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“Kira Baranov Antonov.” Kira whispered the words as she looked out over the river snaking below the warehouse’s giant second-floor windows.
It was something she’d taken to doing in the month since Lyon had been kidnapped — since he’d been taken from her.
She used all her names in these dark moments: her first name because it was given to her by her parents and represented her truest self, her family name because it represented the strength of the Baranovs, leaders of the bratva since before it was brought to America, back when the fighting was done on the streets of Russia, everyone willing to kill for the few scraps available during the Cold War.
And Antonov, the name that had become dearest to her because it was given to her by her husband.
The Lion.
“Where are you, Lyon?” she murmured. Chicago was still chilly at night in May, even inside the warehouse that was Lyon’s headquarters, and her breath fogged the window.
She missed him with a fierceness that stole her breath, that made her feel as if her heart was being crushed in the fist of agiant, unseen hand. She didn’t allow herself to think about it too often. The pain was overwhelming and she might find herself doubled over, or even sinking to her knees, great sobs pulled from her throat until she thought she might lose consciousness from the sheer agony of it.
It wasn’t good for the baby.
That was her focus now: the baby growing inside her and rescuing Lyon from the hands of the men who’d taken him during their second wedding.
Then, making them pay.
She spun the rings on one finger of her left hand, then drew a breath for courage as she slid both of them off.
She’d had to add the one on top — an old ring that had once been slightly too big for her finger — to keep her wedding band in place. She hadn’t been eating enough, and she’d panicked when, a couple of weeks after Lyon’s abduction, her wedding band had fallen to the floor in the shower.
She’d scrambled to retrieve it and had only then noticed the inscription on the inside of the band.
For my malen'kiy sokol. Ya obozhayu tebya.
For my little falcon. I adore you.
It had brought her to her knees, dripping and sobbing in the shower, her chest heaving. She didn’t know why Lyon hadn’t told her the inscription was there when he proposed. Maybe he’d wanted it to be a surprise. Maybe he’d just wanted her to find it on her own, an Easter egg they would both smile over together.
Whatever the reason, it had almost broken her.
She’d added the second ring — a tighter fit now than her wedding band — to keep the gold band in place. Gradually, her feelings had changed when she dared to look at the inscription.
Now, she felt only determination.
She was going to find her husband and bring him home.
She slipped the rings back on her finger and touched a hand to the gun strapped to her thigh under her dress. She never went anywhere without it now, and its weight brought her comfort.
If Vadim’s men came for her first, she would be ready.
“Almost ready?”
The voice behind her made her jump, but she knew immediately it was Alek. It was always Alek these days. Since Lyon’s kidnapping, he’d rarely left her side. He drove her everywhere and had even moved into the penthouse, hardly necessary since she had Rurik there, and Annie too, although her dear friend was more comfort than protection.
She turned to face him, the pool table used by the men during their downtime between them. “How much longer?”
His face fell. “I don’t know.”
It wasn’t what she wanted to hear. They’d spent the last month assembling the men, Lyon’s innermost circle and others, soldiers drafted from the streets.
It wasn’t ideal. Normally, each man would have been high-ranking and experienced, carefully vetted by Alek and approved by Lyon, but Lyon had just gotten his team together when he’d come under threat, first from Musa and then the unseen enemy from Russia they now knew was Vadim Ivanov.
There weren’t enough men in the inner circle, not for the kind of rescue they would need to stage when they finally figured out where Vadim was keeping Lyon.
