Page 42 of Hers to Command

The following evening, a package is waiting for me when I step out of the shower. Wrapped in crisp white paper and tied with a black satin ribbon, it sits on the edge of the bed.

I stare at it for a moment, water dripping from my hair onto my shoulders. Riccardo’s fingerprints are all over this. Who else would have bought something from a designer boutique and left it in our bedroom the night we’re supposed to go out to some fancy restaurant?

“Subtle,” I mutter, snatching a towel and drying off quickly.

Unwrapping the package, I find exactly what I expected. A dress. Not just any dress either, but a fucking gorgeous one. Midnight black, the fabric clings to my fingers like liquid silk. It’s cut to fit like a glove, with a plunging neckline and a slit that promises to reveal far more leg than I would have ever chosen for a simple dinner out.

There’s a card tucked beneath the dress.

“Wear this.”

No signature, but it doesn’t need one. Riccardo’s arrogance practically seeps through the ink. I roll my eyes but can’t help the small smirk that creeps across my lips. He thinks he’s so clever.

Once I’m dry, I slip into the dress. It’s snug, hugging every curve, but it fits like it was made for me. Knowing Riccardo, it probably was. The reason I recognized the boutique’s satin bow is simple. I had gotten my graduation dress there, so they certainly could still have my measurements. I glance at myself in the mirror, and for a moment, I’m struck by the reflection staring back at me.

I look... powerful. Like a woman who’s about to step into the lion’s den and come out unscathed.

Like someone who belongs among the elite and can hold her own.

I add a swipe of red lipstick for good measure, the color bold and unapologetic. My hair falls in soft waves, framing my face without looking too polished.

The final touch is the gun I strap to my thigh. Riccardo’s taste might lean toward high fashion, but I don’t go anywhere unarmed and, luckily, my DB9 in this specific holster is inconspicuous to anyone not looking for a gun.

When I descend the stairs, I find Riccardo waiting in the living room, his back to me as he adjusts his cufflinks. He’s wearing a tailored black suit, the kind that screams wealth and danger in equal measure. In this case, danger to women, rather than the entire city, but in my case, I suppose the difference is irrelevant.

“Is this your idea of foreplay?” I ask, leaning against the door frame.

Riccardo turns, and for a fraction of a second, his expression falters. His eyes rake over me, darkening as they take in the dress, the lipstick, and the way I’m deliberately holding my head high.

“You look...” He pauses, his usual smugness replaced by something that has my nipples perk up. “...like you belong on a throne.”

The compliment catches me off guard, but I mask it with a smirk. “Good. Because that’s exactly what I’m after.”

His lips curl into a smile, the kind that’s more predator than lover. He steps closer, his presence as overwhelming as ever. “Then let’s discuss how you can convince everyone else of that.”

As we head out the door, his hand rests lightly on the small of my back. It’s a subtle but unmistakable claim, and I don’t exactly hate it.

When we arrive, I smooth the front of my dress as we walk into the dimly lit Italian restaurant. It’s intimate but not ostentatious, and I immediately like the atmosphere. Plus, Imight be Russian and enjoy Pelmeni and other Russian dishes, but who doesn’t like a good plate of fancy pasta?

Riccardo rests his hand on the small of my back again, guiding me toward a secluded table in the corner. The way he’s scanning the room and keeps me close without being bossy speaks volumes. Protective, but not overbearing. It makes me feel good in a way that I know will probably come around and bite me in the ass. But for now, I let him make me feel like I have found that prince in shining armor I dreamed of when I was a little kid.

Of course, he might be a knight, but definitely a dark one, and one whose armor is stained with blood. And I shouldn’t forget that, because I’d bet my life that not everyone who died at his hands saw it coming.

As we sit, Riccardo signals the waiter with a casual flick of his wrist. Moments later, a bottle of wine appears. He pours it himself, handing me a glass before raising his own.

“To new partnerships,” he says, his eyes locked on mine.

I raise an eyebrow but clink my glass against his. “I’ll drink to that.”

The wine is smooth, but I barely taste it. I glance at Riccardo, who leans back in his chair, watching me with an amused expression. It makes him look even hotter.

That damn suit is too fucking sexy on him.

“You look like you’re already plotting your next conquest,Tesoro.”

“Isn’t that what this dinner is about?” I counter, leaning forward and dismissing the thoughts of the other, sexier conquest I’m currently staring at. “I want to discuss Dmitri.”

“But Dmitri isn’t here,” Riccardo interrupts smoothly. “You’ll deal with him, but not tonight. Tonight, we strategize how you deal with the people you can actually win over to your side.”

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