Page 17 of Hers to Command

“I promise,” I whisper, though it’s a lie. It’s not like it’s the first lie I’ve ever told him.

His hand goes limp in mine, and the room falls into an eerie stillness. I sit there for a long time, holding his hand, watching as the last breath leaves his body, the final remnants of the man who raised me slipping away.

Mikhail isn’t here to share this. Yet another way my brother has abandoned me.

At least I got this from my father. Twisted as it was, he loved me in his own way.

But now he’s gone, and everything is about to change.

Riccardo

The phone vibrates on my desk, its insistent buzz cutting through the peaceful silence that usually reigns when I instruct Bethany not to buzz me with appointments and reminders from her desk outside my door. I reach for my cell phone without looking up from the financial reports in front of me. Not that I’ve managed to focus much on them, not when images of Anya writhing under me keep flashing in my mind, making me wish I was wearing sweats rather than a well-tailored suit that is definitely cut too tightly around my crotch.

“Toni?” I answer. He’s been busy questioning the Solntsevskaya men, but I don’t expect there to be anything more than the initial bits of information we got out of them yesterday. After we verified the news of Adrik Tsepov’s death, which I got much earlier than I would have under different circumstances thanks to being tipped off by Anya’s frantic departure, I told Toni to keep an eye on Dmitri Solntsev himself.

“We’ve got a problem. Solntsev’s making a move already.”

I pause, letting his words sink in, but I’m not surprised. Dmitri Solntsev isn’t wasting time. He can’t afford to if this is his way of proving himself to his father and to establish himself in the city. With Tsepov senior’s death, he is left with two options, wait and see if Tsepov’s people follow through on the alliance he worked out using Anya as the token bind, or assert himself over the old Russian guard in the city through a show of strength.

I let out a slow breath, leaning back in my chair. “What’s his move?”

“He’s bringing in people and they flew completely under our radar.”

I curse. “How the fuck is that possible? We should know about anyone entering the city via any air routes or by crossing the border. Why didn’t we hear about this from any of our people at the other airports? What the fuck went wrong here?”

Sure, this might not be Toni’s fault, but I’m in no fucking mood to go easy on him right now.

“I don’t know, boss, but I’m looking into it. At the moment, Solntsev has ten of his men here in Toronto and we need to assume that the local Bratva is currently being handled by Sergei Abakumov who may very well be handing things over to Solntsev, presumably once the funeral is done to preserve respect for old Tsepov.”

“What are Solntsev’s men up to?” I’m hoping they are lying low while the Bratva grieves their boss, but a loose cannon like Dmitri doesn’t get shipped overseas by his dad for being a straight shooter. Not that it makes him any less dangerous. Between his family’s resources back in Russia and his reputation, it’s safe to say things are about to get fucking messy. And the stakes are likely high for Solntsev, because going back to Moscow with his tail tugged after he got the fucking Toronto Bratva district presented on a golden platter in the shape of a wedding band wouldn’t look good for his family at all.

“They’re setting up in the West End. One of the Bratva’s warehouses has Solntsev’s men out front and they’re staying in a nearby hotel associated with Tsepov. They’re the only guests. No bodies yet, but the Solntsevskaya made it clear they’re claiming the turf.”

Fucking predictable. Men like Dmitri can’t ever resist an opportunity to show off to prove they have the bigger dick, and taking Bratva turf while the local Bratva is scrambling is as good a show as any. Risky too, since he doesn’t have a lot of manpower to work with and he might step on toes he needs to steer clear of.But depending on how he frames the move, he might get away with it.

“Put someone on the building. I want to know what they’re up to.”

Toni grunts in agreement. “And what about the princess?”

That question catches me off guard. He means Anya. I clench my teeth to keep myself from snapping at Toni. His question makes sense, even if I don’t like him calling her princess.

What about Anya? It’s a fucking great question, actually.

My chest tightens at the thought of her being caught in the crossfire of this mess. Her cool, defiant gaze when she first came to my office flashes through my mind. Are her eyes now bloodshot from grieving her father? I shove the image away, but it keeps coming back.

She’s more capable of taking care of herself than most women I know, but still...

She could be in danger.

“Keep an eye on her,” I say eventually. “But don’t let her know. And do it personally.”

“Will do. Right now, she’s still at her father’s club. Seems like she’s lying low.”

This is the reason I trust Toni. He doesn’t always need instructions to get me the info I need. “Good. Make sure it stays that way. If Dmitri decides to pay her a visit, I want to know before he even thinks about it.”

I hang up, my fingers drumming on the polished wood of the desk. This isn’t like me. I don’t let myself worry about other people’s business, especially not women I fuck. But Anya... she’s a different kind of trouble. Smart, sharp, and with her own agenda.

Maybe that’s what has me on edge.

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