Page 11 of Hers to Command

Father will need to smooth things over with the Brotherhood, but how? And more importantly, how soon?

I stand, the chair scraping softly against the tiled floor as I rise. The few steps down the hallway increase the pressure on my chest, the tension messing with my head. Or body, in this case. I pause just outside the door, leaning in to listen. Sergei’s low, gravelly voice and my father’s harsher but breathless tone, tinged with frustration, come through, but it’s hard to make out exactly what they are saying.

I knock.

Better to get in there and see what I can find out.

“Anya,” Sergei says with a grim nod. My father looks up at me, but it’s clear from his complexion that he’s feeling crappy. No surprise, after all that’s been going on. The stress isn’t good for his body, and the guilt is back in full force.

I don’t want to get married off like a stripper turning tricks, but that’s my dad, and he’s suffering because of what I did.

“I heard about the airstrip.” I leave the sentence dangling, unsure for a moment what I want. Information I can use tomanipulate Riccardo or a reassurance that my father has a plan and won’t take a turn for the worse because of the stress this is putting him under.

“Yes,” Sergei begins, “the Italian has lost us men and is causing issues with the Brotherhood.”

“It is nothing you need to worry about,” my father interrupts, and my old anger returns. Clearly, this isn’t something he wants me to worry about. Wouldn’t want to risk damaging my fragile female psyche. Or assume I may have something to say about the matter that involves my wanna-be-fiancé.

“Right.” The word comes out sounding rigid and frustrated, but I’m in no mood to hide my feelings. “I’ll get out of your way, then.” So what if I sound like a petulant teenager?

Heading back to the kitchen, I grab my purse and leave the club. As curious as I am about the next steps my father is going to take, right now, I need to put some pressure on Riccardo.

Before I reach my convertible, I pull out my phone and email Riccardo since I don’t have his cell number. Time to set up my actual plan.

Are you ready to discuss my proposal?

Chapter Seven

Riccardo

The Royal Ontario Museum is almost deserted at this hour, just the way I wanted it. I sit on a bench near the dinosaur exhibit, the dim lighting casting long shadows across the massive bones on display. There’s something about this place—powerful, quiet, but with a sense of history. It reminds me of my business motto: always play the long game.

I hear her footsteps before I see her. Anya is on time, as expected. After all, she’s the one who reached out. Again. Which leaves me in a good negotiation position.

She wants this. And for some fucked up reason, I want her.

Luckily, she beat me to it, reaching out via email. Perhaps that should make me hesitate. There is something desperate aboutthe way she’s pursuing this, but as she’s coming closer, she looks at me with that same determination again, just like when she walked into my office the day before yesterday. Only this time, I’m not sitting behind a desk, making this meeting feel more intimate.

My lip twitches. A covert meeting at a museum. It really is out of an old mystery novel.

She walks up to me, glancing briefly at the towering skeletons, before dismissing them and settling her gaze on me. That same spark of defiance glinting in her eyes, as if she wants to be here but still needs me to know she isn’t about to let me take charge.

It’s so damn hot I’m tempted to reach out and pull her against me. Press my mouth over hers to find out if she’d gasp and lean into me, or claw at my face while kneeing my junk.

“You picked a hell of a spot,” she says, her voice low but steady.

I smirk. “Thought you might appreciate the view.” I gesture around at the fossils. “Reminds me of the people we deal with—most of them always hungry and some of them just waiting to be buried and displayed.”

Anya doesn’t take the bait, only raising her eyebrow in challenge. No matter, I didn’t really expect her to react. Perhaps hinting at her father’s poor health and looming death isn’t exactly polite conversation, but it’s one thing that’s definitely playing into my decision. If old Tsepov dies, there is no obvious line of inheritance when it comes to his Bratva position. Mikhail has jumped ship, so even though he’d be the logical next in line, his role in the Bruno syndicate messes with that.

Marrying Anya will give me equal dibs as Gianna, and I certainly don’t enjoy the notion that Gianna Bruno thinks she can expand once Tsepov senior is gone. Which, of course, hinges on getting rid of Dmitri Solntsev first.

“So,” she says, cutting right to the chase and completely ignoring my comment, “the shipment went exactly as I said it would. Solntsev lost five of his men, and now he’s scrambling.”

I nod, leaning back a little and taking her in. She’s wearing a simple blouse and black pants, but they hug her curves in all the right ways. I hate that I notice. That I can’t seem to stop noticing when I should focus on business first. Her intel was good—better than I expected.

“And now you want to seal the deal,” I say, my voice calm, though my mind is anything but. Not to mention my pants, since my dick has apparently taken to having a Pavlovian reaction to Anya.

She crosses her arms, standing in front of me like she’s ready for battle. Of course, the movement also lifts her breasts up and I can’t help but admire the way they create a fuckable shape where her blouse is creating a V-opening in the front. “I do. Sealing the deal is in both of our interests. You get to cut off the Brotherhood’s power grab at my father’s organization and prevent him from moving in on your territory and shipping routes.” She pauses, her eyes locked on mine. “Plus, it undermines potential claims from the Bruno syndicate as a result of Gianna’s marriage to my brother.”

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