Page 65 of Hers to Command

I take a step closer to him, meeting his gaze head-on. “That’s why I won’t slip up. I’m not my father, Viktor, but I know how to deal with men like Solntsev. But, be my guest. If you have a better idea, feel free to share.”

The room falls silent. Viktor’s jaw tightens, but he doesn’t argue.

“Good,” I say, turning to Sergei. “I’ll be in my office, making the call now.”

As I head upstairs, I take a deep breath. Then I walk to my new office.

It might be my office now, but my father’s presence lingers here. Besides the heavy mahogany desk that’s much bulkier than any piece of furniture I would have ever picked for myself, there are also the faint scratch marks on the floor from his chair and where his oxygen tank used to stand under his desk. Andof course the gold-plated phone resting on the polished surface that was a present sent to him from an old friend in Russia.

I sit in his rickety chair, spinning the phone toward me, and exhale slowly. I’ve rehearsed this call in my head a dozen times since last night, but it still feels like I’m about to walk into an exam and haven’t studied enough.

My hand hovers over the keypad. Just make the damn call, Anya. You’ve done worse.

Punching in the number, I press the phone to my ear and listen to it ring. Once. Twice. A gruff voice answers on the third ring, deep and tinged with suspicion. “Who is this?”

“Mr. Ivanov,” I say, keeping my voice calm but firm. “It’s Anya Tsepov. I’m calling to speak to Mr. Solntsev.”

“Wait a moment.”

I tap my foot as I wait. Perhaps allowing Sergei to listen in would have been a good idea. He sure as fuck knows more about how old Russian mob bosses think. I might be a mob boss myself now, but I’m neither old, nor a man, and that probably means I’ll never quite match that energy. I certainly wasn’t able to with my father.

Too late now. There is a noise before Dominic Solntsev answers. “My dear. What a pleasure to hear from my daughter-in-law. Tell me, why are you calling me?”

Daughter-in-law?Well, fuck. Of all the things, I did not expect old Solntsev to be completely clueless about what’s going on here in Toronto.

“Mr. Solntsev, I think there is a misunderstanding. I am married to Angelo Riccardo and not engaged to your son.”

A pause. His voice hardens. “Angelo? You’re married to that Italianbastard? What the fuck is going on over there and why isn’t my son calling to tell me this?”

Well, this is awkward.

“I don’t know why Dmitri didn’t tell you about this. I married Riccardo the day after my father passed away,” I say evenly. “But that is not why I’m calling. I wanted to deliver some unfortunate news personally, out of respect for our... prior connection.”

His silence speaks volumes—a heavy, suffocating thing. Finally, he growls, “Go on.”

I lean back in the chair, crossing one leg over the other. “Your son was found dead last night at my club.”

“What?” The word is sharp, like the crack of a whip.

I don’t flinch. “He was in one of our private rooms with a prostitute. From what we gathered, she had an... unhappy, overly attached customer. The man followed her to the club and shot Dmitri in a fit of jealousy.”

I deliver the lie smoothly, without hesitation. Years of practice hiding my father’s dirty dealings come in handy now. I may never have killed before, but running the Flemingdon Park club and growing up the kid of a mob boss has gathered me plenty of experience lying to cops during their random stop-ins.

Solntsev’s breathing grows heavy on the other end of the line. “You’re telling me my son was with somewhorein your filthy club?”

The disdain in his voice is surprising, given the fact that his own family traffics women and children, though I can’t disagree with him. I keep my tone as neutral as possible. “I assure you, the incident was handled discreetly. The man responsible is no longer a problem, and the club has been thoroughly cleaned. There’s no trace of Dmitri’s... involvement.”

“That’s not good enough!” he roars. “I want to know what the fuck is going on over there. I sent Dmitri over there assuming he was getting his shit together and now you’re telling me he’s fucking dead? I want answers!”

I grip the edge of the desk to steady myself. “With all due respect, Mr. Solntsev, Dmitri came to my club without propersecurity. I had no knowledge of him frequenting this, well, employee until it was too late.”

“You think that excuses your negligence?” he snaps. “First you, what? Fuck an Italian instead of upholding the deal your father made with us and now you’re telling me my son stuck around just to whore around inyourclub? You’re lucky if I don’t hold you personally responsible.”

I take a deep breath. There is no way things aren’t going to get back to Solntsev, so I’ve got to get things sorted as best as possible.

“My father made an agreement with your son that I wasn’t a part of. I’m not for sale and never have been. I’m interested in business, Mr. Solntsev. Marrying Riccardo Angelo was strategically favorable to me. Your son did not appreciate that, and I apologize if my choice has slighted your family. But, none of it has anything to do with your son’s death or the fact that he didn’t share any of this with you prior to his passing. I am calling out of respect for your family. I certainly understand your anger, and I’m prepared to make arrangements for his remains to be returned to you.”

Silence stretches between us. When he finally speaks, his voice is low and menacing. “Tell me something, Mrs. Angelo. Is your city fully controlled by the Italians then? Are you really telling me my son was dumb enough to stick around and even have more men come over when that is the state of things?”

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