Page 55 of Hers to Command

I lean forward, resting my forearms on the desk. “Sergei.”

Toni gives me a skeptical look. “Sergei? You hate that slimy bastard.”

“I do,” I admit. “But he’s still her right-hand man at the moment. If I bring her and him into a discussion about Dmitri, it’ll look like I’m treating her as an equal partner in front of him, so she can’t get pissed. And it’ll keep her tethered. Sergei’s not going to back her if he thinks she’s going off the rails. He’s a Russian lunatic, but he’s also been pretty conservative while working with her father.”

Toni tilts his head, watching me like he’s trying to figure out what’s going on in my head. “So you want to actually work with the Russians on this?”

“It’s the only game,” I say, grabbing my phone and dialing Anya’s number.

The line rings. Once. Twice. Three times. Then voicemail.

I hang up, frown, and try again. Same result.

“No answer?” Toni asks, his tone losing some of its casualness.

I shake my head. Then I call Ren, who confirms she hasn’t left her father’s place yet.

“She’s probably still with Sergei,” I mutter, though the unease in my gut tells me otherwise. I switch to the landline at her father’s place. It rings and rings until it cuts off.

Toni sits forward now, the cigarette forgotten in his hand. “You think something’s wrong?”

“I don’t know,” I say, jaw tight. “She’d answer. Or someone would. Unless...”

I don’t finish the thought. Instead, I scroll through my contacts and pause when I see Toni watching me.

“I need Sergei’s number,” I say, my tone leaving no room for an argument.

Toni lets out a low whistle, shaking his head as he pulls out his phone. “You’re really calling that old bastard directly? Must be serious.”

I shoot him a sharp look, and after sending and receiving a message, he rattles off the number that I’m guessing our people at the office just looked up for him.

I dial, and the moment Sergei picks up, his harsh accent grates against my nerves. Anya sounds fucking hot with her slight accent, but this guy sounds like he’d do well in a gulag.

“Riccardo Angelo. This is an unexpected call.”

“Where’s Anya?” I demand, not bothering with pleasantries. “She told me she was meeting with you this morning.”

After a moment’s hesitation, Sergei answers. “We did, indeed.” He draws the last word out, making it sound like he’s trying to win time. “We spoke briefly, but she’s gone now.”

My grip on the phone tightens. “Gone where?”

“I assumed back to you,” Sergei replies, his tone annoyingly measured. “Why? Is something wrong?”

I don’t let him hear the frustration bubbling under my calm. “Nothing I can’t handle.”

I hang up, tossing the phone onto the desk.

Toni leans forward, watching me carefully. “He’s covering for her.”

I nod, already standing and grabbing my jacket. “He is. And now I know.”

“Know what?” Toni asks, his voice serious.

“She’s already going after Dmitri.”

Toni stands, his casual demeanor gone. “What’s the plan?”

I glance at him as I shrug on my jacket. “We find her. Before that asshole has a chance to put his hands on her. Again.”

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