19
Kira stood on the terrace overlooking Lake Michigan and sipped from a steaming mug of tea. The ice was melting on the lake’s surface, a sign of impending spring that matched her mood. She felt like she was waking from a long winter, blinking at the sun as if not quite sure it was real.
She had no right to feel so good. Lyon was still in danger, their entire life built on the unstable foundation of his leadership over the bratva.
And yet for the first time since her marriage to Lyon, she was happy.
They’d returned home from New York a couple of days earlier with their relationship transformed. Lyon had promptly moved into her bedroom — this in spite of what he called the “infernal chirping” from Dimitri and Odette — and proclaimed he wouldn’t spend another night under the same roof as his wife without sharing her bed.
He’d insisted they share a suite in the new house as well, and Kira had called the architect to make a series of changes to what had initially been planned as a two-suite second floor.
Now, the two suites would be combined into one large private space for them to share, including a lavish bathroom with a shower and tub generously sized for two. There would also be a small nursery adjoining the primary bedroom suite, allowing the baby to be close while he or she was still small.
She’d designed the third floor to include several bedrooms with private baths. They would be guest rooms in the short term, but the baby could move to one of the larger rooms as it grew, and Kira hoped to fill at least some of the others with more children, a feat that wouldn’t be difficult if their current pace of lovemaking continued.
Warmth spread through her center. She wouldn’t have thought it possible, but Lyon had grown even more ravenous in bed, alternating between a hunger that would have frightened her if it hadn’t been matched by her own and tenderness that sometimes brought tears to her eyes.
Now if they could only neutralize Ivan, and whoever was working behind him with Aksana.
She drew in a breath and turned from the balcony. Aksana was a thorn in her side, one that drew more blood with each passing day. Kira vacillated between allowing her mother-in-law to stay and telling her to leave, although Lyon was willing to put up with her to keep her close.
Kira saw the merit in the strategy, but she wasn’t entirely convinced it was wise to give Aksana such proximity to their home. They were careful not to talk business within earshot of her, and Lyon had taken to having the house swept for listening devices, but when it came to Russia, nothing could be taken for granted. They were experts in surveillance and psychological warfare, their use of Aksana both brilliant and cruel.
She opened the glass doors and stepped into the warmth of the penthouse.
Zoya glared daggers at her while she cleaned the kitchen island, no doubt annoyed to be left alone with Aksana, who sat, as always, at the dining table staring at her phone.
“Hello,” Kira said. Aksana had been gone when Kira woke up that morning and must have returned while Kira was out on the terrace. “What have you been up to today?”
She was always trying to get information out of Aksana and she was always disappointed. Aksana was a concrete wall, Kira’s questions an ice pick.
“I took breakfast out this morning, then did some shopping,” Aksana said vaguely.
“How lovely,” Kira said. “Please let me know if you’d ever like company.”
She had to force the words from her mouth, intent on playing the dutiful daughter-in-law even as it was obvious Aksana had little warmth for her.
The feeling is mutual, witch.
“Perhaps my son would like to spend time with his mother,” she said without looking up from her phone. “If he can make the time.”
Anger zipped through Kira’s veins. “Your son is busy running the bratva. You should be proud.”
“Yes, well, Lyon has always been a bit of a cold fish,” Aksana said. “Even as a child, he wasn’t easy to love.”
Kira had to take a breath to keep from exploding. “Perhaps his coldness was a mirror to the indifference received at his mother’s knee.”
She spun to leave the room before Aksana could respond. She’d lost her temper, something she’d been determined not to do with her mother-in-law. It was a sign of weakness, and one Lyon couldn’t afford.
He needed Kira to be strong. To be smart.
Aksana had baited her and she’d fallen for it.
She left her half-empty mug on the counter. “I’ll be at the house,” she said to Zoya.
She felt badly leaving Zoya to deal with Aksana, but she didn’t trust herself to remain in the older woman’s presence without losing her cool again.
She used her phone to text Rurik as she hurried to the hall. His door opened at the end of the guest wing as she was shoving her feet into her shoes.
“Everything okay?” he asked, catching the expression on her face.
“Fine,” she said, shoving her arms into her coat. “Let’s go.”
The piano had been set for relocation first thing that morning. The movers should be finished, with Jean-Luc long gone by now.