Page 26 of Hers to Command

“See you later, then. I’ll make introductions to the staff later, but in the meantime, they all know we got married this morning. If you have questions, you can talk to Mrs. Batton. She’s my housekeeper.” Earlier, I didn’t have the chance to introduce her since Toni arrived with coffee and bagels and we stayed in the office making calls to pull off the rushed ceremony until it was time to get hitched. Now, I turn around and leave the house, feeling pissed and frustrated.

Not once did Anya ask me why I had to leave right after our wedding. Which is exactly how she suggested this would go. Business-like, less messy. But there’s a part of me that hates how easily she lets me go. Like she expected nothing from me, the same way my mother used to expect nothing from my father.

But I made things messy last night.

The thought soothes something in me.

The reminder that my cum was seeping from between her legs last night after she fell into an exhausted sleep gives me the grim satisfaction that lets me walk outside and join Toni in his car.

When we reach the office building, I step into the lobby, nod at the security guard, and head up to the top floor.

Toni follows me, but takes off when I reach my office. He’s got shit to do, too. A couple hours of annoyingly unproductive work later, Bethany informs me that Toni is on his way up to talk to me. He’s the only one who can tell Bethany that he’s got something important and all she does is let me know he’s on his way. Everyone else gets thrown somewhere into my schedule, depending on how urgent things are.

When Toni comes in, he immediately starts pacing in front of my desk. “Boss,” he says, straightening up as he turns to me like he’s been rehearsing this. “There’s been... talk.”

I arch a brow. “What kind of talk?”

Toni hesitates, and that alone tells me it’s not good. “Some of the old guard—you know, your father’s people—they’re wondering if you’re going soft. The marriage to Anya Tsepov... some of them don’t like it. They think it’s a play for peace. You know, Gianna and you each get a Tsepov sibling and you split the Bratva territory. One of them called it a ‘pussy way out’. Like you need Anya to keep things from getting messy, rather than laying down the law, old school.”

I grit my teeth. The fucking irony. No matter what I do, my father’s shadow follows me, like a stain I can’t scrub clean. Which is just a fucking joke, since he was the one who suggested I marry Gianna to unite the Italian front and lessen possible frictions. And to gain power, of course. Always power, but a strategic marriage nonetheless.

But when I actually marry for strategic purposes, I’m seen as weak. Fuck that.

“They forget what kind of man my father was,” I say, my voice low, almost a growl.

Toni shifts uncomfortably. “I don’t think they forget, boss. I think that’s exactly why they’re nervous.”

The words hit me harder than they should. My father was a goddamn legend in Toronto—ruthless and commanding respect wherever he went. But that’s not what I remember. What I remember is how he’d rant to my mother, his frustration spilling out over dinner, over drinks, over everything. He’d parade her around at parties, make her smile for the cameras, but when the doors closed, she was just... there. A vessel for his anger. And when he wasn’t angry, he wasn’t there at all.

I sit behind my desk, trying to shake the thought. But Toni’s words keep circling back, and so do the memories of my mother. She wasn’t like Anya. She never fought back, never demanded more from him. She just... withered. Until she couldn’t take it anymore.

With everything Anya went through yesterday, she still rallied. Still got up and got shit done today. Thingssheorchestrated. Thingsshewanted.

“Do they really think I’m soft?” I ask, my tone sharper than I mean it to be. “Or are they just harping about the news now and will get back in line when everyone has had a chance to gossip?”

I told Bethany to send out an email about the wedding. A brief announcement, since I need people to hear it from me first. But as much as I employ men and women loyal to the syndicate, and as much as many of them are guys more comfortable shooting someone in the head than drinking a cup of tea, they still fucking gossip. And the news is very fresh.

Toni looks me in the eye, his expression carefully neutral. “They think you’re different. And maybe that’s what worries them.”

Different. I can’t even tell if that’s a compliment or an insult.

“I’m not my father,” I mutter, almost to myself.

Toni doesn’t respond right away, but I see the way his jaw tightens, like he knows better than to argue with me on this. “No, you’re not. But you know how people talk.”

I lean back in my chair, staring out the window at the city below. The silence stretches between us, thick and uncomfortable. It’s not just the men who are talking—it’s me. It’s my own mind, whispering that maybe I’m using Anya. That maybe I’m no better than my old man.

And I still want to keep using her. Because she makes me feel possessive.

Toni’s voice breaks the silence. “Look, boss, whatever they say, it’s your call. You’ve got your reasons. And most of the men respect that. They’ll fall in line. But I think it’d be a good idea to give them something to do. You know, give them something to be busy, so they stop talking too much. Something that sets an example.”

I nod, not paying attention even though I know Toni is right, because I just realized that I’ve missed something important. With all the annoyance over Anya not caring that I left, I never really asked why she didn’t care. Perhaps now that she has my protection, she’s left without a plan for what comes next? Maybe she’s indifferent, or maybe she needed time to collect herself?

Toni’s still talking, but all I can hear is the echo of my mother’s voice years ago, telling me that it was fine, that she was fine. And I believed her. Until the day I found her, slumped on the bathroom floor, an empty pill bottle beside her.

The memory tightens in my chest, a familiar ache. I should’ve seen it coming, should’ve known that being used as a tool, as a punching bag, was breaking her apart. But I didn’t. And now I’m left wondering how I’m ever supposed to figure Anya out, if she’s going to just shut me out. If she says she’s fine, how the hell am I supposed to know if it isn’t true?

Toni clears his throat. “Do you want me to come up with something to take care of the old guard? Shut down the talk?”

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