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Home was with him.
She used the bathroom and rinsed her face with cold water, then stepped out into the hall.
She’d stopped work on the house during Lyon’s absence — both because she’d been focused on finding him and because shehadn’t been sure they would still move into it — but the second-floor landing had already been completed, and the vibrant floral wallpaper looked cheerful in the bright morning light.
Her hand glided across the polished mahogany banister as she made her way down the stairs, the murmur of conversation growing louder as she approached the first floor.
She followed the sound down the long hallway that ran the length the house, past the living room and library, the music room with the grand piano that had been a gift from Lyon, the richly paneled room that was meant to be Lyon’s office.
They were in the kitchen at the back of the house — Lyon, Alek, Rurik, and Markus — in the middle of what looked like a heated debate about whether they had enough men to go after Vadim’s headquarters, assuming they could even locate it.
Lyon’s beautiful face was a mess, his ribs taped under the T-shirt she’d brought him from the house. They were just two of an assortment of wounds Anatoly had addressed before Kira got to the house, and she had the sudden urge to spirit Lyon away from this place, this place with bagels and paper coffee cups scattered across the marble island that was meant to be used for baking with their child in the home she’d planned as a peaceful oasis from the violence that was destined to be part of their lives.
She wanted to take him somewhere quiet, make him hot coffee and a warm meal, force him to sleep and sleep, because she already knew her husband had no intention of resting.
Already knew he couldn’t.
“The men are tired and beaten,” Alek pointed out. “Some of them are still nursing wounds from the invasion. We stretched them thin to get you out, but they’re only men. At some point, they’re going to need rest.”
“Rest means reinforcements,” Rurik said.
Lyon scowled, and Kira knew his brilliant mind was at work, moving the pieces on the board around, trying to see into thefuture, to get a glimpse of every possibility, every potential outcome.
“I can’t ask Roman to risk more,” he said.
Kira understood his concern. Roman was himself in a precarious position in New York. Igor Kalashnik, Roman’s father and head of the New York bratva, had no idea his son was using a handful of loyalists to help Chicago. Roman had agreed to the arrangement as part of a trade — he would help Lyon secure power in Chicago, and in return, Lyon would help him seize power from his father, a hard man who seemed to have no intention of passing the keys to the New York kingdom, not even to his son.
This, despite the fact that Igor was ninety-years-old and the New York territory was mired in the past, old business practices and a refusal to embrace the future of organized crime keeping the territory from flourishing as it once had.
If Igor found out Roman was helping Lyon without his permission, there would be hell to pay. Kira barely knew Roman, and yet she was afraid for him. She wouldn’t put it past Igor to kill his own son simply to send a message to his men.
“I think you can,” Alek said. “He’s helped you here, but the help you’ll be required to give in return will be far greater than sending a handful of loyalists to help him take New York from Igor.”
Markus tapped his fingers on the marble counter. “Aren’t we getting ahead of ourselves? We don’t even know the location of Vadim’s headquarters. We don’t know how many men he has left, or what an offensive attack would look like, and we also have to stop the bleeding in our territory.”
Kira winced. She’d done her best while Lyon was gone, but they’d been stretched thin. Vadim’s men had been harassing businesses under the protection of the Antonov bratva, stealing trucks commandeered by Lyon’s men, beating the drivers.
They’d obviously wanted information out of Lyon to make their transition to power easier but had been paving the way to take the territory by force if Lyon didn’t cooperate.
“None of that matters,” Lyon said firmly. He still had dark shadows under his eyes, whether from lack of sleep or trauma or both, Kira didn’t know. “We won’t let Vadim Ivanov take the Chicago territory, and if we don’t stop him, that’s what he’s going to do. We’ll ask Roman for more help, ask the Syndicate if we have to.” His expression hardened. “Whatever it takes, we will do. Whatever sacrifice must be made, we will make.”
Kira pushed off the wall and entered the kitchen. The men turned their gazes on her, but she saw only Lyon and the way his eyes warmed as she came toward him.
She linked her arm through his. “When do we start?”
14
Lyon held Kira’s hand in the dimly lit doctor’s office, waiting while an ultrasound technician named Patty moved the wand over Kira’s smooth, swollen stomach. He’d known he was missing part of the pregnancy when he’d been locked up, but it hadn’t fully hit him until he’d seen her at the Lake Forest house.
She was still his little falcon, his Kira, his wife. But where before there had only been the suggestion of roundness, her body had grown ripe with promise. Laying on the bed next to her as he’d fallen into sleep, he’d felt their child move inside her and something primal had clicked into place inside him.
A sense of ownership, a determination to protect at any cost.
Now he was going to see their baby for the first time, and he felt a combination of excitement and nerves, as if he might be found wanting by the tiny being coming into focus on the screen.
“Alrighty,” Patty said, studying the screen. She was an older woman with red hair and kind blue eyes. There had been no way to explain that he’d found out about Kira’s pregnancy late and had then been held prisoner by a fearsome former KGB agent, but Lyon had detected no note of judgement when he’d told herit was his first sonogram. “There’s the head,” she said, tracing the round image on the screen, “and you can see the body here.”
Kira squeezed his hand and he tore his eyes away from the image on the screen to stare down at her. She looked as beautiful as ever, the pink blouse she wore bringing out the blush in her cheeks, her flaxen hair falling in waves around her shoulders.
