Chapter Ten
Riccardo
D ragging Anya into the bedroom takes little effort. She isn’t herself, but fuck, I need to claim her right now. Seeing Dmitri touching her was almost enough to make me kill him on the spot. I don’t know how I managed not to lose my shit in that hotel room, but I know one thing. If I don’t get to fuck her right now, there is a good chance I’ll turn around and burn that asshole alive.
I rip her blouse open, buttons popping off and scattering across the carpeted floor. My mouth is on her breasts and I pull her bra down so it’s out of my way. Anya makes a sound, but the rushing in my ears is too loud for me to really pay attention to it.
I suck her nipple into my mouth, hard.
The fucking bra isn’t so easy to rip off and I’m reminded of my teenage years when I fumble at her back to open the clasp.
It’s taking too damn long and I bite the side of her breast to let out some of my annoyance.
Finally, the bra is open and I pull on her blouse and bra to tug them off of her.
Anya just stands there, which is so different from the last time we did this, when she was all fire and push-back, that it pisses me off and I push her onto the bed. She’s mine and I don’t like that she isn’t herself.
But there is only one thing I can do right now to take her mind off of all the shit that’s going on, and thank fuck that’s perfectly aligned with what my dick needs right now because I’m not all that sure I’ve got enough self-control to stop.
I climb over her, caging her in with my body. Her hair fans out on the bedspread, a dark halo against the cream sheets. Her eyes meet mine, wide and vulnerable, and for a split second, something twists in my chest.
“Anya,” I rasp, my voice low and raw. I cup her jaw, tilting her face up to me. Her lips part, but no words come out. She’s here, but not really. The fire I usually see in her is dim, like the fight has been sucked out of her.
It makes me furious. Not at her—never at her—but at him. At what that bastard did to her. What he wanted to do to her. The memory of Dmitri’s hands on her is a fucking insult.
But then I remember that being kidnapped isn’t all that happened to her today. Her father died. And while I’d happily dance on the grave of my old man, Anya might feel different, despite the way old Tsepov wanted to sell her off like one of the whores in his stable.
I brush my thumb over her cheek, softer than I thought I could given my mental state, and lean down. My lips skim hers, light, waiting. She doesn’t move, just stares at me like she’s trying to figure out what the hell I’m doing.
“You’re mine,” I whisper against her mouth. It’s not a question, and it’s not up for debate.
Her breathing hitches, her chest rising against mine, and that small reaction ignites something in me. I deepen the kiss, slow but demanding. It’s not just about needing her—it’s about reminding her who the hell she is. She’s not some pawn for men like Dmitri. She’s Anya, fierce and brave, and fuck if I’m going to let her forget it.
I can’t, because if she’s vulnerable, I can’t have her.
I’d ruin her.
Kill her.
Her hands finally come up, clutching at my shirt, pulling me closer. There’s heat in her touch now, a spark.
Better.
“You’re with me,” I say when I pull back for air, locking eyes with her. “No one else gets to decide what happens to you. Not him, not anyone. Just you and me.”
Her gaze flickers, something shifting in those dark eyes of hers. I don’t know what it is, but what matters is that she’s looking at me again, really looking at me.
I grip her hair and pull so she has to crane her head back against the mattress and then I start to kiss her neck. Sucking, I mark her as best as I can. Maybe later, I’ll get my name tattooed on her.
Yeah , I’d like that.
My dick presses against my pants, reminding me that while marking her neck is nice and all, there is something much better I can do to release my frustration. To properly claim her after that asshole tried to take her.
I move down her body, kissing and licking, not because I’m in the mood to be gentle with her, but because I need her head to stick with me while she lies there, not even fighting me for control.
She fought him, though.
My fingers grab her pants and pull hard, not bothering to open the button or zipper. They come down, though it’s with a bit of effort. I don’t give a shit. My tongue is already dipping between her thighs and I don’t bother pulling the pants down all the way anyway, liking the way her legs are tangled up in them. Bound.
Anya gasps, a sharp intake of breath that sends a jolt of satisfaction straight to my gut. She’s focused on me now. Her body tenses, then softens beneath my hands, and I press harder, my tongue tracing patterns designed to make her forget.
Forget him. Forget what happened. Forget everything but me.
I want to consume her.
Her thighs tremble, and I grip them tightly, spreading her wider. The fabric of her tangled pants digs into her skin, but she doesn’t seem to care, her hands fisting in the sheets above her head. The sound she makes—a soft, desperate moan—nearly undoes me.
“Anya,” I murmur against her skin, my voice a growl that vibrates through her.
Her fingers leave the sheets and tangle in my hair instead, tugging hard enough to sting. I groan against her, the pain sharp but grounding. She’s still here, still fighting, and it only spurs me on.
She’s not weak.
Her breaths come quicker now, uneven and ragged. I lift my head just enough to look at her, my lips brushing the sensitive skin of her inner thigh. Her cheeks are flushed, her eyes dark with something I can’t quite name, but it hits me hard.
She needs this as much as I do. The reminder that she’s alive, that she’s still herself, and that no one—not Dmitri, not anyone—can take that away from her.
“Mine,” I whisper again, the word a vow, and I dive back in, determined to prove it to her in every way I can.
When I push two fingers into her, she’s already wet and ready for me. But I want more. Need her addicted to me the way I’m starting to feel about her.
Not once has a woman made me feel this feral.
I pump my fingers into her as I suck on her clit. My other hand moves up her body and twists her nipples. First one, then the other.
I lick and suck until finally, her pussy begins to spasm and her back arches off the mattress.
And then I do what I’ve wanted to do all along.
I get up and open my pants. My cock is hard with pre-cum already leaking from it, ready to do exactly what I’ve been meaning to do this entire time.
“Protection, Riccardo,” Anya pushes out through panted breaths. “We need to remember protection this time.”
I smirk. “Not going to happen.” And then I pull off her pants and take hold of her knees. I push them apart and position myself at her entrance.
“What the fuck, Riccardo?”
“Yeah, let’s fuck.” And I plunge into her. Wet heat surrounds me and I grit my teeth. This is so damn good I want to keep doing it, over and over again, and since I’m not a man prone to accept that I can’t have something that I want, it’s exactly what I do. I thrust into Anya again and again, as her wide eyes stare up at me.
She’s still dazed from the day, but she’s about to rally, I can tell. So I fuck her hard and fast to make sure she doesn’t have an easy time forming any thoughts.
It only takes her a moment, despite the way her head fell back for the first few thrusts. “This isn’t just about STIs, you idiot,” she yells, trying to sit up. But I’m still holding her knees up and apart, fucking into her, so all she manages is to push herself up on her elbows. Her tits bounce up and down and it is so damn hot I’m getting damn close.
“I’m not on birth control!” Anya yells at me as if that doesn’t bring me even closer to the edge.
“Good,” I growl, and then I lean down and suck her nipple into my mouth as I keep thrusting my hips, dipping into her core with my cock.
I suckle for just a moment, loving the way the pain shoots from my scalp right to my dick from where she’s trying to rip my head away from her tit by yanking on my hair.
“What is wrong with you?”
I don’t let go of her knees but manage to pull my hair free from her hands and straighten again, never once stopping the damning rhythm that’s making my balls tight with the need to burst.
“I’m taking what’s mine.” And then I hammer into her one more time and shoot my cum into her.
When I slide into bed next to her, I expect her to slap me, or to yell. A fucked up part of me is actually looking forward to it. Instead, she just looks at me, and when I wrap my arm around her, it’s as if Anya crumbles against me. Her sobs are quiet, but I can feel her shake against my chest. For all the fire and fight I’ve seen in her, this is different—this is raw grief. I hold her tighter, her tears soaking into my chest.
I stroke her hair, not saying anything, because I know there are no words that would make this better. Her father might not have been a good man—none of us are—but he was her father. And now he’s gone. And I know how it feels to lose someone you loved, however imperfect that person may have been. My father may have been an asshole, but my mother loved me and losing her tore something in me apart.
Her phone rings, cutting through the moment, and I feel her tense. She wipes at her eyes with the back of her hand and sits up, reaching for her pants that are still lying on the foot of the bed. She pulls out her phone, but when she sees who’s calling, she hesitates before answering.
“Mikhail.”
“Anya... I heard,” Mikhail’s voice comes through the line, low and audible. There’s shock in it, but not much emotion. I suppose that’s typical for a man who’s seen his share of death, even if it’s his own father this time. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there.”
She struggles against me for a moment to sit up. I scowl at her pulling back from me, but at least it allows me to see her face. Her lips press together, her eyes cast down. “It happened fast,” she says softly, contradicting the other emotions her face betrays. Annoyance is my best guess.
There’s a long pause. Mikhail’s voice, when I hear it again, is hesitant. “If you need me... you could come stay with Gianna and me for a while.” Now he sounds more certain. “You probably shouldn’t be alone right now.”
I watch her face closely, curious if she’ll take him up on the offer and prepared to put a stop to it. I’m not about to let her walk away from me just to turn to Mikhail. But all her face shows is hurt.
“No,” she says, her voice flat, but with an edge that makes me feel more pleased than any decent human being should. “I’m not coming to you. You weren’t around before. What makes you think I need your help now? What makes you think I’d run to you for help?”
Mikhail is silent for a moment on the other end. “I should’ve been there, Anya. I get it. But I’ll come get you now.”
There is no mention of him taking over his father’s position, or his support for Anya to take their father’s place. I might have doubted the fact that Mikhail had no ambitions to get his hands on the power his father possessed in the past, but now I’m convinced. He really is Gianna’s lapdog, with no ambitions for himself.
Unlike Anya, I suspect.
Her eyes harden as she grips the phone tighter, her knuckles whitening. “Seriously, Mikhail? Now you want to help? When it’s convenient for you? You think I don’t remember how you left?”
“That’s done Anya. I’m still your brother.” There is an obvious frustration in Mikhail’s voice now.
“I don’t need you to swoop in and play hero,” she snaps. Yeah, this is the woman that walked into my office. Now that she’s released some of the initial shock, her fire is back, and despite its recent release, my dick gives a little bob as I listen to her put her brother in his place.
There’s a moment of silence as she fights to keep the tears at bay, but it’s clear the exhaustion of grief and the weight of everything are still pressing down on her. “I’ll handle this on my own.”
My pretty little Russian. So desperate for control.
“Fine. But there is going to be a shit show breaking loose. Gianna isn’t happy about the Brotherhood moving into the territory, and it looks like they are angling for just that. Apparently, more of Solntsev’s guys have arrived early this morning.”
That news has me reach for my own phone and shoot a message to Toni. He replies quickly, confirming the news. I’m pissed he didn’t call me right away when he found out before remembering that I’d sent him a text before dragging Anya into the bedroom that promised him a swift death if he dared interrupt me with anything less important than the city burning to the ground.
By the time my attention lands back on Anya, she’s just hanging up on her brother. She doesn’t say anything right away. Just stares at the phone like she’s trying to make sense of everything.
“Mikhail and Gianna want Dmitri gone.” She states it like a fact, rather than a fucking loaded statement.
“What did he say, exactly?” I ask, my tone sharper than intended. I curse myself for getting sidetracked when the conversation got interesting.
“Well, he didn’t say it in so many words, but it sounds like they are considering reaching out to some of the men that used to work under Mikhail. See how they are feeling about the Brotherhood and potentially using them to make a move.” She speaks slowly, as if still deciding how much to share with me.
I feel my jaw tighten. Gianna always has her eye on the long game, and Mikhail’s the perfect tool for her now. If they think they can use this moment to gain more ground, they’re fucking wrong.
I keep my face passive even as I’m ready to give Gianna Bruno a call and remind her in no uncertain terms that if she thinks she can step out on our agreement to deal with the Russian problem as a combined Italian front, she’ll have a two-front war on her hands.
From where I’m looking at things, Gianna and Mikhail are positioning themselves—moving into Bratva territory. But the biggest issue I have right now is that they are offering support to Anya like it’s some kind of family reunion, when really, it’s a power move.
Fuck them.
Because them going after Bratva territory is one thing, but I feel fucking feral at the thought that their goddamned plans might take Anya from me. She might have said no now, but Mikhail is a psychopath and who knows how far he’d go to take his sister back.
“You okay?” she asks, obviously sensing that I’m ready to tear something apart.
The irony of her checking on me right now isn’t lost on me. “I am. What about you? Are you okay? Or, you know, holding up anyway?” I focus my attention on her. She’s gone through a hell of a lot in the past twenty-four hours.
Anya nods, but there’s a heaviness in her eyes. And I know exactly what I have to do to fix everything.
“Good. Then let’s plan a wedding.”