Chapter Nine
Anya
T he streets blur as I weave through traffic, tears running down my face and gripping the steering wheel tighter than necessary. The Flemingdon Park club is only a few blocks away, closer than my apartment, and I need to get there. Get to the office, where I can be alone. I’ll make sense of everything once I’m there.
My father. Riccardo. Everything.
I cut through a narrow side street, taking the quickest route. The club is where I’ve always been able to focus, the space I’ve carved out for myself.
But something’s off.
I glance in the rear-view mirror. A black SUV has been tailing me for the past few blocks, and now it’s gaining on me. The streets are too quiet for it to be a coincidence.
Shit.
I take a sharp right, speeding up, my mind racing. If I can just get to the club, I’ll be fine. The building is secure. My father’s men are there. But before I can make another move, another car cuts me off, slamming to a stop in front of me. When I check over my shoulder, true fear seeps into me. The SUV blocks me from behind.
There is nowhere for me to go.
I force down the panic that’s making my chest feel too tight, reaching for my gun. My door swings open before I can even lift the weapon, and a pair of hands yanks me out of the car.
“Let go of me!” I snarl, fighting back, but the grip on me tightens. Another set of hands rips the gun from my fingers. I thrash, trying to kick, elbow—anything to break free—but I’m outnumbered. One of the men forces a cloth over my face, the sharp scent of chloroform filling my nose, and I curse that I live a life in which the scent is easily recognizable.
My vision blurs as my body goes limp.
The last thing I see is the dark interior of the SUV before everything goes black.
When I come to, the world is spinning. My head throbs, and I blink against the disorienting light.
My hand reaches out, looking for Riccardo’s warm body next to mine. But there is only soft fabric. Cool to the touch. But it’s definitely not the cold street where I was taken.
Everything rushes back, and I suck in a breath.
I shift slightly, realizing I am lying in a bed, silk sheets beneath my fingertips, only it’s not Riccardo’s home. It’s not morning. I open my eyes a little. The room is upscale and tasteful. Dim lighting casts soft shadows on the beige walls, and the scent of something expensive lingers in the air. This isn’t a warehouse or some dirty basement. It’s a hotel, and an expensive one, judging by the décor and the view of the Toronto skyline through the windows.
I hear a movement and the faint clink of ice in a glass.
Every muscle in me wants to run when I see where the noise is coming from. Or rather, who it’s coming from.
Dmitri.
He stands near the window, drink in hand, watching the city as if he has nothing better to do than just waste his life staring at a shit-load of cars fucking up the atmosphere.
Besides his pig eyes, his features are bland, forgettable, but there’s something about his fading hairline and the way his suit fits just a little too tightly that highlights how much he’s trying to appear important, even though it’s clear he’s anything but. Just seeing him makes my stomach churn.
“Anya,” he says without turning, his voice calm, “it’s good to see you.”
“Wish I could say the same,” I snap, forcing myself to sit up despite the grogginess still clinging to me. “But then I was drugged and dragged here, so I’m not feeling particularly excited.”
He finally turns, and his eyes land on me with that same cold, greedy look he gave me when we first met. If you can call what happened a meeting. Then Dmitri smirks, setting his glass down on the little side table next to the window. “I don’t have the luxury of time anymore, Anya. Your father is dead, and your father’s little organization is leaderless, thanks to the disloyalty of your brother.” The words should piss me off, either because he’s insulting my brother or because he’s reminding me of exactly why I am pissed at Mikhail myself, but the way Dmitri says them makes it clear he’s confused by my brother’s actions. That he could abandon his family and the promise of power and territory... For what? Love?
It’s the first time I wonder if, perhaps, my brother actually managed to fall in love with someone. If this is more than Gianna turning his head and something that truly brings him happiness.
Of course, I’m not exactly in a position to ponder how that makes me feel right now. Especially since Dmitri is advancing on the bed.
“It’s time we follow through with the plans your father had for us, but when I contacted Sergei about it, he suggested that we delay any plans, at least until after an appropriate grieving time, which is simply unacceptable. And since he was being infuriatingly unhelpful, I decided to bring you here myself so we can close on that deal I made with your father, so to speak.”
I grit my teeth, my hands balling into fists beneath the sheets. “That’s not happening.”
He takes another slow step toward me, eyes gleaming, as if he’s sure he has me cornered. Vulnerable. “Oh, but it is. You and I both know that a marriage between us will solidify my position in Toronto. The Bratva will respect me, and in turn, so will my family back in Moscow.”
I scoot over to the other side of the bed and stand, refusing to be trapped in the bed like some helpless girl. Like some drugged-up girl he paid to do whatever he wants with. “Respect? For taking over something another man has spent his life building? You don’t even want to fight for it. You want to get it the easy way. Have everyone respect you just because of the woman hanging off your arm. I’d say you wouldn’t be the one that’s due some respect, if I am the one who gets it for you.”
Dmitri’s smile doesn’t falter, but there’s a sharpness to it now. “I want what’s owed to me. And marrying you will ensure that.”
I shake my head, stepping away from him. “No. I wasn’t going to marry you when my father was alive and I sure as fuck won’t now.”
He sighs, as if he’s disappointed in a stubborn child. “Your father thought otherwise. Don’t you want to honor his wishes?”
“My father’s dead,” I snap. “What he doesn’t know can hardly kill him now, can it?” The burning behind my eyelids is almost enough to have me clench my eyes shut, but then I wouldn’t be able to watch Dmitri, and I’ve been around enough dangerous men to know that would be a stupid mistake.
“His wishes still matter, especially since his men know about them.” The disgusting smirk is back and nausea roils in my stomach.
“I don’t care what my father wanted,” I say, keeping my voice low, forcing myself not to lose it. “I make my own choices now. And I’m telling you, this will never happen.”
His smile fades entirely, and for the first time, his mask slips. His eyes harden, a flash of anger crossing his face. “You don’t have a choice, Anya. I’m offering you security. Don’t you get that? I can make this city mine, and you get to be a part of it.”
I narrow my eyes. “I’d rather burn it all down than marry you.”
Silence stretches between us. Dmitri’s jaw tightens, and I can see the calculation behind his eyes as he tries to decide whether to press me harder or change tactics.
“It’ll happen anyway,” he says finally, his voice cold, “whether you like it or not.”
I meet his gaze head-on, my heart pounding in my chest, but I don’t flinch. “We’ll see about that.”
Dmitri’s gaze doesn’t waver from mine, but then he side-steps the corner of the bed and advances on me. He closes the distance between us, his gaze hardening, daring me to try to run.
I stay in place, staring him down. There is no way I would get far. He’s bound to have men nearby, ready to stop me from leaving, and something tells me he would get off on chasing me. Catching me.
I won’t give him that, no matter how much I want to get away from him.
His hand lifts to my chin, forcing me to look up at him. “You think you have a choice in this?” he asks, voice pissed. “You’re not going anywhere, Anya. I tried to play nice, but I don’t have to.”
I grit my teeth, keeping my gaze locked on his. My pulse hammers, but I refuse to let him see even a flicker of fear. His fingers trail lower, slow and deliberate, and the threat in his touch becomes unmistakable.
“I’ll make you understand what loyalty looks like,” he says, grinning now. “If you behave nicely, you get treated nicely. If you get difficult, I’ll remind you what women like you are good for.”
His hand has reached my breast and the part of me that isn’t frozen with horror is raging. “If you don’t get your hand off of me,” I say, finding my voice wavering only slightly, “it’ll be the last thing you ever do.”
He smiles, knowing just like I do, that if he wants to rape me, there is a good chance he can do whatever he wants and I have little chance of defending myself. I might be a good shot, but from what I can tell, he’s not packing, and they took my own gun. I’m not weak, and I’ll put on a fight, but I doubt I could actually escape him.
In that moment, the door creaks open behind us, and something shifts in Dmitri’s expression. Surprise at first and then rage.
I turn and see who it is.
It’s Riccardo.
The tension in the room thickens and I feel my pulse quicken, but I keep my posture rigid, refusing to show any more vulnerability than my current position already gives away, although I do take a step back to get Dmitri’s hand off of me.
Riccardo’s voice breaks the silence, cool and dangerous. “I believe you’re having a conversation with someone who belongs to me.” Riccardo’s eyes lower to where Dmitri’s hand is still extended toward me and a flash of anger shows that reveals how dangerous Riccardo really is.
Dmitri’s lips curve into a smug smirk that’s so fake it could belong in a bad reality television show. “Is that so? I don’t recall asking the Italians for their opinion about anything.”
Riccardo steps further into the room, taking his time like a predator that knows it’s at the top of the food chain. He doesn’t look at me, as if this is entirely between them. “We’re not here to survey anyone’s opinions,” he says smoothly. “We’re here to settle something. You took something that belongs to me.”
A dark laugh escapes Dmitri, and he finally lets that damn smirk drop. “I don’t recall her wearing your ring, Angelo, and she’s been promised to me by her father. So she’s my fiancé. You’re a little late to the game, don’t you think?”
I look between the two of them, knowing exactly what this is—an old-fashioned, male pissing match. But beneath it, there’s a current of violence, barely restrained. One wrong move, and this entire situation could explode.
Hell, if my brother were here, people would already be losing their eyes. Cut out after he knifed someone.
Riccardo’s gaze flickers briefly to me. His eyes are still in their sockets, but his expression is still unreadable. “Anya’s not property that can be promised by someone else. Even her father. And she’s not yours to take.” His voice lowers, each word enunciated with precision and shooting straight to my pussy in a very untimely display of my body’s neediness around Riccardo.
His eyes meet mine. “Her and I have an agreement.”
Dmitri’s smirk fades slightly. “You have an agreement with her?” He shakes his head and laughs. “Whatever that’s worth. Because you sure as fuck don’t have one with me.”
“I’d rather see you dead than ever consider a deal with you or the Brotherhood.” Riccardo takes another step forward, now close enough that they’re in punching distance. Or knifing, more likely. Not that Riccardo seems concerned. “I’m telling you to back off.”
Dmitri’s eyes narrow, his posture shifting ever so slightly. The tension ratchets up another notch, and for a second, I wonder if this whole situation is going to blow up in my face. But no one reaches for a weapon. Not yet, anyway.
“You think you can come here and take what you want?” Dmitri’s voice is low, threatening. “From me?”
Riccardo holds his ground, his expression calm but deadly. “I don’t just think so. I know.”
Silence. The air is thick with the challenge between them, only interrupted by a noise from outside the room. I finally realize that I was right. Dmitri’s men are outside the open door, currently facing off with a second, much larger group, who must belong to Riccardo.
Finally, Dmitri speaks, his voice dripping with disdain. “I could kill you right here, you know. But that would be too messy.”
Riccardo’s eyes glint with cold amusement. “You could try. But I guarantee you won’t be walking out of this room if you do.”
My eyes flick to the door again, watching Dmitri’s men shift uneasily. They know they’re outmanned.
Dmitri’s jaw clenches. He must have realized the same thing. For a long, tense moment, neither he nor Riccardo speak. Then Dmitri takes a step back, a mocking smile tugging at his lips. “I’ll let you have your moment, Angelo. But this isn’t over. Anya knows where she belongs. I’ll see her at the funeral.”
The reminder of my father’s death cuts me, and the air I meant to breathe in doesn’t come. Dmitri grins at me, as if he’s still winning. It’s so messed up, my head spins.
Riccardo’s gaze lands on me, his eyebrows drawing together. “Come on.”
Dmitri gestures toward the door with a mocking flourish. “By all means, take her. For now.”
When Riccardo’s hand wraps around my lower arm, I let him pull me along. He keeps his eyes on Dmitri as we move toward the door. I hate feeling like I’m being passed between two men like a prize, but at least with Riccardo, I know I have some leverage.
“Get out of our way,” Riccardo growls at the men, and they part for us.
Once we’re in the hallway, Riccardo turns to me, his voice tight with barely controlled anger. “Why the fuck did you leave your father’s house alone?”
“I didn’t exactly invite myself to a kidnapping,” I snap back, not in the mood for a lecture. “But thanks for the rescue, I guess.”
His eyes flash with something I can’t quite read, but he doesn’t respond. Instead, he motions for us to keep moving, and we walk quickly toward the elevator.
“We’re going to my place.”
“No, we’re not.” I still need to get to a quiet place to think. And to grieve. Not that I tell Riccardo that.
“Yes, we are.”
I’m about to give him hell for being a controlling ass, but then I notice the way he’s looking at me. Possessive. And for whatever fucked up reason that I’d need a therapist for to figure out, I let him guide me through the lobby of the hotel and to his car when the elevator doors open.