AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“To clarify the terms of my appointment, upon leaving this room, I will be made pakhan of the bratva,” Lyon said. “You will immediately announce your wholehearted support of this appointment to the rest of the organization. I will immediately reap all benefits and privileges, financial and otherwise. As pakhan, I will seek out Musa Shapiev and dispense of him in a way that makes it clear to all members of our organization that any challenge to my authority will be met with swift and unyielding authority. I will do this not because this body had ordered me to do so, not because it is a contingency of my appointment, but because I choose to do so. Because I know it is the only way to receive the unequivocal endorsement of the soldiers and brigadiers who make up the majority of our ranks.”
The last part was important. Lyon would kill Musa, but he would do so only because it was the wise thing to do in light of their rivalry — not because he’d been ordered by the Spies.
He was the Lion, and he took orders from no one.
Not even them.
“That is correct,” Ivan said.
Lyon felt a rush of affection for the man staring back at him. He wouldn’t have been surprised if this deal had been struck by Ivan. Lyon’s mentor was an expert at planting seeds, at making others think an idea had been theirs when it had been Ivan’s all along.
Lyon’s leadership of the bratva in exchange for the removal of Musa Shapiev as a future threat? That was a deal for which Lyon could see Ivan lobbying the other Spies, especially in light of the current power vacuum and lack of other potential leaders.
“I accept your terms,” Lyon said. “I accept the title of pakhan from this moment forward, and I vow to honor our organization with wise and thoughtful leadership.”
And with force, when required, Lyon thought.
The Spies nodded and stood.
“So it is,” Ivan said. He smiled. “Congratulations.”
Lyon approached the table and made his way down its length, shaking the hands of the men behind it, thanking them for their faith in him. And all the while, a triumphant voice resounded in his head.
It’s done.
When he was finished, he strode to the door leading to the anteroom where Markus waited. He paused with his hand on the door, then turned to look at the Spies across the room.
“One more thing.”
They waited.
“With all due respect, Viktor Baranov is dead. From this moment forward, we will be referred to as the Antonov bratva.”
He didn’t wait for their reaction to step through the door.
His phone buzzed in his pocket as he stepped into the other room. He dared a glance, his pulse quickening when he saw the text from Alek.
We got her. On our way back now.
He slipped the phone in his pocket. Kira Baranov — Kira Antonov — didn’t have to love him, but the Baranov name still held weight in the bratva.
She would honor their agreement.
Whether she wanted to or not.
3
Kira’s eyes drifted open. She quickly shut them, moaning against the mistake. Her head pounded with the weight of a thousand jackhammers, the space behind her eyes pulsing with pain.
She lay there in the dark and let it all come back to her: the bike ride into Eastsound, the errands, her ascent up the hill to the cottage.
And then, the black SUV, the man who’d chased her and shoved her to the ground. The pity in Alek’s eyes as he’d apologized for what was to come.
She opened her eyes, suddenly in a hurry to get her bearings, and looked around.
She was in a large bedroom, lavishly appointed with antique furniture. The bed on which she lay was thick and piled with fine linens and enough pillows to prop up an elephant, the headboard elegantly carved.
On one side of the room, sunlight streamed in through large windows, casting a column of golden light on the richly patterned carpets that lined worn wood floors.
