Page 8 of Hers to Command

I knew what she looked like before. My security team has files on anyone close to Adrik Tsepov and they make sure I know the relevant faces just in case, but the pictures don’t do the woman justice.

Sure, I knew she was hot before. But I rarely lack the presence of hot women in my life when I want it. Anya Tsepov is a whole lot more than just hot, though. She’s got the kind of steel spinethat allowed her to walk into my office as if she had a right to, something plenty of well-established businessmen don’t dare.

If she’d wanted to address some of her obvious daddy issues, I would have sent Toni packing and have fucked her over my desk right then and there. But that’s not what she wants. No. Of course, it couldn’t be that simple.

Marriage.

Oddly enough, I don’t recoil at the idea. But I don’t have time to deal with that unexpected revelation just now.

Instead, I need to deal with Dmitri fucking Solntsev.

I glance out of my office window, but all I see are the city lights mocking me with their blinking party atmosphere. I can even hear the distant drone of an incoming plane. Not that it’s the cargo plane that left Vnukovo five hours ago and is supposed to land at the big private airstrip nearby in nine hours. What I’m hearing is just one of the many commercial airplanes that land nearby at Pearson International Airport. Going through my goddamned airspace.

A knock at the door interrupts my fuming.

“Come in.”

“I’ve got news from our guy.” Toni makes his way into the room, and without waiting for me to say something, hands me a piece of paper. “They’ve got seventeen souls on board. Ten women and five of their men aboard that plane, plus the pilot and co-pilot. They’ve listed the cargo as mineral fertilizers.”

“I want at least twenty men present when they land. Keep only one of the men alive to question. Kill the rest.”

“What about the women and the pilots?”

“If the pilots are unarmed, they can live. Have a doctor at one of our houses and make sure the women are seen, then ask them if they want to go home or get paid and work for us.”

“Consider it done, boss.”

As Toni makes to leave, I grab my coat, heading for the door ahead of him.

“You’re not going to join, are you?” The question is tentative. Toni knows I don’t take to being questioned kindly, but he still asks. A sign that he takes his security duties seriously. Especially since it’s obvious that he’s clearly hoping I’m not planning to be at that airstrip in person.

“No, I have something else I need to take care of. Alone.” Not bothering to check for Toni’s reaction, I cross through the lobby and leave him to assemble the team he needs to send Solntsev a ‘fuck you’ message.

Outside, the night air is cold. I climb into my car, the engine roaring to life. As I tear through the streets, I can feel the tension building in the air. Not anger at the Solntsevskaya Brotherhood or even Adrik Tsepov, but something else, something that’s driven by curiosity.

When I reach the apartment building, I don’t stop at the reception to check in the way other guests are required to do. I may not live here, but I own the building, so all I get is a polite nod. I head up to the tenth floor, which isn’t the penthouse, but high enough up that Tracy never complained.

Letting myself in with my key-card, I enter the pink nightmare that defies all decent taste. It didn’t use to bother me, but lately walking in here has triggered a flight instinct. Fortunately, it’s easily overruled by my dick’s needs and the fact that I refuse to allow the overdone pink decorations to threaten my masculinity. Plus, it’s not the color of the walls or the tacky furniture that matters right now—it’s the distraction I’m here for.

Tracy, my current mistress, has draped herself across the couch in the living room, wearing the kind of sheer robe that leaves nothing to the imagination. Her lips curl into a welcoming smile, her eyes flicking over me in a way that makes it clear she’s been waiting for this. Undoubtedly, she’s instructed thedesk downstairs to inform her when I enter the building, and I’m admittedly impressed by how fast she was able to get ready for me.

“Riccardo,” she purrs, rising from the couch in one fluid movement, her hips swaying with deliberate seduction. “It’s been a while. Didn’t you miss me?”

Despite the slight note of reproachfulness in her tone, she walks toward me, her fingers already reaching for the buttons of my coat. I catch her wrist before she can start undressing me.

“I’m not here to talk,” I say flatly, my voice harder than I intend. I don’t like what she’s insinuating, but more so I’m irritated by the lingering thoughts of Anya. Being here should wipe her off my mind. That’s Tracy’s entire purpose and the reason she gets to live in this apartment. So far, she always did a good enough job of distracting me.

But now?

I still picture Anya. Her face, her eyes, the way she stood in front of me with that steel in her spine. Tracy is all intentional sex appeal, while Anya was sexy as fuck without even trying. Probably without even meaning to be. Because she never said sex was on the table. A pure marriage of convenience. A business deal.

It shouldn’t bother me this much, but it does.

Tracy raises an eyebrow but doesn’t argue. She knows me well enough not to. Instead, she takes a step back and turns toward the bedroom, her heels clicking against the hardwood floor, which thus far has escaped the threat of yet another pink carpet. I follow her, shrugging off my coat and tossing it onto a chair. The entire time, Anya’s face keeps swimming back to the forefront of my mind, no matter how much I try to shove it away.

This is supposed to be simple. Get my needs taken care of, clear my head, and deal with the actual problems at hand—the shipment, the Brotherhood, Adrik’s stupidity, and Anya’s proposal.

But as Tracy’s hands roam over my bare chest a few minutes later, my dick doesn’t cooperate the way it usually does. I’m stiff from mere instinctual reaction, but barely hard enough to fuck, and I doubt it’s because of the fluffy pink throw pillows, however much I want to believe it.

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