Page 44 of Hers to Command

She turns around, eyes narrowing, already bristling. “I don’t need your bodyguards, Riccardo. If I take your men with me, I’ll look weak. Like I need protection. Like I’m not capable of doing this on my own.”

She’s right, which only makes it worse. I bite back a sharp response. Fuck if I’m not already getting pissed off at myself for caring. I’m not supposed to care about her. Not like this. But I do. And part of me hates it.

Probably the same part that always hated my father.

“You’re not weak,” I growl, jaw tightening as I suppress my internal shit-storm of thoughts. “But the moment you walk into that room with your father’s men, with people who’ve been loyalto him for years, you need them to see you’re not alone. Not now. Not when everything’s up in the air like this.”

She scoffs, seeing through the bullshit, crossing her arms over her chest, as if the last thing she wants is for me to have a say in her plans. “And sending your men will remind them that I married you. You’re anItalian, and in their books a rival. Is that the message I should send, Riccardo?”

I glare at her, fighting to keep my frustration in check. My hands ball into fists, but I don’t let myself move closer. I’m not my father. Never will be. “It’s not about who you’re married to, Anya. It’s about making sure they know you’re serious. That you’re capable. If they see weakness, they’ll take advantage of it.”

She looks at me like I’m a fucking idiot, and it’s making me want to explode. “I don’t need your men, Riccardo. I’ll handle it. I’ll make them see who I am.

Running a hand through my hair, I stare at her as if she’s completely blind to what’s happening, because that’s a fuck of a lot better than to admit what’s really bothering me. “No, you won’t. You’re not going in there by yourself.” I can feel my patience running out. “Take Josh and Ren, Anya. I don’t care if you think it’ll make you look weak. You’re making a mistake if you think you’re going to waltz in there and not risk your life if Dmitri turned some of them already. And don’t you dare act like I’m doing this because I don’t believe in you. I do. But I also know how this works. You need more than just your ambition to control these men.”

I see her jaw clench, that familiar stubbornness flaring up in her, and it has my dick stiffening despite there being little to no chance of that working out at any point today. Anya steps closer, like she’s daring me to back down, and I hate the fact that she’s making this harder. All of it, not just my cock.

“If I bring your men, I’m going to look like I’m under your thumb,” she snaps, her voice low and dangerous.

Ignoring that she also has a point, I stand my ground, my voice dropping into a more dangerous tone, because fuck my motivations, but I have a goddamn point too. “This is about making sure you don’t end up dead, Anya. That’s the reality here. Not how you look to them.”

She stares at me for a moment, her chest rising and falling with a sharp breath, before she opens her mouth to say something else. I cut her off before she gets the chance.

“I’m not asking you to like it,” I snap, “But you’re taking them with you. And if you don’t, you don’t leave this house tonight.”

The words hang in the air. I know I’m pushing her, but I’m past the point of caring. She needs to understand the risks. She needs to stop acting like she can do this without consequences.

I step toward her, voice sharp with impatience. “Take the fucking bodyguards, Anya. I’m not letting you go alone.”

She doesn’t even flinch, just stares at me with that same stubborn look I’ve come to loathe and admire in equal measure. “No,” she says flatly, crossing her arms. “I’m not taking your men. I don’t need them.”

Her words ignite a familiar sense of helplessness, and I fucking hate it. It’s the same way I used to feel watching my mother take pills to mute her depression. Only Anya isn’t anything like my mother.

I need to remember that.

“You’re making a mistake,” I mutter through clenched teeth, trying to rein in my messed up emotions.

She doesn’t budge, doesn’t even soften. “I disagree and even if it is, it’s my mistake to make.”

Taking a step back, I clench my fist, my frustration boiling over. She isn’t my mother. She isn’t one of my men. She isn’t even really my wife except on paper. “You know what? Fine.”

I turn away, my hand on the door, my voice a low growl. “Go ahead, play the fucking martyr. Do it your way, but don’t come crawling to me when things go south.”

I don’t wait for her reply. I storm out, the sound of the door slamming behind me echoing in the silence. My mind races, torn between anger and something deeper. Something I’m not ready to face.

Why the fuck did I ever think it was a good idea to encourage this idiotic plan?

Why the fuck did I ever agree to marry her?

Anya

Sergei stands by the window, a glass of whiskey in his hand, his expression unreadable. His presence is like a constant reminder of my father. I’m sure that some of the men he’s asked here are probably more loyal to his legacy than truly convinced I’m the best person to take over for him.

At least I have Sergei’s backing for now. He’s one of the few who has some sense of what I’m capable of, and that even though I’d always thought him and my father ignorant, which isn’t exactly reassuring. I don’t like that I had no idea. And even though Sergei knows more than the other men, I can still feel his judgment looming as he watches me.

Today’s a test.

One I damn well intend to pass.

---