Page 64 of Hers to Command

Toni steps back in and clears his throat once the door closes behind Anya. “Perhaps we should discuss how things will proceed when you get divorced?”

I glance at him, my jaw tightening. “We’re not getting divorced.”

“Does she know that?”

“I told her, she just hasn’t wrapped her head around it yet.”

He chuckles, shaking his head. “You’ve got it bad, boss.”

“Worse than bad,” I mutter, running a hand through my hair. “But it doesn’t matter. I’m not letting her walk away from me. Not now. Not ever.”

Toni arches a brow. “You got a plan?”

I smirk, taking a sip of my now lukewarm coffee. “I do.”

Because I’m done letting Anya dictate the terms of this marriage. She’s mine, and I’ll make damn sure she knows it.

Anya

Vlad’s SUV rumbles to a stop outside the club, the tires crunching as he pulls up to the curb. Vlad gets out first, circling around to open my door. “Mrs. Tsepov,” he says formally, his tone respectful. I nod my thanks, stepping out onto the pavement.

Mrs. Tsepov. It’s what Sergei called me yesterday, too. It’s not that different from Ms. Tsepov, but hearing the married title with my name is strange. Weirder than being called Mrs. Angelo, that’s for sure.

Married, but still a Tsepov.

If only that were possible.

But this isn’t the time to worry about what will happen with Riccardo. The fact that I don’t like thinking about our marriage agreement coming to an end is something I’ll have to deal with. But for right now, it has to wait. It’s time I claim everything that comes with my maiden name.

Inside, Sergei is already waiting, leaning against the bar. He’s nursing a coffee, his expression unreadable as I approach. Viktor stands a few feet away, arms crossed and wearing his usual scowl, while another of my father’s former men, Grigory, sits ata corner table, swirling a glass of water like it’s vodka. He wasn’t at the last meeting, but he gives me an enthusiastic wave when he looks up.

“Mrs. Tsepov,” Sergei greets me, the same as last night and Vlad this morning. No longer just Anya.

“What’s the situation?” I ask, taking a position at the bar and pouring myself the second cup of the day.

It’s no caramel macchiato, but it’ll have to do.

Viktor speaks first, his tone as blunt as always. “The situation is that Dmitri’s corpse is gone, but his father will come sniffing around sooner rather than later. I’ll give you that, Mrs. Tsepov, you didn’t fuck around.”

“Viktor,” Sergei warns, but I wave him off.

“No, let him speak.”

Viktor’s eyes fix on me. “I don’t blame you for taking the asshole out. Sure as fuck deserved it. I’m cool with you inheriting, too. I liked your brother, but he doesn’t give a shit about the operation and we all depend on it, if you know what I mean. But what happens when Dmitri’s father finds out his son is dead? Do you have a plan to keep the shit from hitting the fan, boss?”

It’s the first time Viktor is addressing me as ‘boss’ without sneering, but the challenge in his tone makes it clear he’s still not convinced I deserve the title.

“I’m calling Solntsev myself,” I say, my voice calm but firm. “I’ll handle it. What I need from you is that the men who sided with him get back in line or get a clear message that no one talks to the Brotherhood.”

Grigory raises an eyebrow, clearly skeptical. “Just like that? You think you can sweet-talk the old Solntsev into accepting his son’s death? He’s got a reputation that’s nothing to sneeze at. And how are we gonna keep ‘em all from talking?”

I glance around at them. This is what I’m actually good at. Making deals. I got Mikhail to let me run the Flemingdon Park club against our father’s wishes. I got Riccardo to marry me. I could handle this.

“This isn’t about sweet-talking. It’s about mind-games. Dmitri was an embarrassment to his father. That’s why he came here in the first place. A second chance not to be a fuckup far enough away from the Brotherhood’s home turf that it doesn’t reflect too badly on the family should he fuck up. Well, he fucked up. What I’ll do is remind Solntsev senior that Dmitri’s death is a clean break for him, a chance to save face.”

Sergei chuckles, shaking his head. “You’ve got guts, my girl. I’ll give you that. It might blow up in our faces, but your father should have seen this. You’re more like him and Mikhail than he ever recognized, I think.”

“Guts won’t stop him from coming after us if you slip up,” Viktor mutters, his tone dark.

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