Claim

Now it was the perfect place to plot the demise of his enemies.

Ivan included.

He went to his office, a large but utilitarian space that had probably once belonged to the owner of the factory, or perhaps the foreman. By the time he’d gathered his things, Alek stood in the doorway, hands stuffed into his leather jacket.

Lyon shut the door to his office and Alek moved seamlessly into position beside him as they started for the metal stairs leading to the faculty floor.

They crossed the sea of concrete and exited through the large metal door, made sure it shut securely behind them, and started toward the black Range Rover parked near the edge of the concrete. Beyond it, the river ran through the city like a black serpent, glistening under a moonless sky.

Alek walked around to the driver’s seat, and a few seconds later the tires were crunching over broken concrete as they left the warehouse’s large lot.

“Anyone nervous?” Lyon asked.

“I don’t think so,” Alek said. “They’re on alert, but no one is questioning their decision to stand with you.”

David Chaban had almost gotten Lyon killed. Worse, he’d been working with Musa Shapiev, who had found Kira and beat her black and blue.

Lyon still had to fight against his rage when he thought about it, about Kira’s lovely face battered, her eyes haunted with pain she’d never before allowed him to see.

“Good,” Lyon said. “Let’s take nothing for granted.”

He didn’t think any of the men would dare turn traitor. He’d made sure they knew how he’d killed Musa, how he’d tortured the other man before finally allowing him to die. Still, money and power had a way of tempting even a good man. They would have to keep an eye out for signs that a war with Ivan was testing the men’s loyalty.

They passed the rest of the ride in silence. Lyon imagined himself already home, sitting at the table in front of the wall of glass in the penthouse, candlelight flickering over Kira’s face as they ate a quiet meal together.

It had become his favorite time of day. She’d taken to cooking for him, something that had come as a surprise, and he’d watch over the table as her expression slowly relaxed throughout the meal. They would talk about renovations to the house, or the work she was overseeing to update Ludis.

Sometimes, they even talked about the bratva, although he was still careful about what he revealed on that front. It wasn’t that he thought her a traitor, that he didn’t trust her with the business dealings of the organization.

It was his heart he couldn’t risk. Not again.

Sharing the business with her felt like opening the door to their old intimacy, to the commiseration they’d begun to enjoy before she left him. It was a relationship he’d never had with a woman, and that made it different.

Made her different.

Except he couldn’t afford to think of her that way anymore — or he couldn’t afford to let her know he did anyway.

Better that he should see her the way he had when they first married — as one component in his strategy to take over the bratva. A woman with a last name that commanded respect in the organization.

The only time he allowed himself to lower the barrier he’d built between them was in bed each night after dinner. Then he would lose himself in the tangle of her limbs, the ivory satin of her skin. He would plunder her with his mouth and cock, take possession of her with a hunger he didn’t dare show when they were clothed.

And he wasn’t the only one who would lower the wall between them. Kira would open like a flower, panting his name, her moans running hot through his blood as he made her come again and again.

He cursed his cock, hardening at the mere thought of her. He kept thinking (hoping?) he would grow tired of her body. That if he fucked her often enough, she would cease to be such a potent drug.

Not yet. Not yet.

The car stopped and Lyon realized they’d made it all the way across town while he’d been thinking about her. It wasn’t unusual. He’d spent decades plotting his takeover of the bratva, treating his life like a chess game he was determined to win.

But Kira had a way of turning him upside down and inside out, of making him want to abandon all reason in the name of possessing her.

He said goodbye to Alek at the elevator lobby. He could already imagine the quiet music that would be playing in the apartment when he arrived, the smell of Kira’s cooking. Would it be the plov she’d made for him when they’d first been married? Or one of the steaks she somehow always cooked to perfection?

But when the elevator doors slid open, it wasn’t to music.

It was to silence.

It was only after he’d hung his coat and started down the hall leading to the living area that he heard the murmur of conversation.

He caught Kira’s voice as he grew closer to the living room. And then, a woman, the Russian accent jolting through him with a thunderbolt of familiarity.

But no… it couldn’t be.

He rounded the corner into the living room and took inventory: Kira perched at the edge of one of the modern side chairs, her face drawn with worry, and across from her, a stylish older woman, her black hair pulled back so tightly it stretched her features thin.

Her gaze flickered from Kira to Lyon as he entered the room. She remained seated, studying him with only mild interest while Kira rose to her feet. Lyon could tell she was off-balance, but he suspected no one else would have noticed.

His wife was very good at hiding her feelings. Perhaps even as good as him.

“Lyon,” she said smoothly. “I’m so glad you’re home.”

He walked toward her, kissed her velvety cheek, and turned to the woman sitting across from her.

“Hello, Mother. To what do we owe this pleasure?”