Page 52 of Hers to Command

Also in the envelope, there is a photo that I missed before, showing a grainy image of Dmitri stepping into the club, flanked by two hulking figures.

My grip tightens on the note. I should have figured Dmitri has to pay to get his dick wet, but his arrogance is infuriating. Using one of our own clubs as his personal playground? The club on Drewry Avenue is one of our smaller ones, but it is still our club and he’s already using it as if he’s got a right to.

Hell, it’s not just one of the Bratva’s clubs. With my father gone, Mikhail and I have officially inherited ownership, which means he’s going to my own goddamned club to get laid.

Lost in thought, I nearly jump when Riccardo’s voice cuts through the silence.

“What’s that?”

I whirl around, clutching the note to my chest like a fucking amateur. He’s leaning against the kitchen door frame, arms crossed, his expression unreadable but his eyes sharp.

“Nothing,” I say, too quickly.

For fuck’s sake. What is wrong with me? Way to be obvious.

His brow arches, and in two strides, he’s in front of me, plucking the envelope from my hand before I can stop him.

“Riccardo!”

He ignores me, unfolding the paper with deliberate slowness. His eyes scan the contents, his jaw tightening with each line. By the time he’s finished, his expression is thunderous.

“Are you planning to go after him?” he asks, his voice dangerously quiet. It’s the same tone he uses when he’s about to go into possessive mode. Which he really has no right to anyway, but reminding him of that hasn’t done me any good so far.

“I’ll handle it,” I confirm, lifting my chin.

He gives me a hard look. “If you go after him and fail, you’re dead. If you go after him and succeed, his family will hunt you down.”

“I’m aware. Do you think I’m stupid?” I snap, taking a step closer to him. Something about having these arguments with him is both infuriating and a fucking turn on.

Maybe that’s why we keep having them.

“I don’t think you’re stupid, but definitely reckless. You’re too damn brave for your own good.” He looks completely exasperated. “I always thought marrying a weak woman would be the worst thing I could possibly do. A woman who’d crack in this kind of life. Instead, I end up married to you and apparently you’re intent on demonstrating how wrong I was. You wanted to marry me so you’d be safe from Dmitri. Now you want me to let you go after that lunatic without even coming to me with your plan first? No, you get secret letters with intel to the house. Who even sent that?”

The way he’s ranting himself into a rage isn’t conducive to me getting out of this conversation, but I can’t help but focus on one particular thing he said.

“Since when do I need your permission?” It really is time I put him in his place and remind him that he is the one who agreed we’d end this marriage once things in the city have settled. He has no further responsibility to me other than what we initially agreed on. Marriage in exchange for information and a betterposition for him when the Russian area of town either goes into a power struggle or falls into my hands.

I might have come to him for protection, but what he’s doing now is going overboard. I should have been setting some better boundaries a while ago, but some fucked up part of me likes the reminder that there is someone trying to keep me safe. Only, the way he’s acting is starting to feel too similar to what my father did. Let me play at having control and power, but never actually trusting me to truly wield it.

Fuck that.

Riccardo’s hands grip my shoulders, forcing me to look at him. “You need my permission since you married me to stay safe from Solntsev. I’m only doing what we agreed on. Keeping you safe from him, but apparently that includes keeping you safe from your own stupid plans, too. If you don’t fucking share what you’re up to, I can’t protect you. And if that asshole kills or rapes the woman I married, what do you think I have to do then? Huh? How does that make me look?”

“I’m not playing games with my life here,” I yell, shoving at his chest. He doesn’t budge, his grip firm but not painful. “I know exactly what I’m doing. And don’t worry, I won’t hurt your stupid reputation.” Because that’s what this is really about. Not some misguided emotion he feels toward me.

I have to keep remembering that.

“No, you won’t hurt my reputation.” His voice softens, but the anger lingers beneath it. “Because you’re too smart not to see that you’re better off working with me.”

I glare at him, my chest heaving. “What do you expect me to do, Riccardo? Sit back and wait for him to come for me? Take over the clubs that belong to me while I sit around in your house and watch it all happen? You’re the one who encouraged me to have a sit down with Sergei and the others who might supportmy claim. And now what? You make a 180 and disagree? Now you want to step in?”

“No. That’s not what I’m saying.” His hands drop from my shoulders, but his eyes never leave mine. “But you should focus on rallying people and concentrate on the business angle. Let me handle the dirty bits if it comes down to that.”

I blink, caught off guard by the raw emotion in his voice. “Handle it how?”

“By doing what’s necessary if he doesn’t back down,” he says, his voice hardening. “If anyone is going to put a bullet in Dmitri, it’s me.”

“You don’t get to make that decision for me,” I whisper, but the fight has drained from my voice.

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