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Lyon tamped down a rush of annoyance. What did she think she would accomplish by starving herself?
“She wants to talk to you,” Alek said, sliding the eggs onto the plate. He reached for two pieces of bacon resting on a couple of paper towels and added those to the plate.
“How nice for her.” Lyon had to force the words through his teeth. There was little he cared less about than what Kira Baranov wanted.
There was a time when he’d cared, when he’d allowed himself to care against his better judgement.
That time had passed.
It was back to Plan A: bend Kira Baranov to his will, remind her of her place. It was true that Lyon had agreed to allow Kira a voice in the running of the bratva when he’d proposed the arranged marriage to her father Viktor.
But that was before she’d pretended to love him. Before she’d used him. Before she’d abandoned him.
Now he would do as he pleased. Perhaps Kira would be given a voice in the organization in the future — after he reminded her that he was the one who had the power to grant her that voice or take it away.
Alek poured orange juice from the juicer into a small glass, then set everything on a tray waiting with flatware and a cloth napkin. “Your call of course. Just thought you should know.”
Lyon searched his friend’s face for judgement and found none.
“I appreciate all you’re doing,” Lyon said. “I know it’s beneath you, beneath your skillsets. You’ll be rewarded.”
“I’m not doing it for the reward,” Alek said.
Lyon knew that to be true, which was the very reason Alek would be richly rewarded.
“Need anything before I go?” Alek asked.
Lyon shook his head. “I’m going to look in on her from the video feed.”
Alek picked up the tray and headed for the stairs. Lyon walked through the kitchen and entered one of the rooms off the main hall.
It was a large room with walls paneled in a dark mahogany. The wood was dull now, but he knew it would shine once polished, and he imagined the room complete with the polished paneling and floor-to-ceiling bookcases, a perfect library or study.
Or a music room for Kira.
He banished the thought.
He walked toward the lone piece of furniture in the big room, a large desk, too modern for the room, that sat near the windows. Its surface held two computer monitors, a keyboard, and a mouse, a bundle of cords running from the equipment to the outlets on the wall.
He took a seat behind the desk and sank into the chair’s expensive upholstery, then leaned forward to turn on the monitors.
One of them held four different images: the front of the house, the back of the house, and each side. They might have been the same, the house set far enough back from the road that the view was a sweep of snow-covered lawn leading to a bank of trees on all sides. The only real difference was the driveway at the front, the terrace at the back.
The second monitor held only one image: Kira, sitting on the bed in the bedroom where Lyon had detained her since he’d had her brought back to Chicago.
Security cam footage wasn’t exactly high-def, but the grainy image couldn’t hide her beauty. She was wearing the pink tracksuit she’d worn the first time he’d talked to her about the birds, and her fair hair was loose around her shoulders.
He’d seen her dressed up — she was a woman who liked to dress even when she planned to be home — but he’d always liked her best this way: casual and approachable, a little tousled. It made him think of the way she looked after he’d made her come, when her cheeks were flushed and her hair tousled, a satisfied smile softening the mouth that could be both sensuous and harsh.
She was watching the door. When it swung open a few seconds later he understood why.
Alek entered the room carrying the tray he’d been preparing in the kitchen.
Lyon reached for the keyboard and turned on the volume.
“Morning,” Alek said.
She didn’t reply, and Alek set the tray on the end of the bed. He walked to the bureau where the other tray sat, a plate covered with a silver dome.
