Page 71 of Captivate

The waiter delivered their food, and the conversation turned to lighter fare as Kira dug into a fluffy stack of pancakes with blueberries and bananas. They talked about a trip to Paris Annie hoped to take in the spring — she asked Kira if Kira would consider coming along — and about the kitchen renovation Annie was overseeing in the house she shared with Borya.

The coffee was hot and rich, the food delicious, the conversation light and easy. It was the closest Kira had come to having a friend since she’d been in college, and even then, she’d had to keep her distance, to be careful what she divulged about her personal life, avoid inviting people to the house she’d shared with her father.

By the time they’d each had a third cup of coffee, Kira was satiated with good food and what felt like the beginning of real friendship. Two hours after Kira had arrived, they parted ways with hugs, cheek kisses, and promises to do it again soon.

The cold was a shock to Kira’s system after the warmth of the restaurant, and she hurried toward the side street where she’d parked her car. The sky had grown darker while she’d been inside, the wind fiercer, and she dug in her coat pocket for the leather gloves she’d forgotten to put on.

It forced her to slow her steps as she crossed a small alley, a mistake she realized too late.

One minute she was walking, stuffing her hands into the gloves.

The next she was being pulled behind a dumpster in the alley. She barely had time to register that she’d been grabbed, barely had time to kick and try to scream before she was thrown against the brick wall of a neighboring building.

Her head smacked against the brick and light exploded behind her eyes. When her vision cleared, she realized she was on the ground, back against the brick.

Musa Shapiev stood in front of her, his eyes shining with feverish hatred. “If it isn’t the Lion’s whore.”

She should have been scared, but a strange calm had settled over her as she stared up at him.

Her husband was the Lion. A king.

This man was just a feral animal.

“You’re making a mistake,” she said.

He bent down and lifted her off the ground by the lapels of her coat. “He thinks he’s in charge? He can’t even protect you.”

“He’s going to kill you.” She smiled. “Maybe he’ll even let me watch.”

She didn’t have time to think about her foolishness, about what had compelled her to bait the man who held her fate in his hands.

She blacked out with the first punch.

35

Lyon poured vodka into two glasses and crossed the room to hand one of them to Ivan. A fire burned in the hearth, Ivan’s study warm and smelling of burning wood and the old books that lined the shelves. Everywhere Lyon looked, he saw evidence of their shared history: Russian art and books, even a Soviet chess set, unique in its unusually tall, smooth pieces.

“Thank you, my boy,” Ivan said. He took a drink and set his glass on the side table at his elbow. “My mind feels as young as ever, but these cold winters are getting harder on this old body.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Lyon said, taking the chair opposite Ivan. “You’re as spry as I’ve ever seen you.”

Ivan waved away the comment. “You flatter me, Lyonya.”

It wasn’t true of course. Ivan was nearly eighty, his hair turned silver, frame turned fleshy. His hands were covered with age spots, and the lines etched into his face seemed deeper by the year.

But Lyon didn’t want to think about losing Ivan. He’d already lost too much.

“Wisdom is preferable to youth," Lyon said, swirling the vodka in his glass.

Ivan raised his glass. “Easy for you to say.”

Lyon laughed. It was nice to be with Ivan in his study, drinking and talking. They’d had to be careful during the fifteen years when Lyon had been working the streets. Ivan couldn’t be seen as favoring him over the other men.

Then, when Lyon had been actively vying for pakhan, they’d had to be even more careful to ensure Ivan wasn’t seen as putting his finger on the scale.

Now, the heavy lifting was done. Lyon would cover his bases, pay visits to the other Spies as a gesture of gratitude for their faith in him, but he was pakhan now.

He would do as he pleased.

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