Chapter Sixteen
Riccardo
W hen I get home after work, I search the quiet house for any sign of Anya. When she’s nowhere to be found, I head to the kitchen. Maybe Anya wanted someone to chat with and went to see Mrs. Batton. It’s where I’d often find my mother, a large glass of wine in hand.
When I step in, Mrs. Batton appears from the pantry, which is really more of a large storage room next to the kitchen, and gives me a smile. “Have you come for a snack?”
It’s what I used to do when I was younger and having her ask me now feels rather odd. She hasn’t asked that in years. Then again, I haven’t gone into the kitchen looking for something in a long time. “No, actually, I was looking for Anya.”
“Oh, I thought she’d gone to see you at the office. That’s what Ren said when I brought them out some coffee earlier.”
“No, she’s not with me. When did she leave?”
Mrs. Batton’s mouth presses into a line before she answers. “A few hours ago, I think.”
I feel a flare of irritation burn through me. Anya left without saying a damn thing. If Dmitri or anyone from the Brotherhood tried anything, she’d be out there without backup, unprotected. The thought alone has my hands clenching into fists. The irritation evolves into anger. I pace, trying to let some of the tension bleed out before I do something reckless. Like her. Stubborn, reckless woman.
Before I can head outside to yell at Josh and Ren or pull out my phone to call Toni and have him send men out after her, there is a noise at the front door. I turn on my heel, stepping into the entrance area at the same time as she steps in. She’s wearing business casual clothes and is holding a coffee cup from one of those chains that specializes in fancy nonsense drinks in her hand. She looks as calm as anything, as if she hasn’t just disappeared for hours.
She barely closes the door behind her before I’m in her path, close enough to see that hint of surprise in her eyes when she meets my stare.
“Where the hell have you been?” I try to keep my cool, but the irritation and worry are biting through, making the edge in my tone impossible to hide. One woman is offering me snacks like I’m six years old again, and the other doesn’t even bother to check in, something any of my men would know to do if they don’t want to pull night shifts for a month. “You just walked out without a word to anyone? Without taking one of the men as backup?”
She tilts her chin up. “I didn’t realize I needed your permission to leave.”
“Not permission,” I say, trying to rein in the frustration. “But maybe a little foresight. You know how dangerous things are right now. Did it even cross your mind that Dmitri might take a shot at you while you’re out there on your own?”
“Riccardo.” Her voice is firm, no softness, no deference. “I’m not a hostage. If I need to go somewhere, I’ll go.”
She doesn’t flinch, doesn’t back down. Nor does she show any reason. And the way she looks at me ignites something possessive, something I’m not used to feeling. She damn well should ask for my permission before she leaves. For all we know, she could be pregnant with my kid. Although the doc told me it’s unlikely. A fact that made me feel rather disgruntled for some reason. Not that I ever planned to be a father, but something about the idea of knocking Anya up has my dick stand at attention and my brain going single-minded.
I step closer, dropping my voice lower. “I know you’re not a hostage. But I didn’t marry you to watch you walk straight into a war zone alone.”
Of course, I had very practical reasons for marrying her and they only had a little to do with the scolding attraction I feel for her, but now isn’t the time to be pedantic about it. Giving Anya even an inch of rope would be like handing her the noose and daring her to tighten it around my neck.
Anya folds her arms, lifting her chin, her eyes still locked on mine. “Maybe it’s time you stopped thinking of me as someone you need to keep. We’ll get divorced sooner rather than later, unless you want to change our agreement?”
Her words hit me like a punch to the gut, but underneath the flare of anger, there’s something darker, something I can’t ignore. She’s not fragile, not like... I close my eyes briefly, feeling the past grip me harder than it has in years, a memory of my mother, of the way she never would’ve dared to look my father in the eye like Anya’s looking at me now.
Still, as much as I fucking hate the idea of allowing Anya to walk out of this house, and eventually out of this marriage, it’s what needs to happen. There can be no healthy marriage in this life. The men I watched run this city growing up had dead wives. Gianna’s mother, Anya’s mother, my mother. All of them were dead before it was their time. And there is a reason for it.
“No, I don’t plan on changing our agreement.”
Though that doesn’t mean I can’t enjoy her while she’s my wife.
Anya
“Good,” I say, crossing my arms over my chest. Riccardo’s gaze stays intense, but it dips to the swell of my breasts, where I opened my blouse an extra button before coming into the house.
I might not be cool with my father selling me off like some whore, but everybody knows that a woman who knows how to use her assets is empowered, not suppressed.
Leading the way into the living room, I sit down on the couch, waiting for Riccardo to take a seat in the armchair before I get to the business we need to discuss. “I’m not going to just sit here and wait for everyone else to make decisions for me,” I state, voice steady. “I’m going to go for the Bratva leadership.”
A flicker of surprise crosses his face, but it’s quickly smoothed over. “You’re going for your father’s position in the Bratva.” His tone is amused now, and I hate that he seems to find it that hard to believe.
“Yes.” I keep my voice firm. Sure, it’s not an easy play, but at least I will have dealt my own cards this time. And telling Riccardo might be a gamble, but it could pay off.
“And you think they’ll just hand it to you?” he asks, making me scoff.
“Not hand it to me,” I say, “But I’m willing to make my case, and I’ll make sure they at least listen. In fact, I started doing that today.”
He doesn’t say anything, but I see the slightest crease at the corner of his eye, his jaw tight as he watches me.
“Look, I’m going to need support to do this. And I’d be willing to cut you in—if you’re willing to help me.”
“You’d... cut me in,” he says, raising an eyebrow. “If I back your bid for the Bratva.”
I meet his eyes, ignoring the tension pooling low in my stomach. “Exactly.”
He holds my gaze for a long moment. Finally, he gives a slight nod, though his face is still unreadable. “Okay. I’m willing to discuss possibilities.”
Hiding my surprise at the easy agreement, I tilt my chin up, my voice firm. I can’t help thinking something about this is amusing to him, but since he’s willing to talk, I’m not about to push the point now. My ego be damned. “Good.”
Before I can explain what I have in mind, Riccardo steps toward me and smirks down at me. “I seem to remember that I get a taste of you before we close on any deal we make.”
And just like that, my mind that has been racing all day quiets down in favor of that primal neediness I feel when I’m around Riccardo.
“I thought we’re past that stage now that we’re married.” Sure, I’m on board with the game he’s playing, but that doesn’t mean I have to make it easy for him.
“Just means we have to keep things interesting, don’t you agree?” Riccardo’s smirk widens. “And I have just the right thing in mind.”
“All I’m hearing is you trying to make the rules again,” I accuse, but not actually minding it when our goals are so closely aligned. Plus, the promised orgasm has my pussy tingling with anticipation, so that doesn’t hurt either.
And I fucking deserve a reward for winning Sergei over and dealing with my psycho brother.
Riccardo’s eyes darken and flick over me like he’s mentally undressing me layer by layer. “I do like making rules.”
I cross my arms over my chest, pretending his words don’t make my pulse race. “Fine, but I think you’re forgetting something.”
His eyebrows raise slightly, a flicker of intrigue crossing his face. “And what’s that?”
“That I don’t play fair.” I get off the couch, stepping closer to him. My voice drops, my tone a mix of challenge and seduction. “I never have.”
Riccardo’s smirk turns feral, and before I can blink, his hand is on my waist, pulling me flush against him. His other hand trails up to tilt my chin, forcing me to look directly into his eyes. “Good,” he murmurs, his breath brushing against my lips. “Because I don’t either.”
He doesn’t give me a chance to respond before his lips claim mine, fierce and unrelenting. His kiss is a demand, not a question, and I meet it head-on. My hands find their way to his chest, pulling him even closer.
His fingers dig into my waist as he pulls me back with him, toppling down onto the armchair. I climb into his lap and gasp against his mouth as I position myself on top of him, the hard press of his body igniting every nerve in my body.
“So, what’s it you’re offering me if you take over your father’s role?” he murmurs, his lips brushing the corner of my mouth as his hands slip under my thighs, pulling me even closer and grinding his cock against my core.
“That can wait,” I manage to say, though my voice is breathy and unconvincing. My legs tighten around his waist, anchoring him to me. “I think we’re busy right now.”
Riccardo laughs, a low, wicked sound. “Very well, Mrs. Angelo.”
For a man who doesn’t want to stay married, the way he says it, Mrs. Angelo , sounds way too fucking reverent and part of me suddenly dislikes that he waved away the possibility that this marriage might turn into something more than the temporary agreement we have.
Which is fucked up.
So I distract myself by grinding my hips and rubbing myself over his dick, only I barely get enough friction to get any satisfaction.
Riccardo’s hands grip my hips tighter, holding me still. His dark eyes glint with amusement and something far more dangerous. “Is this not working out for you, Tesoro ?” he murmurs, his voice rough as gravel but still amused.
I glare at him. “I’ll make it work, don’t you worry.”
His hands shift to slide under my shirt, his fingers brushing the bare skin of my waist. “But I like reminding you of who’s in charge.”
A spark of anger mixes with the heat building in my body. Perhaps he only agreed to discuss my suggestion earlier, so he could get what he wanted. Distract me and use me.
Biting his earlobe hard, I whisper into it, still grinding myself on his cock because as little friction as I may get from it, he’s certainly gone rock hard between my legs. “If you think you’re in charge, you’re even more delusional than I thought.”
Riccardo chuckles, the sound vibrating through my body as his thumbs stroke slow, maddening circles against my skin. “Is that so?”
“Yes,” I snap, grinding my hips against him again, determined to get a reaction.
And I do. His control frays, just a little, and he growls low in his throat. In one swift movement, he shifts us, pinning me back against the chair’s armrest. The change in position leaves me breathless, my pulse racing as his weight presses into me.
“Tell me,” he murmurs, his lips grazing my neck as he speaks, “do you like pushing me just to see how far I’ll go?”
I bite my lip, refusing to give him the satisfaction of an answer. But he doesn’t need one. His lips trail down, kissing, nipping, until they find the sensitive spot just below my ear.
“Because I’ll go as far as you want, Anya, and maybe even further,” he whispers, his breath hot against my skin. “And you’d better be ready to deal with the consequences.”
I shiver, a mix of anticipation and anxiety coursing through me. Yeah, he’s the bogey man all right, but damn if I don’t want him bad. “Maybe I’m counting on it,” I challenge, my voice steady despite the heat pooling low in my stomach.
Riccardo pulls back just enough to meet my gaze, his eyes smoldering. “Careful, C ara ,” he says, his tone laced with both warning and promise. “You’re going to get what you wish for.”
Before I can respond, his lips are on mine again, and this time there’s no hesitation, no teasing. It’s raw and consuming, and when he finally pulls my pants down I’m far past ready for him to sink into me, only annoyed by the fact that he dons a condom, because, damn it, I want to feel him bare.