair, no one would guess he’d served with Lyon’s father in the MVD back when the agency had been more than a law enforcement agency.
They took the elevator to the underground parking garage and got into the armored Range Rover that had become Lyon’s primary vehicle in the days since the Spies had appointed him pakhan. Until Musa was eliminated, Lyon would be extra careful.
He wanted to flush his rival out of the woodwork, but he wanted to do so without becoming a victim himself.
“Where are we going?” Rurik asked as they approached the garage’s exit.
“The house,” Lyon said.
It was a mistake. Lyon knew this even as he said it. There were other things that needed his attention, other people, among them Vas and Lev, who would have to be issued a warning.
But seeing Kira on the video feed on his phone wasn’t enough. He craved her presence, wanted to be closer to her even as his brain called him a fool.
Rurik headed that way without comment. He was old-school, a man of few passions and fewer opinions. He’d been trained to follow orders, collect his (significant) paycheck, and enjoy his few vices with discretion.
Lyon respected and trusted him.
A half hour after leaving the penthouse, they pulled up to the house. The day was gray and cold, the sun hidden behind a thick bank of clouds that did nothing to offset the neglect of the historic structure.
