Page 20 of Hers to Command

I won’t give him that, no matter how much I want to get away from him.

His hand lifts to my chin, forcing me to look up at him. “You think you have a choice in this?” he asks, voice pissed. “You’re not going anywhere, Anya. I tried to play nice, but I don’t have to.”

I grit my teeth, keeping my gaze locked on his. My pulse hammers, but I refuse to let him see even a flicker of fear. His fingers trail lower, slow and deliberate, and the threat in his touch becomes unmistakable.

“I’ll make you understand what loyalty looks like,” he says, grinning now. “If you behave nicely, you get treated nicely. If you get difficult, I’ll remind you what women like you are good for.”

His hand has reached my breast and the part of me that isn’t frozen with horror is raging. “If you don’t get your hand off of me,” I say, finding my voice wavering only slightly, “it’ll be the last thing you ever do.”

He smiles, knowing just like I do, that if he wants to rape me, there is a good chance he can do whatever he wants and I have little chance of defending myself. I might be a good shot, but from what I can tell, he’s not packing, and they took my own gun. I’m not weak, and I’ll put on a fight, but I doubt I could actually escape him.

In that moment, the door creaks open behind us, and something shifts in Dmitri’s expression. Surprise at first and then rage.

I turn and see who it is.

It’s Riccardo.

The tension in the room thickens and I feel my pulse quicken, but I keep my posture rigid, refusing to show anymore vulnerability than my current position already gives away, although I do take a step back to get Dmitri’s hand off of me.

Riccardo’s voice breaks the silence, cool and dangerous. “I believe you’re having a conversation with someone who belongs to me.” Riccardo’s eyes lower to where Dmitri’s hand is still extended toward me and a flash of anger shows that reveals how dangerous Riccardo really is.

Dmitri’s lips curve into a smug smirk that’s so fake it could belong in a bad reality television show. “Is that so? I don’t recall asking the Italians for their opinion about anything.”

Riccardo steps further into the room, taking his time like a predator that knows it’s at the top of the food chain. He doesn’t look at me, as if this is entirely between them. “We’re not here to survey anyone’s opinions,” he says smoothly. “We’re here to settle something. You took something that belongs to me.”

A dark laugh escapes Dmitri, and he finally lets that damn smirk drop. “I don’t recall her wearing your ring, Angelo, and she’s been promised to me by her father. So she’s my fiancé. You’re a little late to the game, don’t you think?”

I look between the two of them, knowing exactly what this is—an old-fashioned, male pissing match. But beneath it, there’s a current of violence, barely restrained. One wrong move, and this entire situation could explode.

Hell, if my brother were here, people would already be losing their eyes. Cut out after he knifed someone.

Riccardo’s gaze flickers briefly to me. His eyes are still in their sockets, but his expression is still unreadable. “Anya’s not property that can be promised by someone else. Even her father. And she’s not yours to take.” His voice lowers, each word enunciated with precision and shooting straight to my pussy in a very untimely display of my body’s neediness around Riccardo.

His eyes meet mine. “Her and I have an agreement.”

Dmitri’s smirk fades slightly. “You have an agreement with her?” He shakes his head and laughs. “Whatever that’s worth. Because you sure as fuck don’t have one with me.”

“I’d rather see you dead than ever consider a deal with you or the Brotherhood.” Riccardo takes another step forward, now close enough that they’re in punching distance. Or knifing, more likely. Not that Riccardo seems concerned. “I’m telling you to back off.”

Dmitri’s eyes narrow, his posture shifting ever so slightly. The tension ratchets up another notch, and for a second, I wonder if this whole situation is going to blow up in my face. But no one reaches for a weapon. Not yet, anyway.

“You think you can come here and take what you want?” Dmitri’s voice is low, threatening. “From me?”

Riccardo holds his ground, his expression calm but deadly. “I don’t just think so. I know.”

Silence. The air is thick with the challenge between them, only interrupted by a noise from outside the room. I finally realize that I was right. Dmitri’s men are outside the open door, currently facing off with a second, much larger group, who must belong to Riccardo.

Finally, Dmitri speaks, his voice dripping with disdain. “I could kill you right here, you know. But that would be too messy.”

Riccardo’s eyes glint with cold amusement. “You could try. But I guarantee you won’t be walking out of this room if you do.”

My eyes flick to the door again, watching Dmitri’s men shift uneasily. They know they’re outmanned.

Dmitri’s jaw clenches. He must have realized the same thing. For a long, tense moment, neither he nor Riccardo speak. Then Dmitri takes a step back, a mocking smile tugging at his lips. “I’ll let you have your moment, Angelo. But this isn’t over. Anya knows where she belongs. I’ll see her at the funeral.”

The reminder of my father’s death cuts me, and the air I meant to breathe in doesn’t come. Dmitri grins at me, as if he’s still winning. It’s so messed up, my head spins.

Riccardo’s gaze lands on me, his eyebrows drawing together. “Come on.”

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