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She nodded gratefully at Markus, who had been at the warehouse to greet the men. Kira understood what Lyon hadseen in the dark-haired giant. With Alek by her side 24/7, Markus had become indispensable, taking over many of the field duties once assigned to Alek.
A low murmur sounded from the men as they conversed, but it came to a stop as they realized Kira was in their midst. The respect they’d shown her since the wedding when she’d led the armed gunman away from their wives and children had taken some getting used to. It wasn’t the way she’d planned to gain a foothold in the bratva when she’d married Lyon.
No one was more surprised than her to realize that she’d give it all back if it meant Lyon was safe and in charge again.
She walked to the front of the assembled crowd, her heels clicking on the concrete floor of the factory warehouse. The morning sun shone through the high factory windows, dust motes dancing in the light, but the space was so cavernous the edges of it were still filled with shadows.
She looked out at the sea of faces staring at her for leadership and felt a moment of panic. Maybe she wasn’t up to this after all. She could be sending some of these men to their deaths. Could be creating widows and fatherless children.
But no. They could not allow Vadim Ivanov to take over the bratva. It wasn’t just the money they would lose, the power. She’d read enough about Vadim to know that he was devoid of loyalty to the men in his employ, that he still favored tactics used by the KGB during the Cold war.
Worse, he had a sociopathic son bent on making a name for himself, one who’d been arrested at least twice and had been briefly committed to an institution in his early twenties.
These men and their families were safer under Lyon’s leadership. She could only hope they agreed.
“Good morning,” she said, forcing her voice steady, making sure it carried through the crowd. “Thank you for coming so last minute.”
They murmured their acknowledgment and she continued.
“As you know, we’ve been trying to figure out where Vadim Ivanov is holding your pakhan, my husband, Lyonya Antonov. We’d narrowed the possibilities to three. Those three are now two. It had been my intention to wait until we could be sure where he was being held, but I no longer believe that is wise.” She paused. “I won’t lie to you. We don’t know for a fact that Lyon is at either of these locations. It’s possible we’ll breach them only to find them empty, or worse, to find all of Vadim Ivanov’s men staging from these locations. Either way, we’ll almost certainly be outnumbered if we split into two groups, even with the additional help I’ve procured from New York.”
They knew Ivanov’s men were staging from somewhere, because there had already been reports of them making inquiries into Lyon’s holdings, harassing some of the businesses under protection of the bratva, hijacking their trucks, vandalizing buildings. She’d considered leading with this as an argument for rescuing Lyon, then decided against it.
She wouldn’t lead with fear. They respected Lyon’s leadership. Appreciated the respect he showed them and their families, the increased pay they’d received under his rule.
They knew what was at stake if Vadim took control.
“Which is why I leave this decision to you,” she continued. “It’s your risk to take or refuse. No man will be punished for opting out of it. I know what I’m asking of you, of your families, and I won’t fault any of you for doing what you feel is best. You have my word.” She made eye contact with as many of the men as possible. “You’re here because I trust you, becausewetrust you. That won’t change should you decide this is a risk you’re not willing to take.”
She exhaled. Whatever they decided, she’d done all she could.
“I’ll leave you alone to discuss,” she said. “Take all the time you need.”
She wasn’t even halfway to the stairs when a voice rang out behind her.
“When do we leave?”
8
The screw had become part of him. He’d been holding it so long — through so much — that he couldn’t remember what it felt like not to have it. It bit into the skin of his palm, but the sensation was only vaguely felt through the wounds that covered his body.
He had to move.
He was falling into complacence, could feel the will leaving his body. The X cut into his chest by Sergei had done something to him, as if the last of his determination had leaked to the floor with the blood that was dried and crusted on his torso.
Also, he was tired. He didn’t dare fall asleep. If he fell asleep, he would drop the screw, and then he’d never get out of here. Never get back to Kira and their baby.
So he’d stayed awake, trying to console himself with the thought that he had the screw.
That he would make them all pay.
Sergei Ivanov, included.
Sergei Ivanov, especially, for the crime of threatening Kira.
He’d been allowing himself to think of Kira more often since Sergei had left. She wasn’t his weakness, she was his strength, and he used his desire to return to her as fuel to stay awake.
To live.
