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Lyon watched their approach, the elaborate brick building and patinated copper domes drawing close as they left the Statue of Liberty — the ferry’s first stop — behind.
The sky was crystalline overhead, even this close to the city, the water sparkling like it had been cast with nets of white lights. He stood at the bow, breathing in the smell of sea water, the scent of car exhaust and concrete diminishing with the churn of the ferry’s motors.
About half of the passengers had disembarked at Lady Liberty. Several of the ones who’d stayed had joined him on the bow, taking pictures of the Island as they approached.
He was always a little surprised to be moved by it. It seemed like such a tourist trap, but it was impossible to watch the compound rise up out of the water and not think about the hundreds of thousands of immigrants who had had the same view under very different circumstances.
The boat slowed down as they approached the landing, and the passengers at the bow moved en masse toward the boat’s exit, jostling for position to leave.
Lyon waited until most of them had disembarked, then made his way off the boat and down the ramp. He followed the crowd inside, passing by a group who had stopped at the tour desk for pre-purchased tours and heading for the main reception area.
He found Roman Kalashnik standing in front of a large display of luggage, much of it left behind by immigrants coming through Ellis or lost by the baggage handlers of the era.
His back was to Lyon, but he would have recognized the other man from any angle. His hair was always a little too long, brushing against the collar of his impeccably tailored shirt.
He had a way of holding himself that suggested royalty, which made sense given his position as Igor Kalashnik’s son. Unlike Lyon, who had scraped and schemed his way to leadership in Chicago, Roman was the heir apparent in New York.
And yet, here he was, still one of his father’s underlings despite his father’s advanced age and obvious lack of interest in innovating for the twenty-first century.
Lyon stepped beside him and studied the luggage, arranged like a haphazard mountain, a sculpture of sorrow.
“I hope I didn’t keep you waiting,” Lyon said.
“I like to be early,” Roman said without looking at him.
Lyon knew this to be true. The first time he’d met with Roman — at Coney Island — Roman had been waiting too.
“Shall we walk?” Lyon asked.
In answer, Roman moved on to the next exhibit. His stride was long and easy, and Lyon was surprised to fall into companionable silence with the other man. They didn’t know each other well, and their first meeting had been full of tension.
Then, they’d each had their body men, and neither had known what to expect.
Now, they were united in a common cause, although Lyon’s was undoubtedly more urgent.
“You keep trying to kill me,” Roman said, coming to a stop in front of a map showing the countries whose citizens had come to America through the island.
“Hardly,” Lyon said. “I need you too much to want you dead.”
It pained him to admit it, to need anyone, but it was true. If the last year had proven anything, it was that being pakhan wasn’t a guarantee of safety. He couldn’t keep the role the way he’d captured it — alone.
He needed people he could trust. Allies.
“And yet, here you are,” Roman said.
It was an echo of something Lyon had said to Roman on their first meeting, and Lyon was struck by the circular nature of their association. He hoped one day soon it would come to an end and he would be the one offering aid to Roman.
“I thought an in-person meeting was in order,” Lyon said. “I wanted to say thank you while I’m in New York.”
Lyon preferred to see the people he worked with, to look in their eyes, read their expressions and body language. Too much was lost on the telephone and via text, and he couldn’t afford to make a mistake.
“Here to see Cavallo, I take it,” Roman said.
Lyon nodded. “They have a lab.”
“I envy them,” Roman’s voice was wistful and Lyon wondered whether he was referring to the Syndicate’s cyberlab or the relative peace that had existed in their organization since the fall of Raneiro Donati.
Both, probably.
