2
Outside the old factory windows, the sky was inky, another day at its end. Lyon Antonov sat at the head of the conference table and studied the men seated around it. He’d expected his bid for control of the bratva to be over by now, but he was pleased with the men fighting by his side.
They were going to win.
It was just a matter of time.
“Thank you for coming.” It was an unnecessary pleasantry. Lyon was pakhan, boss of the Chicago bratva. His men would come when they were told, with or without pleasantries.
But morale was an important part of good leadership. He wanted his men to feel like they were key parts of a larger whole, wanted them to feel appreciated.
Unless they betrayed him.
Then he would see them dead.
He waited as the men murmured greetings to continue. “I’ve made a decision.”
They watched him carefully. It had been three weeks since he’d confronted Ivan Demenov. Ivan, his mentor, the closest thing Lyon had to a father since his own father’s death.
Ivan, his betrayer.
“We will launch a bid to win over the Spies,” Lyon said.
Stefan blinked, confusion clear in his blue eyes. “Win them over? But Ivan is one of them.”
“Exactly.” Lyon didn’t fault Stefan his confusion. He was coming along, but he was still young, still learning that power was a matter of strategy as much as force.
Ivan was the most senior member of the Two Spies, the governing body of the bratva, which was why Lyon had thought it was a boon to have the man on his side during the years when he’d been plotting his takeover of the bratva.
But he hadn’t counted on Ivan’s betrayal. Hadn’t factored the possibility that Ivan was using him to clear a path, to eliminate other rivals, so that Ivan himself could assume the throne.
And he definitely hadn’t considered that the powers-that-be in Russia were working through his old friend.
“There is no way to eliminate Ivan and keep Lyon alive,” Luka said to Stefan.
Lyon nodded, grateful all over again for Kira’s foresight in enlisting Luka’s wife, Nadia, in their cause. Luka was old enough to be wise but not so old that he’d fallen into the habit of perpetual complaint.
“Ivan is untouchable by violence.” Lyon looked from Stefan to the other men around the table — Luka, Oleg, Rupert, Markus, and Alek, the last being Lyon’s right-hand man. “And if Moscow is working behind Ivan, eliminating him won’t do us any good anyway.”
“How do we go about such a thing?” Oleg asked, reaching around his large stomach for another kartoshka from the platter in the center of the conference table. His thinning gray hair revealed a patch of shiny skin at the crown.
Lyon could already hear the subtle whine in his voice. The man could find himself sitting on a pot of money with a beautiful woman on either side and he’d still find a way to complain.
“Carefully,” Lyon said. “I’ve already spoken to Borya.”
That they had Borya Kamenev on their side was another credit to his wife. Kira had enlisted Borya’s loyalty through his sister, Annie, in exchange for an eventual position with the Spies. Appointing Borya to the council was one of the first things Lyon had done when he’d risen to the role of pakhan. He’d known immediately it would be an advantageous appointment, more proof that Kira had a knack for strategy.
He had a flash of her in his bed: blond hair spread on the pillow, naked body warm and pliable, cheeks flush from her latest orgasm.
His cock lurched in his trousers, a familiar Pavlovian response anytime he thought of her. His obsession with his wife was dangerous. Wanting her was one thing, but wanting her made him want to trust her, and that was something else entirely.
“So Borya will begin bringing the other men over to our side.” Alek’s voice brought Lyon back to the matter at hand.
Did Alek know Lyon had been daydreaming about Kira? Perhaps. Alek had been there since the beginning, had seen Lyon’s relationship with Kira morph from an aloof arranged marriage to a love Lyon had never admitted, had seen through Lyon’s wrath to his devastation when Kira had abandoned him after the murder of her father.
“He will plant the seeds of distrust,” Lyon said. “We will water and cultivate them.”
“And if it doesn’t work?” Oleg asked.
“There are other plans in motion,” Lyon said.
They didn’t need to know that Lyon had visited his father’s old friend, Tolya. That Tolya had put out feelers in Russia. That Lyon was doing his own digging to identify the person or people behind Ivan who had used Lyon to clear a path for their own power.
“In the meantime, we get to work on the Spies.” He rose to his feet, suddenly eager to be home. He looked at the men around the table. “This is a time for caution. Ivan will move quickly now that I know he wants to replace me as pakhan.”
Oleg looked alarmed. “Surely he won’t move aggressively against you. You are still pakhan.”
“It’s not the moves we see coming I’m worried about,” Lyon said. “Trust no one outside of this room and Borya. Ivan’s plans have been in play for some time. There’s no telling who he has on his side — or who he might bring there. Best to keep all our pieces on the board as long as we can.”
The irony wasn’t lost on Lyon. Ivan would have approved of the reference to chess.
Lyon left the room and walked down the hall. Below the mezzanine where the offices were located, the factory floor stretched dark and quiet. He’d never been more grateful for his purchase of the warehouse those many years ago. To the best of his knowledge, no one but the men knew it existed. It had been the perfect place from which to launch his bid for pakhan.