Chapter 24
NIK
The moment I step into the Commission hall, I spot Misha immediately. She’s scanning the crowd, eyes bright, her lips curve into a smile that makes her whole face glow.
And then, I see Volya, my anchor, my safe harbor.
Even from across the room, her warmth pulls the tension from my shoulders, makes the chaos feel distant for a second.
“Misha!” Volya calls, her voice smooth and honeyed, and even in Russian, it makes my chest tighten. “Moya malen’kaya volchitsa!”.
Her little wolf, alright.
Misha grins from ear to ear. “Moma!” she calls back and bolts forward without hesitation.
They collide in a hug so tight it’s almost ridiculous. Misha has grown now, yet still folding into the arms of this gentle, steady woman who’s been more of a mother to her than anyone else ever could.
Volya cups her cheek, tucking back a stray lock of hair with aching tenderness. “Ty ochen’ krasivaya,” she murmurs. “You’re very beautiful.”
Misha laughs, breathless, shaking her head. “And you’re the same as always, warm and terrifying at the same time.”
I can’t help but smile to myself. They fit together so seamlessly, like two pieces of a puzzle finally clicking into place. For the first time in what feels like forever, I feel… peace.
Volya’s gaze shifts, landing on me. Her smile softens, a motherly and steady one.
“Moy khrabryy chelovek,” My brave one, she says, and it’s simple, just a quiet pride.
“Ma’am,” I reply, stiff at first. But then I notice her hand finding mine instinctively, her thumb brushing against my skin, and something inside me eases.
She nods, giving Misha one last squeeze before releasing her. “I missed you, moi deti,” she murmurs—my children.
“I missed you too,” Misha whispers, her voice tight, like she’s holding back a flood of words. “It’s been… too long.”
Volya’s gaze softens, studying Misha’s face as though she’s trying to memorize every detail. “You’ve grown so much, my little wolf. Every time I see you, I wonder how you’re turning into such a fine young woman.”
Misha swallows, glancing toward the doors. “I… I have so much to tell you, Moma,” she says, almost pleading. “There’s been so much, I don’t even know where to start.”
Volya chuckles softly. “And you will. Later. I promise. We’ll sit, we’ll talk, and you’ll tell me everything. I want to hear it all.”
“Later,” Misha echoes with a pout, reluctant to let go.
I step back, watching them. Volya’s hand lingers on Misha’s shoulder, their laughter is easy and unguarded, and for a fleeting moment, the whole room feels brighter, as if the chaos has paused just for them.
And they let go, because duty calls, but everything they want to say —the stories, the laughter, the missed moments —still hum in the air between them.
It’s loud. It’s chaotic. And it’s necessary.
Holy Christ in Heaven.
I cannot focus. Not with Leanna Campisi across the room, a beacon in all red, heels so sharp they could stab a man through the heart.
Pretending not to know, she made herself come in the shower just to torture me. Not knowing that every dark-suited man in this room is thinking about fucking her.
I want to kill them all, right here, no regrets.
She is, hands down, the most beautiful woman I have ever seen.
She was gorgeous when she was sleep-confused.
She was stunning, wet, and naked in the shower.
She was beyond beautiful when she cried out her release.
And now? In a power suit and a glower, she could bring me to my fucking knees.
Not one of these men can take their eyes off her. I swear I’ll stab them all in the eyes after these meetings.
“Ladies and Gentlemen,” Don Campisi says, puffed up with pride, his voice cutting through the tension. “Welcome to my city. I’m glad we could all convene as friends, and I’m excited to introduce you to my daughter, Leanna.”
“She is the brightest of us all,” he continues, gesturing toward her with unmistakable pride. “Having completed her degree at Northwestern and then immersing herself in the intricacies of our complex business model, and yes, as the rumors say, she’s my successor in training.”
He pauses, scanning the room, ensuring his words land.“So I expect respect for her and for her voice during these meetings. Am I understood?”
The men all nod and murmur and try to avert their eyes. I don’t look away, because I cannot. Leanna Campisi has bewitched me.
“In order to assure her protection and assure a strong family line, we are working through conversations with several Campisi affiliates to make a strong match. Her chosen husband will join our leadership ranks, and we will also interview for a second. We have a lot to do, including, hopefully, planning a wedding.”
A wedding?
I want to puke.
I feel my face fall into a deep scowl, and I know I should control it. I’m sure Don Campisi will just think I’m being petulant and hostile, which is honestly fine.
Lars sits to my right, his blonde head bobbing like a fucking bobblehead as he nods and acts like he gives a shit.
Really, I am positively murderous over this news.
Honestly, it’s the best thing the Don could do for his daughter if he really expects her to run the organization someday. Organized crime is still built by men for men. Strong women talk, but only a few get to be heard. Most are tolerated only if there’s a man to take the heat.
That tells me plenty about Leanna—that her father has enough faith in her to risk the optics. It means she’s sharper, more challenging, and more dangerous than most.
But the truth is, I don’t know that Leanna.
The Ana I know is vulnerable in ways I can barely put into words. She’s intelligent, yes. Sexy beyond reason. But she’s not the vixen in red commanding this room. She’s not the woman who can stand tall in front of killers and hold her own.
Leanna, though, might very well be that woman. I don’t know if it’s an act for her father, for me, or for her own survival.
Maybe it’s a total facade.
Or maybe it’s not an act at all. Maybe that vixen finally clawed her way out of the chrysalis. And if she has… perhaps I had something to do with it.
Because she is not the same girl who once walked nervously into that room, stiff and almost embarrassed by her own pleasure, she’s not even the same woman I saw this morning in our hotel room, seizing control of her own body, her own desire, and wielding it like a weapon.
Yes, Antonio Campisi is smart to try to lock her down quickly. She’s too beautiful, and she’ll turn too many heads. Too many men will want to claim her, own her. She’ll need a strong husband, someone who makes it clear that laying a hand on her comes with consequences worse than death.
I understand the logic. Lars is doing the same with Misha. The difference is, Misha wants it. She’ll follow his lead. My Ana? I can’t see her agreeing.
I don’t want her to agree.
And that’s the problem.
Because I know the truth: I can’t have her, she can’t ever really be mine. And even if she could, I’ve never wanted marriage or children. That life isn’t for me.
But still—
I know how family men can be. How they treat their women. And the thought of some asshole pawing at her, fucking her, filling her with babies, and displaying her like a trophy—
It makes my blood boil.
I told her once I’d kill any man who touched her. I meant it then. I mean it now.
What a fucking mess. What the hell did I do, getting tangled up with her?
Dom and I have already discussed options. My old plan was clean: ship her to Russia while we talked to the Don. Lars has room for her on the estate, Volya would take her in like a daughter, and I wouldn’t have worried about her safety there.
If the Don chose not to cooperate… well, then it would have been on him if anything went wrong. I wouldn’t have lost sleep over it.
That was before I learned Leanna is Ana.
I can’t send her away like that anymore. Can’t pretend I can trade her off.
Now, I’m already formulating a new plan that involves locking her in my apartment. She’ll be my personal prisoner. No one touches her but me, and maybe I’ll give her back, or perhaps I won’t.
Maybe I’ll start a war over her.
She is mine.
This thought somehow makes me angry. And the anger only increases as the day’s meetings continue.
I can barely concentrate.
I want to punch something.
Dom texts me, asking if I’ve laid eyes on the princess yet.
Me: Yes. Everyone’s laid eyes on her. She’s all in red like a fucking fire demon.
We go back and forth through lunch.
Dom: Do you know what room she’s in?
Me: No.
I lied.
Dom: What’s the plan?
Me: I’ll get her when things are over. She’s going to my place.
Dom: What? Why? That’s too much risk.
Me: I won’t send her overseas. Lars is good, but there are others who aren’t.
Dom: And we care because…?
Me: I’m not down with rape. She doesn’t deserve that.
Dom: So put out an edict. No one touches her.
Me: I want to keep an eye on her.
Dom: What if Campisi doesn’t want to negotiate?
Me: Then I’ll do what needs to be done to make him.
Dom: Reshat’ vam…Boss. Your call.
He seems to accept this, albeit begrudgingly. And he’s not wrong. It is a risk to keep her with me for many reasons. I tell him I need two trustworthy guards. And I need a security system installed in one of my guest bedrooms. He says he’ll get it done.
I’m not an idiot.
Once I have her, once she’s a prisoner in a locked bedroom as a bargaining chip, she will hate me. She will hate me even more if I refuse to let her go. But still. No one else is laying hands on her ever again.
No one.