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Ivan got to his feet slowly and with effort, then ambled toward the record player turning on a carved table against the wall. He turned the music down, and it receded into the background, as much as Rimsky-Korsakov could recede.
“That’s better,” Ivan said, ambling toward the crystal decanters lined up on one of the bookshelves. “Come in, my boy. You look like you could use a drink.”
Lyon stepped slowly into the room. He surveyed it by habit and found it empty, although he hadn’t been overly concerned about being met with force. What Ivan had planned to do to him had already been done, and Ivan wasn’t finished with him yet.
Ivan poured, and when he turned Lyon dropped his eyes to the clear liquid in the glasses.
“I’d prefer bourbon,” he said.
Ivan tipped his head in disappointed understanding and returned to the bar.
This time when he turned around, one of the glasses held an inch of amber liquid. Lyon lowered himself into the second chair by the fire — the one he’d always thought of as his — and watched as Ivan crossed the room.
He handed the bourbon to Lyon with a wrinkle of his nose. “You might have showered.”
“Thought you might like to see your handiwork,” Lyon said, downing the bourbon in one shot.
Ivan sighed and returned to his chair. “I admit I’ve always been loathe to know the details. Broad strokes. That has always been my specialty.”
“Leave the dirty work to the grunts on the street,” Lyon said. “Smart.”
Ivan shrugged. “We all have our areas of expertise.”
Lyon met Ivan’s eyes. “And what is mine? Errand boy? Punching bag? Hired gun?”
“Ah, you do yourself a disservice,” Ivan said. “You’re too smart to be any of those things alone.”
“If I’d been smart, I would have seen this coming.” Lyon shook his head, shame and sorrow mingling in his chest. “I didn’t.”
“Don’t be too hard on yourself, Lyonya. It’s been a… complicated operation, one that has unfolded over many years, with many moving pieces.” Ivan took a delicate sip of his vodka. “We were very careful.”
“We?”
“All of those years, all of those moving pieces… they took a lot of effort to navigate. I couldn’t do it alone,” Ivan said. “And it wasn’t difficult to find assistance. The Chicago organization had been headed for a fall for some time. We need new blood. Or old blood, as it were.”
“I thought I was the new blood, Ivan.” Lyon hated the disappointment in his voice, hated that he felt stung by what Ivan had done to him.
Ivan nodded. “That was by design. A necessary illusion, I’m afraid.”
Lyon wished he had the energy to pour himself another bourbon. “If Moscow wanted to install its own leader, why didn’t it simply do it?”
“Ah, but we both know it wouldn’t have been that easy, Lyonya. There are always obstacles, and sometimes those obstacles are hidden. Then they come as a surprise, and precious resources must be used to navigate that surprise.”
“So you used me,” Lyon said. “You used me to flush out the obstacles — brigadiers like Yakov and Musa, like Vas.”
“Not just them,” Ivan said, pinning him to the chair with his gaze.
“Me,” Lyon said. “You flushed me out as well.”
“As I’ve said, necessary. I knew you wouldn’t settle for being a soldier. Better to bring you out of the shadows, to make you work, make you tired, before Moscow takes over.”
“Except I’m not tired,” Lyon said, getting to his feet.
“Are you tempted to kill me?” Ivan asked. “I wouldn’t blame you. Betrayal is always most painful when it comes from love.”
Lyon thought of his father, sick and dying in prison, planning for Lyon’s future even as he knew he wouldn’t be around to see it. “You don’t know the meaning of love.”
“You’re wrong. I have loved you, like a son,” Ivan said.
