Page 45 of Hers to Command

I force myself to walk into the dining room with purpose, the soft click of my heels against the floor the only sound in the otherwise tense silence. There are seven men here and they all know why I’ve asked them here.

“Please, have a seat.”

I watch as five of my father’s highest-ranked men, and a couple of the lower enforcers, sit around the long table where we used to only eat on holidays, some of them eying me with the skepticism I’ve come here expecting. Still, they’re curious, too. Otherwise, they wouldn’t have come. They want to know if I’m strong enough to take the reins, if I’m willing to lead them as my father once did.

Or if they should start betting on Dmitri.

I take my seat at the head of the table, my back straight, eyes meeting theirs. “Thank you for joining me.” Even though Sergei has relayed the invitations, it’s time to make clear that I’m the one who has invited them here.

“Thank you for having us,” Sergei offers.

“It was a surprise,” Victor says, and adds, “but a pleasant one,” after throwing a look at Sergei, who gives him a minuscule nod.

I don’t need to answer right away, as the caterers bring in the appetizers. After deciding on this dinner, I ordered the meal so I wouldn’t have to bother dealing with any detailed plans. I wait for the two servers to leave the room and close the door before I speak.

“Please, enjoy the meal. We’ll talk business after, but for now, let this be a meal we share in honor of my father.” Given the situation, Sergei and I decided to postpone the official memorial celebration until later, not wanting to play into Dmitri’s hand if he was planning to interfere during that event. Plus, honoring my father during this meal is a reminder to everyone that I am now the head of the family. In Mikhail’s absence, anyway.

By the time dessert arrives and everyone holds a glass of scotch, which I force myself to swallow without making a face, Viktor speaks up. “Dmitri Solntsev has been making some rather big claims” He lets the statement hang in the air, looking between me and Sergei as if to gauge if he’s pushing a sensitive point. “Specifically about you, Anya, and who you are supposed to marry and who you actually married.”

The room falls quiet, with only some glasses clinking as the men set them down. Instinct to have their hands free during tense situations, perhaps.

Not giving Sergei the chance to speak first, I smile at the men. “Another reason I invited you here today is that I wanted to share news of my marriage with you all. As rumors are obviously preceding my announcement, let me make clear that I have very good reasons for why I married Riccardo Angelo. In fact, I am here to tell you that I was able to win the agreement of not only the Angelo syndicate but also the Bruno syndicate that they will not interfere with our business or push at the established borders as long as I will take over operations of my father’s businesses and the larger organization.”

I give the men a moment to take that in. A few of them look appalled. Viktor and a couple others look contemplative. Sergei gives me a nod that isn’t quite approval, but more so an encouragement to go on. It’s not like I don’t already know that he hates Riccardo with a fierce passion, so that hardly comes as a surprise. Still, he continues to give me a chance to explain myself, and I need to use the opportunity while it’s here.

“I am also aware that Dmitri has made some claims about an intended marriage between him and me, but I can assure you, I have never endeavored to tie myself to a would-be rapist.”

Anger flashes on a few faces. Micro-expressions that convince me I didn’t misstep by sharing that fact. It could have goneeither way, making me look weak, or rousing their protective spirit against an outsider.

Not that I have won them over yet.

“You think you can take on the leadership? We’re here because we were loyal to your father, but...” Rocco, one of the enforcers, trails off, and I can hear the unsaid words: But you’re a woman.

I put my glass down and turn to stare at him directly. “I am more than capable of running the operation. What I need from you is your respect. And I assure you, I can earn that respect.”

Rocco looks like he wants to reply, but Sergei holds up a hand to silence him, his eyes on me.

“The question is, Anya,” Sergei says carefully, “what makes you think you can control the Bratva? Your business savvy isn’t in question. You have the necessary credentials and the experience of running the Flemingdon Park club for years, but what can you offer your men to gain their loyalty and respect? Some might question a woman calling the shots. We know your father did.”

His question is both a challenge and an opportunity. I suppress my smile. By questioning my capability of gaining respect and loyalty while also highlighting my experience and ability to run things at the club that Mikhail was supposedly in charge of, Sergei is giving me the opportunity to outline my plan to the men, while indirectly also lending his approval to my leadership skills and experience. It’s subtle and will deter anyone from suggesting he’s only supporting me because of some misled loyalty to my family.

I let the challenge hang in the air for a moment, my pulse steady but my heart hammering against my ribs. This is what I’ve been preparing for. This is where I prove that I’m not just my father’s daughter, but the one who will shape the future.

“Because I am my father’s blood, Sergei,” I say slowly, deliberately. “And I will not let this organization fall into thehands of those who will sell us out for their own gain, like Dmitri Solntsev. I have the resolve and the alliances to keep this family intact. I also have ambition, and a plan to make the clubs even more profitable. Under my father’s leadership, the Bratva secured our place in this city. He ran the clubs and the girls, and we all profited from it. With the ceasefire agreement between us and the Italians, we now have the opportunity to grow the business within our turf. This means the loyalty of those who support me will be rewarded in literal cash—not just through protection from the suffering that will come during the inevitable war if Dmitri tries to claim the territory and make a power grab, pissing off the Italians.”

Silence falls again. The men glance at each other, but none of them speak. It’s an interesting game. They want to see if I have the balls to back up my words, even though they know I lack exactly that. Actual balls. None of this would be necessary if Mikhail was here instead of me. It’s fucking annoying.

Sergei looks at me with an unreadable expression before taking a long sip of his whiskey. “Power rarely comes without bloodshed.”

“I’m not afraid of bloodshed.” The words slip from my lips before I can stop them, and it’s the truth. In this life, blood is the only currency that matters.

The table goes quiet, but Sergei only nods, satisfied with my response. “Good. We’ll see what you’re made of.”

Chapter Nineteen

Anya

The house is unusually quiet tonight. Mrs. Batton has the evening off to babysit for her son and daughter-in-law and Riccardo must still be at the office. Grabbing a glass of wine, I walk over to Riccardo’s office, which feels oddly forbidden without him here.

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