Claim

“I can stay…”

She smiled. “It’s fine. Go.”

He nodded almost reluctantly. “See you later this week?”

“I’ll be here,” she said. “Let me know when the soundproofing is installed.”

“Will do.” He tapped the door frame on his way out, and she waited until she heard the front door close behind him to leave the music room.

She wandered slowly through the wide hall that ran the length of the first floor. The old wallpaper had been stripped, and she was waiting for the kitchen to be done to have paper installed to avoid having it dinged by the new cabinets and appliances that would be brought into the house.

She could see it as it would be when it was finished, the old wood floors restored and gleaming, the deep crown molding highlighting the high ceilings and generous rooms. She’d had the light fixtures she wanted to keep removed for cleaning and restoration, and had asked the construction people to reuse as many of the house’s old materials as possible.

It was an old house, and she wanted to honor its history as she built a home for her family.

Tears pricked her eyes as she turned the corner into the front parlor.

Family.

It was hard to think of without conjuring her father. He would have loved this house, would have loved that he was about to be a grandfather.

She took a deep breath and pushed the thought aside. She didn’t want to be sad anymore. Not now, when there was so much to be done. She’d spent months being sad.

Now was the time for action.

She would make Lyon a home. A real one, with books and music and good food and children. And she would make Ludis, the club she’d given him as a wedding gift, the crown jewel of Lyon’s holdings. It would be a place where he and his men could gather and relax, a place befitting his role as boss of the Antonov bratva.

Maybe then he would trust her again.

Maybe then he would believe she loved him, assuming she ever got up the courage to tell him.

The piano was still in front of the big bay window where it had been when Lyon presented it to her. She paused, lifting the cover and playing a few bars of Chopin before closing it again. She wouldn’t have the piano moved until the music room was done, then she would work on the parlor, although it didn’t need much other than an update and the removal of the wall between it and the kitchen.

She continued into the kitchen, making mental lists of the things she needed to do over the next few days. Wanting the house to be perfect, she’d been acting as her own general contractor, coordinating the craftspeople who seemed to work on the house at all hours and taking charge of the design herself.

It was a renovation that was happening in tandem with the redesign of Ludis, and she found she enjoyed the work and seemed to have a knack for it.

It was nice to have something to focus on besides the complicated relationship with her husband, the danger he was in — the danger they were both in — as he continued to battle for control of the bratva. Until Ivan was removed as a threat, until they knew who he was working with in Russia, Lyon’s leadership would be tenuous.

She took a quick look at the kitchen —gutted until the special order cabinets arrived in a couple of weeks — then made sure the lights were off and made her way back to the front door.

She pulled on her coat — it was still cold in Chicago in March — and stepped onto the porch, then turned to lock the door with the keypad she’d had installed as part of the newly designed security system that would be installed in phases as the house was completed.

When the door was locked, she turned to the giant man sitting on a chair on the porch, his feet propped on the porch’s elaborate railing.

“You really should come inside,” she said. “It’s freezing, especially this time of day.”

Rurik stood. “I like the fresh air.”

“If you say so,” she said.

He stepped in front of her in a gesture she’d gotten used to. It was a move designed to protect her, something Lyon had been adamant about when he’d reassigned Rurik to her private security detail.

The assignment had confirmed something she’d always believed to be true about the man Lyon had once called a house manager: Rurik was no butler.

He was a giant of a man, almost as big as Lyon himself, and he was always armed under his suit jacket. His blue eyes were watchful, and he moved like a predator in spite of his attempts at remaining under the radar.

They headed for the car and Rurik opened the rear door and waited while she climbed into the backseat.

A few minutes later, they were headed around the fountain in front of the house and down the tree-lined drive.

She was eager to get home and make dinner for Lyon, to sit with him at the table in front of the penthouse’s wall of windows. Then, they would go to bed, the only place either of them told the truth, the one place their bodies couldn’t lie.

* * *