Chapter Seventeen
Anya
R iccardo’s arm is draped over my waist as we lie tangled in the sheets. His body radiates warmth, his chest rising and falling against my back. For once, there’s silence between us, but it doesn’t feel awkward.
“You know,” I say, breaking the silence, “if you support me, you’d get more than just an alliance.”
Riccardo hums, his fingers tracing lazy circles along my hip. “And what exactly are you offering me, Tesoro ?”
I turn in his arms, propping myself up on one elbow so I can see his face. His eyes are half-lidded, but there’s a glint of curiosity, or maybe it’s calculation, beneath them.
“Leverage,” I say, my voice steady. “The Bratva controls information on people, businesses, and politicians. Not like Gianna with her cameras and blackmail, but the girls hear shit all the time. The men talk in the bars and especially in bed. With me in charge, those girls will get a chance to actually earn their way out. It’ll motivate them to listen closely. And you’d have access to all of it. Quietly, of course. You wouldn’t even need to ask.”
His lips curve into a smirk. “You’re offering me blackmail as a bargaining chip?”
I shrug. “Call it insurance. You don’t trust easily, and neither do I. But I know the value of shared interests. You can get useful information for your business while I’ll carry the risk since my organization pays the price if it comes out that we don’t hold to client/dancer confidentiality. In exchange, I get your backing now and an agreement that you don’t cross into my territory while the agreement holds.”
Riccardo watches me for a moment, his hand sliding up to cup the back of my neck. His grip is firm but not forceful, grounding me in place. “Go on.”
Taking a breath, I push past the nagging vulnerability that creeps in when I talk about this. “I won’t expand our operations the way my father probably would have liked to. I don’t like the idea of running a stable of girls and I like the trafficking even less. As much as I hate to say it, I’ve always admired how Gianna runs things. You know, even before her father died. Her blackmail schemes have class in a way that running a territory full of drugged-up prostitutes can never achieve. But that doesn’t mean I think that selling sex is outright wrong. I just like the idea of high-class call girls who earn a decent living a lot more. It’s a direction I wouldn’t mind taking. Which means my focus will be inward. And that means no territory disputes and no stepping on your toes. You help me solidify my position, and I’ll stay in my lane.”
I turn to look at him, but his expression doesn’t change.
“You’re making a lot of promises,” he finally says, his thumb brushing against my jaw. “But promises mean little without action. How do I know you’ll keep your word once you have the power?”
“Because it’s in my best interest to keep you happy,” I reply evenly. “I’m not stupid, Riccardo. Crossing you wouldn’t just be bad business—it could very well be suicide.”
His expression darkens for a moment, his eyes going through me like he’s seeing something else entirely. Then he pulls himself together and forces a chuckle, low and dark. “Smart girl.”
I pull away slightly, sitting up and clutching the sheet to my chest. “I’m serious. I want to take over.”
Riccardo sits up, his hand running through his dark hair as he studies me. “You’ve thought this through.”
“I have,” I say firmly.
For a moment, he’s silent, his gaze unreadable. Then he nods, a small but deliberate movement. “I can get Gianna on board. Make sure she doesn’t intervene when you take over and kick Dmitri out.”
My eyes widen, but I quickly school my expression. “Gianna? You think she’ll agree?”
Riccardo nods. “She won’t support you outright obviously, but she sees the advantage of getting rid of Dmitri. If she and Mikhail don’t oppose your claim to inherit over Mikhail, Dmitri’s position will weaken, since any of the men who might otherwise have worried about family squabbles will be more likely to stay loyal to you.”
The idea of Riccardo working behind the scenes for me is both thrilling and unsettling. He’s not doing this out of the goodness of his heart. He’s playing his own game, and I’d be a fool to forget that. Even as his hand is stroking down my bare hip, forcing me to do my best to ignore the tingling heat radiation from his touch.
Riccardo leans back against the headboard, his smirk returning. “Tomorrow night I’ll take you to dinner, and we’ll discuss how to make this happen.”
For a second, I just stare at him. We’ll discuss how to make this happen. I hadn’t just convinced him to let me give things a shot without fucking them up for me before I could even try. No. Riccardo was offering to help me. To give me advice.
“Dinner?” I echo, raising an eyebrow, not having to fake my surprise. It wasn’t like anyone had ever believed I could do this. Sure, my dad had paid for my degree, and, if what Sergei said was true, had let me get my hands dirty, but in the end, he hadn’t truly believed I could do it on my own. And Mikhail thought I should hide my head in the sand and let his wife take over. He had gone straight from psycho killer big brother to Italian pussy licker.
Riccardo smacks my ass. “Yes, dinner. Gotta keep my wife happy, no?”
I roll my eyes but can’t suppress the small smile tugging at my lips. “Fine. Dinner it is.”
As I lay back against him, his arm wrapping around me once more, I settle in for the night, feeling oddly optimistic. Of course, whether Riccardo’s support will be my salvation or my undoing remains to be seen.
The following evening, a package is waiting for me when I step out of the shower. Wrapped in crisp white paper and tied with a black satin ribbon, it sits on the edge of the bed.
I stare at it for a moment, water dripping from my hair onto my shoulders. Riccardo’s fingerprints are all over this. Who else would have bought something from a designer boutique and left it in our bedroom the night we’re supposed to go out to some fancy restaurant?
“Subtle,” I mutter, snatching a towel and drying off quickly.
Unwrapping the package, I find exactly what I expected. A dress. Not just any dress either, but a fucking gorgeous one. Midnight black, the fabric clings to my fingers like liquid silk. It’s cut to fit like a glove, with a plunging neckline and a slit that promises to reveal far more leg than I would have ever chosen for a simple dinner out.
There’s a card tucked beneath the dress.
“Wear this.”
No signature, but it doesn’t need one. Riccardo’s arrogance practically seeps through the ink. I roll my eyes but can’t help the small smirk that creeps across my lips. He thinks he’s so clever.
Once I’m dry, I slip into the dress. It’s snug, hugging every curve, but it fits like it was made for me. Knowing Riccardo, it probably was. The reason I recognized the boutique’s satin bow is simple. I had gotten my graduation dress there, so they certainly could still have my measurements. I glance at myself in the mirror, and for a moment, I’m struck by the reflection staring back at me.
I look... powerful. Like a woman who’s about to step into the lion’s den and come out unscathed.
Like someone who belongs among the elite and can hold her own.
I add a swipe of red lipstick for good measure, the color bold and unapologetic. My hair falls in soft waves, framing my face without looking too polished.
The final touch is the gun I strap to my thigh. Riccardo’s taste might lean toward high fashion, but I don’t go anywhere unarmed and, luckily, my DB9 in this specific holster is inconspicuous to anyone not looking for a gun.
When I descend the stairs, I find Riccardo waiting in the living room, his back to me as he adjusts his cufflinks. He’s wearing a tailored black suit, the kind that screams wealth and danger in equal measure. In this case, danger to women, rather than the entire city, but in my case, I suppose the difference is irrelevant.
“Is this your idea of foreplay?” I ask, leaning against the door frame.
Riccardo turns, and for a fraction of a second, his expression falters. His eyes rake over me, darkening as they take in the dress, the lipstick, and the way I’m deliberately holding my head high.
“You look...” He pauses, his usual smugness replaced by something that has my nipples perk up. “...like you belong on a throne.”
The compliment catches me off guard, but I mask it with a smirk. “Good. Because that’s exactly what I’m after.”
His lips curl into a smile, the kind that’s more predator than lover. He steps closer, his presence as overwhelming as ever. “Then let’s discuss how you can convince everyone else of that.”
As we head out the door, his hand rests lightly on the small of my back. It’s a subtle but unmistakable claim, and I don’t exactly hate it.
When we arrive, I smooth the front of my dress as we walk into the dimly lit Italian restaurant. It’s intimate but not ostentatious, and I immediately like the atmosphere. Plus, I might be Russian and enjoy Pelmeni and other Russian dishes, but who doesn’t like a good plate of fancy pasta?
Riccardo rests his hand on the small of my back again, guiding me toward a secluded table in the corner. The way he’s scanning the room and keeps me close without being bossy speaks volumes. Protective, but not overbearing. It makes me feel good in a way that I know will probably come around and bite me in the ass. But for now, I let him make me feel like I have found that prince in shining armor I dreamed of when I was a little kid.
Of course, he might be a knight, but definitely a dark one, and one whose armor is stained with blood. And I shouldn’t forget that, because I’d bet my life that not everyone who died at his hands saw it coming.
As we sit, Riccardo signals the waiter with a casual flick of his wrist. Moments later, a bottle of wine appears. He pours it himself, handing me a glass before raising his own.
“To new partnerships,” he says, his eyes locked on mine.
I raise an eyebrow but clink my glass against his. “I’ll drink to that.”
The wine is smooth, but I barely taste it. I glance at Riccardo, who leans back in his chair, watching me with an amused expression. It makes him look even hotter.
That damn suit is too fucking sexy on him.
“You look like you’re already plotting your next conquest, Tesoro .”
“Isn’t that what this dinner is about?” I counter, leaning forward and dismissing the thoughts of the other, sexier conquest I’m currently staring at. “I want to discuss Dmitri.”
“But Dmitri isn’t here,” Riccardo interrupts smoothly. “You’ll deal with him, but not tonight. Tonight, we strategize how you deal with the people you can actually win over to your side.”
I narrow my eyes but nod. “Fine. Let’s talk strategy.”
He sets his glass down and leans in, his voice low enough that the hum of conversation around us ensures nobody can listen in. “You need to remind them who you are. Your father’s bloodline is your strongest card to play right now. Sergei believes some of the men are loyal to you, yes?”
I nod. “He does. But loyalty only goes so far when I’m only a daughter, not a son, and some of them probably suspect that I don’t like all aspects of my father’s business. Plus, Dmitri is waving promises of money in their faces with his connections to Russia.”
“Right,” Riccardo says. “So you give them a reason to stay loyal. Remind them what your father built, promising stability rather than conflict, and make them see you as his heir. An heir who can take over without border disputes with me or Gianna. That means you need to bring the men you want to convince together on your turf, under your terms.”
“I could host a dinner at my father’s house,” I say, the idea clicking into place.
Riccardo’s lips curve into a satisfied smile. “I imagine Sergei can help you arrange it? But you need to make sure everyone knows that you’re the one in charge, not him. Speak to them and show why Sergei is willing to put his head on the block for you.”
I lean back, swirling the wine in my glass as I mull over the idea. “Do you really think a simple dinner will be enough to remind them I’m in line to inherit the organization?”
“No.” Riccardo shakes his head. “But they’ll remember what it felt like to follow someone with vision. From what I’ve heard about your father, he pulled shit together after his father died. You need to show them you can do the same. In the meantime, I’m having my people pull some information on Solntsev and his family.”
I take another sip of my wine, this time actually tasting the crisp notes of the Chateau Margaux. Riccardo is right, but the thought of stepping into my father’s shoes sends a strange chill down my spine. I’ve spent so much time craving power but accepting that I’d have to wield it almost secretly, first behind my father’s back and later behind the front of my brother running things, that now, when I might actually get to embrace it, I feel a flicker of doubt.
Riccardo reaches across the table, his hand brushing against mine. It’s unexpected, almost gentle, and I glance up to find his gaze steady on me. “You can do this, Anya. You wouldn’t have made it this far if you couldn’t.”
This far. Meaning married to someone with power so I can claw at some of my own.
Sleeping with a man to get what I want.
I pull my hand away, but his words stick with me. I don’t need his encouragement, but there’s something about the way he says it that still makes me want to believe him.
“Fine,” I say, “I’ll do it.”
“Good,” he says confidently, grinning at me before tasting his own wine.
I push my shoulders back and sit up straight as the server arrives with our appetizers.
Riccardo is the first man to truly believe in me. To support me. And I’ll be damned if I let anyone, especially him, see me falter.