Page 61 of Hers to Command

I got the respect I wanted.

Viktor might not be a fan of my marriage to Riccardo, but I proved that I can take care of shit tonight. If I can handle the fallout tomorrow, I don’t think I’ll have any more opposition to my new position.

Boss.

I’m a fucking boss.

Riccardo takes my arm and doesn’t let go the entire way, guiding me firmly toward his car while I try to keep up with my legs wobbling underneath me. I slide into the passenger seat, glancing back just once at my men before Riccardo closes the door and joins me.

“What about Toni?” I ask.

“He’s made a call. He’ll be busy disposing of that parking lot roadkill you left for him.”

Riccardo smirks. “I think he considers it a present from you. He quite enjoys killing Russian scum.”

I laugh. An actual belly laugh that triggers something, because for the next thirty seconds, I can’t stop laughing. And when I finally stop, I’m breathing so freaking hard, it’s difficult to stop sucking in air.

“Relax,Tesoro. We’ll be home soon.”

Riccardo

After Anya’s giggling fit, the car ride home is quieter than I expected. Anya sits in the passenger seat, her arms crossed tightly over her chest, her gaze fixed out the window. The adrenaline from the club is still coursing through her. Her shoulders are tense, her breaths shallow. But there’s something else, too.

She’s shaken.Seriouslyshaken.

She’d never admit it, not out loud, but I saw it in her eyes the moment I joined her outside the club when she finished giving her men directions. What happened tonight is sinking in, even if she’s trying to drown it in pride.

I grip the steering wheel a little tighter, stealing a glance at her. She’s so much more than I expected when I agreed to this marriage. Strong, capable, unrelenting in a way that puts most men to shame. It’s the reason I reigned my anger in and decided to offer her my unquestioning support tonight. Something I’ve never done for another soul.

Something I’m not sure I could ever bring myself to do for someone other than her.

But there’s something fragile under her surface. And it makes me want to protect her even more.

Not that she needs protection. She isn’t like my mother, breaking under the pressure. No, it would take more to break Anya. Hell, she just executed Dmitri Solntsev in her own club and stood her ground like she’s been doing it for years. But that’s exactly the point. She’s not like my mother, brittle and submissive under my father’s thumb. And she’s not Gianna, with her polished armor of poise that’s hiding the venom underneath, either.

Anya is fire. And tonight, she proved it.

But even fire needs tending sometimes and I’ve got just the stick to keep her flame burning.

I smirk at my own joke while we pull into the driveway. As soon as the car stops in front of the house, I turn to her.

“Come,” I say, my voice firm but quiet.

She doesn’t question me, just unbuckles her seatbelt and steps out. There is no noise of heels clicking against the stone walkway as I guide her inside with a hand at the small of her back, and I realize that I’ve gotten used to the noise of her usual footwear. Enough that I notice her change of shoes today.

The house is still and dark, save for the soft glow of a few lights Mrs. Batton always leaves on. I steer her upstairs, my hand never leaving her as we ascend.

“I’m fine,” she finally says as we reach our bedroom. Her voice is steady, but I catch the slight tremor beneath it.

“I know you are,” I reply, stepping ahead of her to open the door. “But you don’t have to be. We keep shit together in front of our people, but this is home. You can give a little.”

She looks at me sharply, her defenses rising again, but I don’t give her time to argue. I lead her into the bathroom, flipping on the light. The marble gleams under the warm glow, the massive shower beckoning.

“Riccardo...”

“Quit arguing, Mrs. Angelo,” I cut her off, turning on the water. Steam fills the air almost instantly, curling around us like a veil. I didn’t like the way Sergei called her Mrs. Tsepov earlier. She’s my wife. But I know she’ll keep the name. It’s about image. If she’s going to lead the Tsepov branch of the Bratva, she has to stay a Tsepov.

But there are other ways I can claim her. And fuck do I want to, against all logic.

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