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“Jules! She’s here!” She turned back around. “I’m Elise, Jules’s sister.”
Kira held out her hand. “Kira Baranov Antonov.”
The woman flashed her a hesitant smile and Kira was struck by her beauty. Tall and slender, she could have stepped off a catwalk in Milan or Paris.
“Come in,” Elise said. She held up the picture book. “I’m on aunt duty when I’m in town.”
Kira smiled. “Sounds like fun.”
“It’s a good gig,” Elise said. “Rile them up, pump them full of sugar, then hand them back to my sister. It’s a dream revenge scenario for siblings.”
Kira laughed, taken aback by the casual nature of the woman in front of her.
Elise sighed. “Come on. I don’t know where she is. I’ll just take you in.”
Kira left her coat on a hook piled high with other coats, plus an assortment of handbags, backpacks, and totes. Elise looked at her feet.
“Would you mind taking off your shoes?” Elise asked. “Jules is weird about germs because of the kids.”
“Of course.” Kira pulled off her boots and followed Elise into the house. She felt oddly comfortable making her way down the long, wide hall in her socks.
The rooms were large and open, evidence of the family in residence everywhere she looked: books piled high on end tables, toys scattering the floors, a sippy cup on a coffee table, a baby bottle on one of the half-shelves that acted as a room divider between the living and dining room.
Kira wasn’t fooled by the casual environment. The house was worth millions, the furniture designer, the finishings top notch.
They emerged from the hall into a large kitchen. A woman stood at the sink with a small child on her hip, her back to Elise and Kira. Beyond her, windows provided a sweeping view of a spacious patio area that morphed seamlessly into a big lawn that rolled down to a frozen pond.
The woman turned around and Kira saw shades of Elise: hair a slightly darker shade of blonde, smile a little less guarded, figure a little fuller.
“Will you take JT?” she asked Elise.
Elise nodded and took the little boy in her arms. “Can we finish the book?” he asked.
Elise laughed. “We would have been done a half hour ago if you didn’t keep interrupting me, goofball.”
“Don’t wake the baby,” the woman called as they disappeared around the corner. “Please don’t wake the baby,” she muttered again.
She turned to Kira and smiled. “You must be Kira.” She held out her hand. “I’m Julia Murphy.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Kira said. “Thank you for agreeing to see me.”
The kettle on the stove started to whistle and Julia turned to shut it off. “I was just making tea. Would you like to join me?”
“Tea would be lovely,” Kira said.
Julia poured the hot water over two tea bags and led Kira into a sunken seating area adjacent to the kitchen. Kira could tell the cedar paneling was vintage, original to the house, but the room had been updated with furnishings that complemented its architecture and spirit.
They settled on the sofa. “I was surprised to get your call.” Julia studied Kira over the rim of her mug. “So tell me, what can I do for you? What can the Syndicate do for the bratva?”
27
It was almost midnight when Lyon pulled up next to Alek’s car outside the warehouse. He stepped onto the cracked pavement and took a breath. The sky was dark overhead, a layer of fog hiding all but the moon’s eerie glow. On the river, barges and container ships moved slowly through the water, their lights reflecting off the surface like strands of Christmas lights.
He’d always liked being out at night, had always felt at home in the muffled darkness when all the normal people — the ones with office jobs and kids in school — slept.
He walked toward the main entrance and spotted Alek’s shadow, the glow of his cigarette just before he stomped it out underfoot.
“Everything okay?” Lyon asked as he approached.
