He nodded. “I didn’t mention it because I’ve learned absolutely nothing.”
“But where does she go when she leaves the apartment?” Kira asked, her curiosity piqued.
“Shopping mostly, sometimes to breakfast or lunch with an old acquaintance.”
Kira considered the possibilities. “Could she be passing messages through them to whoever she’s working with?”
“That’s my guess,” Lyon said. “Most of her old friends are more loyal to Russia than the people of our generation. But I can’t prove anything, and the men haven’t been able to get close enough to hear what’s being said.”
“What about putting a listening a device in her handbag?” Kira asked.
Lyon’s laughter echoed through the quiet room. “Has anyone ever told you you’re diabolical?”
She shrugged. “It might work.”
“It was something I was working on when you gave me the idea about Roman,” Lyon said. “I think that idea is a better one, a faster one.”
“And a riskier one,” Kira said, laying back on his chest.
“High risk, high reward,” Lyon said.
Except it was hitting her that the risk involved Lyon’s life. They couldn’t do nothing while Russia planned a coup of the bratva, but she had moments of paralysis where she was terrified of making any move for fear it would accelerate the threat to his safety.
“Roman should do it during our rehearsal dinner,” Kira said. It wouldn’t be a rehearsal dinner in the true sense of the word — the ceremony would be simple and didn’t require a rehearsal — but a pre-wedding dinner would be a good way to provide everyone with an alibi.
“You must be joking,” Lyon said.
She ran her hand over the muscled plane of his chest. “I’m not. We’ll invite all the men and their families, ensure everyone is accounted for so Russia can’t point a finger at you with any credibility.”
Now it was Lyon’s turn to sit up. She followed suit by necessity and let her eyes roam over her husband’s gloriously naked body. She never tired of looking at him.
“It’s our wedding. Our real wedding,” he said. “I don’t want you to feel pressured to use it in service to the bratva.”
“I don’t feel pressured,” she said. “Our lives are irrevocably intertwined with the bratva. It’s our work, our family beyond the one we’re building. It’s only right that we should use our wedding — our real wedding, as you put it — to solidify our leadership.”
For once, she didn’t hesitate to use the word our. Lyon had earned her trust by his inclusion of her in the plans being made for Ivan’s execution.
“Are you sure?” he asked.
“I’m sure,” she said. “We’ll have dinner catered at Ludis while Roman’s men take care of Ivan. Russia will be so blindsided, it will take them time to formulate another plan for taking over the organization.”
He leaned in and pressed her onto the bed, kissing her with a ferocity that left her breathless. “Sometimes I think you’re more dangerous than I am,” he said. “No one would ever suspect the manipulation that hides behind those beautiful eyes.”
“Let’s keep that our little secret.” She felt the length of his erect cock against her stomach and reached down to guide him between her thighs. “Now stop talking and fuck me.”