Page 27 of Hers to Command

The suggestion is out of character. Toni knows I hardly ever allow someone else to make the plans. Which means he must notice how distracted I am to even suggest it.

“No,” I say, my voice hardening. “I’ll get back to you within the hour with something.”

Toni nods, satisfied. He heads for the door, leaving me alone to get back to whatever I was supposed to be doing this morning. Except, it’s my goddamned wedding day and I’ll be damned if I don’t consummate the shit out of Anya today.

Let her pretend she doesn’t need to talk to me while I fuck her into oblivion. Let her pretend she doesn’t care if I walk away from her after that.

Chapter Twelve

Anya

With Riccardo gone to the office, I decide to go for a little exploration. God knows I’ve gotten myself into this situation with the bare minimum of information, so it can’t hurt to find out a bit more about Riccardo, and the only rooms I’ve been in besides the bedroom is the office where Riccardo and Toni made the necessary arrangements for the wedding this morning. I didn’t even eat breakfast this morning, my stomach roiling at even the thought of a bagel, though Toni had brought me a coffee. Black, like a fucking savage.

Decision made, I head towards where I expect to find some food. I turn a corner into the kitchen and almost bump intoan older woman bustling about, wiping counters. She looks up, startled, then her face breaks into a wide smile.

“You must be Mrs. Angelo,” she says, her voice warm, eyes twinkling. “Well, Riccardo told me he was bringing you home today, though not much else. And here I thought I’d get a proper introduction before the wedding!”

The way she says it—so familiar with him—catches me off guard. What is Riccardo like at home when he’s not in his office or staring down rivals in fucked-up hotel stand offs?

“Just Anya,” I say, managing a smile. “And you are...?”

“Mrs. Batton. I’ve been running this place for years, since Riccardo’s parents lived here.” She waves a hand, as if dismissing the formality of it all. “And don’t you worry, I’ll keep calling you ‘Mrs. Angelo,’ even if the boss didn’t bother with introductions himself. Honestly, I should give him an earful for that.”

There’s something weirdly comforting about her, the way she speaks like she’s known Riccardo forever.

“So he didn’t get this place for himself? His parents live here, too?” I ask, curious. I got my own apartment as soon as my father agreed to it, admittedly with some well-coached prodding from Mikhail and Sergei. I wanted my independence too much to stay living with my father when I was an adult.

“Oh, yes,” Mrs. Batton confirms, nodding as she pours a cup of coffee and gestures for me to sit at the kitchen table. “This house belonged to his parents. His father was a... well, you know, a man of business. And his mother, bless her soul, she was a lovely woman. Always kind to me, even when things got tough.”

“Tough?” I take the seat, add milk and sugar to my drink, and try to act casual, even though Mrs. Batton’s face tells me there is more to the story and I really want to find out what it is.

Mrs. Batton’s face tightens for a moment, and she looks out the window as if deciding how much to say. “His father, hewasn’t an easy man to live with. He demanded a lot from Riccardo and his mother. It’s a wonder Riccardo turned out to be such a kind man, considering. But his mother... she had a hard time.”

I stay quiet, letting her fill in the gaps. I’m certainly not about to tell her that thekind manshe is talking about regularly orders people killed. Most recently, based on intel I gave him.

“Depression. She got worse as the years went on. And eventually, well...” She lowers her voice, “She took her own life. Riccardo found her. Broke his heart, poor boy.”

Well, damn. That’s messed up. “Was he close to her?” I ask, my voice quiet.

Mrs. Batton nods, her expression softening. “Oh yes. And she loved him so much. But after a while, I think she just couldn’t handle the life anymore—the pressure, the loneliness. Riccardo’s father, he was always off doing business, and when he was home, well... he wasn’t the kind of man who celebrated with his family, if you catch my meaning. He ranted, he ordered people around, but that’s not how you treat your wife. And Riccardo... he had to grow up fast.”

I look down at my cup of coffee and wrap my hands around it.

“He never brings women home,” Mrs. Batton continues, shaking her head and clearly happy to carry the conversation without much input from me. “In all the years I’ve worked for him, not once has he brought someone here. And now all of a sudden he got married.”

I look up at her, trying to see if she’s fishing for information, but immediately her expression shifts. She’s definitely embarrassed. “Oh, please excuse my rambling. I’m happy you are here now, of course, Mrs. Angelo. It’s good to see him do something for his private life, not just work all the time. I truly hope you make each other happy.” That last sentence is accompanied by a more intense look, though not unkind. As ifshe wants to make sure I know she’s expecting me to be a good wife to him and is willing to give me the benefit of the doubt, even though she doesn’t know me yet.

“I didn’t know about his mother,” I say, unsure of what else to add.

“Of course you didn’t,” she replies, giving me a kind smile. “Riccardo doesn’t like to talk about it. But I’m glad you’re here. He needs someone. And it’s about time he married, too. His father was always parading him around, trying to find him a wife, but none of those girls ever stuck. Too scared, I think.”

I can’t help but smile at that. Scared? Of Riccardo? The visual of him standing over me as he pushed his cock into my pussy last night has me rubbing my thighs together.

Then again, maybe they are smarter than me...

Mrs. Batton leans in a little closer, lowering her voice again. “And my boys—well, they work for him too, you know. Not here in the house, obviously. They’re out doing what boys like them do. But they respect him, and they say he’s fair, and I trust I raised them right to tell that kind of thing, even if I rather not know all the details of the business.”

I nod, absorbing it all. Riccardo’s father was obviously as intimidating inside the family as in his business life. And his mother killed herself. Sure, growing up in the Bratva meant I wasn’t a stranger to violence, but my father mostly kept me away from it, especially when I was just a kid. Perhaps the only good thing about his sexism. Riccardo’s life is more complex than I thought. And I’m now a part of that life, whether I like it or not.

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