Chapter Fifteen
Anya
T he door clicks shut behind Riccardo. I watch him through the window as he gets into his car and drives off to his office. Or maybe another meeting somewhere else I don’t know about.
My bitterness from last night isn’t quite gone yet, even if the intensity of last night’s anger has cooled. I still don’t trust him to keep me in the loop, and that’s not a position I’m willing to accept. No. I’m about to act, rather than react, for once.
When I’m sure he’s gone, I slip back to my room to grab my purse and make my way downstairs, careful not to be too loud. I catch a glimpse of Mrs. Batton through the kitchen door and quickly move past before she turns to see me. The last thing I want is for her or anyone else to report back to Riccardo before I even leave the damn house, and I suspect that’s exactly what would happen. Which is also why I’m pulling out my phone before I open the door.
“Chill, Riccardo, I’m on my way to you now.” I pause and nod at the guards with a smile that tells them everything is peachy. “Yeah, no problem. I’m driving my own car. I’ll see you in a bit.”
I’m past the two men watching the house, not lowering my phone from my ear until I’m in my convertible, even though the call is entirely fake. I’m hoping the one-sided conversation is enough to reassure them that Riccardo knows I’m leaving the house and that I don’t need to have a fucking escort.
Riccardo may have married me, but he doesn’t get to control my choices, no matter what he thinks. And I get the distinct feeling that the possessiveness he’s been showing might get out of hand if I don’t put a stop to it now.
Kind of fucked up, really. He should be happy I mind my own business, since this isn’t a normal marriage. It’s a business agreement, no matter how domestic last night’s dinner may have felt before he dropped an atomic bomb on me when he said he’d seen Mikhail and Gianna.
As I drive out of the driveway, I confirm that Ren and Josh aren’t following me. Then I scroll down to Mikhail’s number, my thumb hovering over the call button for a beat. My pulse quickens slightly; I haven’t spoken to him since our last heated exchange, but I can’t let that stop me now.
I press the green call button, pulling onto the street as it rings on the other end.
I half expect that Mikhail won’t answer. But just as I think he’s letting my call go to voice-mail, Mikhail’s voice comes through.
“Anya.” His tone is curt, wary.
“Mikhail.” I keep my tone casual, ignoring the edge in his voice. “We need to talk. Today.”
“You fucking married Riccardo Angelo? Did you lose your mind?”
“Look who’s pretending to give a shit about my life now.” I snarl, the guilt from last night making me feel extra bitchy.
“Save it. You can’t keep giving me shit for marrying Gianna, who I actually give a shit about when you got hitched to a fucking egomaniac. One you didn’t even know before!”
Like hell, I can’t keep giving him shit about that, but I’ve got to stay on track.
“I need you to meet me.”
He hesitates. “What’s going on?”
“Meet me at the Flemingdon Park club in an hour.”
There’s a brief silence, and I can almost feel him bristling. “Fine,” he says, clipped and wary. “I’ll be there.”
I hang up before he can say anything more, leaning back and taking a steadying breath. It’s a risk to have Mikhail come to the Russian part of the city, especially with Dmitri pulling shit. Even father’s men might not welcome him with open arms. But this will be on my terms. In the club, where I’ve been in control for years. Father might not have known it, but Mikhail sure as hell did. It was supposed to be like that. Him as the face of operations and me running things. I was cool with that, and then he went and fucked it all up. Now I’m making him come to me, and I’ll remind him exactly who’s been running things while he was off playing gangster and chasing after Gianna.
Of course, as much as it’s a risk for Mikhail to come to the club, news of my marriage might already be spreading among our men as well, so I call Sergei next, who agrees to meet me at the club as well.
When I get there, I greet Sergei outside. He’s waiting to escort me in, which is different, but having him by my side while walking in will set the right tone with the men. I trust Sergei, so I suck it up, even if I dislike the notion that I need a man’s protection. The objection is laughable anyway, after I married Riccardo for that exact reason.
A number of the men greet us, and more than one of them gives me curious looks, but not a single one of them seems upset by my showing up here.
When we get upstairs, I sit at my old desk in what technically was supposed to be Mikhail’s office.
When the door falls shut, Sergei speaks. “You married Riccardo Angelo.” His voice is calm, but his expression is anything but. “Why would you do such a thing?”
I glare at him. “Because my father figured marrying me off to a psychopath was a good idea.”
Sergei inclines his head. “I discouraged your father from inviting the Brotherhood to Toronto, but he was very angry with your brother. He wanted to secure a powerful successor for himself.”
“And he chose poorly.” It is the first time I’m outright criticizing my father’s leadership and for a second Sergei’s eyes widen, but then he nods.
“It certainly did not go as he planned.”
“And now we need a new plan.”
A small smile plays on Sergei’s lips. “We?”
I nod. “Yes. We.”
Sergei shakes his head. “Is that your new husband’s idea?”
Annoyance flares in me, but I can hardly blame Sergei for his assumption. “No. It is my plan. Riccardo is useful for the protection he’s providing me from Dmitri, but he does not know I’m here, though perhaps he will hear about it from Gianna soon enough, since I asked Mikhail to meet me here.”
At that, Sergei’s mouth actually drops open. “Is Mikhail planning to demand his position?”
I almost laugh at Sergei’s obvious disbelief. “No. But I am, and I intend to ensure that Mikhail’s wife doesn’t get in my way since things will be difficult enough without that opposition on my hands.”
It’s the first time I openly acknowledge what has been brewing in the back of my mind ever since I woke up the day after my father’s death. Before, I never imagined myself being the head of the Bratva. Running things for Mikhail, yes, but claiming leadership in my own right? No, that never used to be the plan. But I’m done waiting. Reacting.
I want power. Respect.
And now I want recognition, too.
It’s too late to ask it from my father, and that would have been a lost cause anyway, but I look at Sergei, my eyebrow raised. “Do you object?”
My father’s friend weighs his head from side to side, considering me. “You know how to run things, that much you’ve proven.”
When my eyes widen against my better judgement, Sergei smiles faintly. “You cannot believe we did not know who ran the operations in the club. Why do you think your father allowed your studies? We know you are smart and good with the business. But we’re old men. Used to things running a certain way. A man in charge, even if a woman runs things.”
I sink into my chair, not prepared to accept what Sergei is saying.
“So father knew I ran the club?”
Sergei nods. “Yes. He allowed it, assuming Mikhail had to play wild while he was young. Thinking he’d eventually take charge. But yes, he knew you were capable if needed.”
Anger surges up even as some long harbored resentment against my father fades. “But he never included me. Never talked about the business.”
Sergei huffs and pulls out one of the chairs in front of the desk. “He knew, but he did not wish for it to be your life. Or perhaps he simply couldn’t picture a woman running things officially. Not even you. I think that’s why he wanted you married to Dmitri. The boy has a reputation as undisciplined but ambitious. It would have given the Bratva a man to handle the day-to-day operations, but you would have had someone you could subtly influence with your intelligence and beauty to steer things in the right direction. Young men are easily distracted by the wishes of their wives, you know?”
I shake my head, not ready to accept any of that yet.
“So will you give me your support if I oppose Dmitri now?”
When Sergei leaves, I deliberately position myself behind the office desk to remind Mikhail who’s been running this place all these years.
I pull out a piece of paper and start writing down notes. All the things I can think of to start living life on my terms. Anything to keep me from thinking about the fact that my father knew what I was capable of. Knew it, tolerated it, but never acknowledged it.
It was never enough to change his mind.
Unlike Sergei.
And hopefully enough of the men to make a difference.
When Mikhail finally arrives, he strides in like he owns the place. There is no sign of him being uneasy about anyone taking offense to the fact that he’s now working for the Italians. I actually have to force myself to stay seated and not get up to give him a piece of my mind.
Nope, I need to keep my ass in this chair and show him exactly how little respect he has earned from me in the past year. Show him that he doesn’t have the power to get under my skin.
“Glad you could make it,” I say, my tone steady. “Thought you’d like to see how well things have been running here without you.”
His eyes narrow, barely concealing the irritation behind his forced smirk. “Funny, Anya,” he says, crossing his arms. “Now tell me what the fuck you think you’re doing with Angelo. It’s fucking stupid, Anya, you’ve got to know that.”
I suppress the jolt of anger that has a lot to do with the fact that he isn’t all that wrong. What I’m doing with Riccardo is the definition of playing with fire and that is, by general consensus, really fucking dumb. But Mikhail’s got no right to question me.
“You don’t get to interrogate me about things I did after you left, Mikhail. You left,” I remind him, allowing the bitterness in my voice to be unmistakable. “I’m making my own choices.”
“Choices?” His tone rises, his brows pulling together. “You call getting married to Angelo a choice?” He scoffs, giving a dismissive wave. “Riccardo is dangerous, Anya, and you just painted a target on your back. Now, Dmitri wants you both dead. Brilliant move.”
I rise to my feet, meeting him head-on, refusing to back down. “And whose fault is that?” I snap. “You left, Mikhail. You went off to play house with Gianna, and I was left picking up the pieces. Dmitri went and all but raped me since father thought it was a good idea to use me as a fucking bargaining chip. Ricardo was there. He helped me. So yes, I made my choice. Just like you made yours. And my choice kept me safe.”
“Don’t twist this on me.” Mikhail steps closer, his jaw tight. “You’re getting in over your head.”
“And you think I can’t handle it?” I cross my arms, matching his posture, refusing to be intimidated by his height or the cold warning in his eyes. He might be a killer, but he’s also my brother. “I’m just as capable as you are, Mikhail. Probably more. I might not cut people’s eyes out myself, but I sure as hell know more about running this operation than you ever did, and I plan on letting everyone know about it.”
He glares, but there’s a flicker of doubt in his eyes. “If you were smart, you’d let me and Gianna take over here. We’ve got a plan—a way to expand the business.”
I blink, stunned by his audacity. “Oh yeah? And what’s that?”
“You know the Bruno’s game. Blackmail. And what better place to record people than in the back rooms where the girls do their thing with the customers? Gianna thinks we have to upscale the clubs to get the right clientele to come, but that is doable.”
I breathe through my nose for a moment, not sure what will come out if I open my mouth. Only when a few seconds have ticked by and Mikhail is giving me a weird look, do I feel calm enough to actually speak. “Oh, so now you’re interested in blackmail? How convenient. Didn’t I suggest that exact idea a year ago?”
He shrugs, as if my frustration is nothing. “Back then, it would have caused issues with Gianna. Now we’re married.”
I clench my fists, forcing my voice to stay calm. “So what you’re saying is you want to sell out all the men who’ve been working for father and us, and let the Italians move in? And you think that’ll be easy? Why? Because you figure they all have as little loyalty as you?”
“Well, would you rather Dmitri take over? Plus, I think you’re the one who let the Italian in, Anya.” The disgust in Mikhail’s voice is so ridiculous it’s hard to believe.
“May I remind you that you wanted me to distract Father when you first ran off with Gianna? You fucking screwed over all of my plans and wanted me to help you, even though you clearly didn’t give a shit about what was happening to me. You fucking knew father wanted to marry me off. I fucking told you.”
The old wound is raw and fresh. Tears sting my eyes and I hate that letting them spill over would play into the stereotype of a weak, emotionally driven female. And I hate it even more that I have no way of holding them back.
Mikhail looks at me, stunned, as if he never even thought about the way he abandoned me to this whole shit storm when he followed his dick.
I take a deep breath, wiping the tears away with the arm of my blouse. “You’re right about one thing. It’s time to stop playing small. But I won’t sit on the sidelines while you and Gianna try to expand your reach here. If you think you’re going to side-step me, you’re sorely mistaken.”
His eyes soften, and for a moment, I see a flicker of the older brother who used to have my back. But it’s gone in an instant. “I’m not making any promises. Gianna does her own thing, and she’s already worked out an agreement with Angelo.”
“Like always. Letting the woman in your life do the important stuff. I just hope Gianna knows how easily you take off, consequences be damned.” The words spill out before I can stop them. “Do whatever you need to with Gianna. But don’t think for a second that you have any control over me or what I do here.”
For a long moment, he just stares at me, jaw clenched. Then, without a word, he turns and storms out of the office, slamming the door shut behind him.
I let out a shaky breath. That could have gone better, which means I need to talk to my husband. At least one of us should get their shit together and communicate stuff.