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But Lyon had learned not to ignore his instincts, and he had to look no further than Kira Baranov to validate the credibility of those instincts.
“Word on the street is Vas is in line,” Alek said, changing the subject. “A couple of his men have asked for transfers.”
“Deny them,” Lyon said. “And demote them. Then assign Vas four new men of his choosing.”
Vas had seen the consequences of being on Lyon’s bad side. Now he would see the benefits of being on his good one. In this way, Lyon would ensure he’d made an ally rather than a mortal enemy.
He would trust that he’d made his point. For now.
He felt the tightrope under his feet. Sensed the give of it in certain places, the tautness of it in others. Making it to the other side meant navigating the egos of every man in the bratva. It meant crossing with confidence while being mindful of the potential pitfalls.
He thought of Kira, probably just waking up in her bed. She was as much a danger to him as a man like Vas. A man like Musa.
Perhaps even more deadly.
It had been anger that drove him across her bedroom, anger that had made him corner her against the wall, take her towel.
But once she’d been naked, need had overwhelmed him. He’d wanted nothing more than to turn her toward the wall, drive into her until she screamed.
Disloyalty in the ranks was to be expected in their business, but Kira Baranov had power over him that was unacceptable.
Now if only he could figure out what to do about it.
13
Kira took a cool shower and dressed quickly, not trusting herself to languish in bed. Her dreams had been filled with Lyon. She’d woken feverish with need, her body humming with the dreams that had kept her in a state of lucid, lustful dreaming.
She had breakfast with Zoya, then drove them both to the house Kira had shared with her father across town. The keys to her black Mercedes had been on the hook in the kitchen, right where they always were. Still, she’d almost been surprised to find the car in its reserved parking spot. She’d half-expected Lyon to keep her prisoner in the penthouse.
Now it felt strange to drive herself across town. She hadn’t driven at all on the island, and the only time she’d been in a car since returning to Chicago had been when Lyon had brought her back to the penthouse.
It felt subversive, like she was committing a crime.
She and Zoya passed the time in companionable silence interspersed with idle conversation. A lump rose in her throat as they got closer to the house, memories of the many times she’d made the drive coming back to her, followed by memories of her father.
By the time she pulled up the long drive and parked in the gravel courtyard at the front of the house, grief threatened to overflow her body. She hadn’t gone to his burial, had been too filled with guilt to do more than stumble back to the penthouse after the church service.
Now she felt the shame of it. It didn’t matter that she hadn’t wanted to see her father’s body lowered into the ground.
She should have been there.
Lina emerged from the house with her arms open. Kira fell into them.
“Lina! I’ve missed you so much!” She pulled back and looked more closely at the woman who had been keeping house and cooking meals for the Baranov family for as long as Kira could remember. “I’ve missed your cooking.”
“Psh!” Lina said, wiping a tear from her cheek. “You’ve been gone so long I’ve forgotten how.”
Kira laughed. “Don’t be ridiculous. You could cook in your sleep.”
She draped her arm over Lina’s shoulders and the three women walked into the house.
Stepping into the grand foyer, Kira sucked in a breath. It was impossible not to think of the last time she’d been there: her father obviously sick, insisting Kira and Lina hide in the panic room as Musa and his thugs invaded the house, insisting on protecting them when it was obvious he was too sick to protect even himself.
She shouldn’t have allowed it. Another regret in a long line of them that would haunt Kira for the rest of her days.
Lina patted her cheek, as if she knew what Kira was thinking. “I’ve already made some of that goulash you like so much,” Lina said, her English still accented with Russian. “I’ll make us some tea to go with it.”
Kira felt a rush of love for the two women in her life, both standing in for Kira’s mother during the times when Kira sorely needed her. Other than an occasional visit from Zoya, Lina had been all alone in the house since the night of her father’s death.
