Page 24 of Hers to Command

“Well, he didn’t say it in so many words, but it sounds like they are considering reaching out to some of the men that used to work under Mikhail. See how they are feeling about the Brotherhood and potentially using them to make a move.” She speaks slowly, as if still deciding how much to share with me.

I feel my jaw tighten. Gianna always has her eye on the long game, and Mikhail’s the perfect tool for her now. If they think they can use this moment to gain more ground, they’re fucking wrong.

I keep my face passive even as I’m ready to give Gianna Bruno a call and remind her in no uncertain terms that if she thinks she can step out on our agreement to deal with the Russian problem as a combined Italian front, she’ll have a two-front war on her hands.

From where I’m looking at things, Gianna and Mikhail are positioning themselves—moving into Bratva territory. But the biggest issue I have right now is that they are offering support to Anya like it’s some kind of family reunion, when really, it’s a power move.

Fuck them.

Because them going after Bratva territory is one thing, but I feel fucking feral at the thought that their goddamned plans might take Anya from me. She might have said no now, butMikhail is a psychopath and who knows how far he’d go to take his sister back.

“You okay?” she asks, obviously sensing that I’m ready to tear something apart.

The irony of her checking on me right now isn’t lost on me. “I am. What about you? Are you okay? Or, you know, holding up anyway?” I focus my attention on her. She’s gone through a hell of a lot in the past twenty-four hours.

Anya nods, but there’s a heaviness in her eyes. And I know exactly what I have to do to fix everything.

“Good. Then let’s plan a wedding.”

Chapter Eleven

Anya

City hall is cold. Not only do they have the AC turned to max, but the walls are bare and impersonal. It’s nothing like the weddings I used to imagine as a child, but that girl, with dreams of white dresses and flowers, is long gone. This isn’t a fairy tale. This is survival, despite the white dress that was delivered to Riccardo’s house earlier this morning. It’s not the flowy, romantic kind I once dreamed of. Nope, I’m wearing a designer bodycon dress that clings to my every curve, stark white against my skin, making it clear this is no traditional ceremony.

It’s a decision born of necessity, especially after what almost happened with Dmitri.

Riccardo stands across from me, tall and composed. His suit is perfectly tailored, of course. He’s watching me with those dark eyes of his, the ones that always try to see through the walls I put up. But today, I don’t let them see anything.

This is a deal, nothing more.

I repeat the mantra I started chanting in my head since this morning when I was washing the dried cum from my thighs, trying to think about the fact that Riccardo fucked me without protection.

Sure, I’m lying to myself—how the fuck can this still only be about a business deal now—but if I repeat it often enough, I might start to believe it. And I need to believe it, because every single man I ever loved has abandoned me. Mikhail. My father.

Riccardo Angelo is hardly going to be the first man to stay loyal to me.

He might like to fuck me. He might even enjoy doing this to piss off Dmitri, and maybe even Gianna and my brother. But he doesn’t love me. Not like the faceless man in the weddings I dreamed up for myself as a child. That man wouldn’t have fucked me last night when I was barely holding it together. That man wouldn’t have risked my health by fucking me without protection.

I would need to get checked for STIs. This was twice now that we had sex without a condom. Only yesterday I didn’t have a spare thought to even process that. I’m not as worried as I probably should be, though. Riccardo doesn’t strike me as the kind of guy who risks running around with some disease, the last couple of nights to the contrary.

Not that right now is the best moment to deal with that can of worms.

The official, a gray-haired man who looks bored with the whole thing, begins reading the vows. The words wash over me. I don’t listen. They don’t matter. Love, devotion, commitment—none of it applies here. This is my lifeline. I won’t end up as a pawn in someone else’s game and, more importantly, I won’t end up raped or dead.

I can feel Riccardo’s secretary, Bethany, standing stiffly next to me. When Riccardo said, let’s plan a wedding, he didn’t mean, let’s take our time doing it. He meant to make a few calls and get the show on the road. One of the calls he made was to Bethany, who had suggested I might want someone I know to be my maid of honor. Now her nervous energy is filling the room. The poor woman probably thinks I’m being forced to do this.

Behind Riccardo, Toni looms. If last night wasn’t enough of a clue, Toni’s presence is a keen reminder of how deep I’m stepping into Riccardo’s world.

“Do you, Riccardo Angelo, take this woman, Anya Tsepov, to be your lawful wedded wife?” The official’s voice drones on.

I look at Riccardo. His gaze is unwavering, as if this is the most natural thing in the world for him. But I see it, the flicker of something. Maybe it’s amusement. Maybe it’s something else. It doesn’t matter, because the next thing he says is, “I do.” His voice is deep and steady. There’s no hesitation.

Well, he already said I’m his. As if he got to simply declare that. As if him saying that made it true.

Then it’s my turn. The official turns to me, his voice a little softer, though still lifeless. “Do you, Anya Tsepov, take this man, Riccardo Angelo, to be your lawful wedded husband?”

The room feels small, like the walls are closing in. Fucking hell. Of all the things I’ve accomplished in my life, saying two words shouldn’t suddenly feel so hard. I take a breath, locking eyes with Riccardo.

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