Chapter Twenty-Four
Anya
M y hand is gripping my gun, finger itching on the trigger, when I hear Riccardo’s voice.
“Take a deep breath and think about this, Anya,” he cautions, as I sense him stepping up behind me. “You pull that trigger, and you’ll have his entire family after you.”
I should have had backup. Someone to guard my back. But I didn’t want to ask any of the men who still want me to prove myself. It would have felt like a confirmation of their doubt. It would have been like proving that I couldn’t handle things on my own, the way my brother could have done had he been the one taking over.
I narrow my eyes, still staring at Dmitri. “He’s nothing without his father,” I spit, lifting my gun slightly. “And they don’t need to find out about me being involved.”
Only, there is no ambulance to cover the noise of me shooting now. My plan was to shoot Dmitri right away. But I also expected him to be armed. Part of me figured I’d get shot in the process. It never occurred to me that I’d be shooting an unarmed guy.
So I hesitated.
“True, they don’t need to find out that you’re the one who pulled the trigger,” Riccardo says from behind me. “He’s a piece of shit and wouldn’t be here if his father wasn’t a big shot in Russia.” He inches closer, pressing his chest against my back. “But if you do this now, his father will be a problem, anyway.”
Dmitri steps forward, lifting his hands in mock surrender. “What’s the problem, Anya? Don’t have the guts to pull the trigger?” he taunts.
I grit my teeth, glaring at him, but Riccardo stays outwardly calm. “He’s nothing,” he says, just loud enough for Dmitri to hear. “But I’m here to back you up. Whatever you decide. I trust you have a plan?”
My gun lowers, as I half turn my head to look at Riccardo.
Dmitri chuckles, stepping back, the grin on his face infuriatingly confident. “Smart choice,” he sneers, backing away slowly in Katja’s direction.
I snap my attention back to the asshole, gun raised again, aiming at Dmitri’s head. He freezes.
“You’re here to back me up?” I ask Riccardo.
Riccardo Angelo isn’t a backup kind of guy. He’s the richest fucking man in the city and he’s head of his own syndicate, which is arguably the most powerful one in the city, though Gianna Bruno might argue the point. He’s also domineering and controlling. So what the fuck does he mean by backing me up?
“That means I called Sergei trying to find you and when I realized you weren’t with him, I figured you changed your mind about going after this asshole. So I came to provide back-up in case you want it.”
“And what if I don’t want it?”
I can feel Riccardo tense behind me. “Then say the word and we’ll leave.”
We? I don’t turn around to check who else came with him. I’m not even sure if I would have asked Riccardo about it had the other door to the room not been yanked open at that exact moment.
With my time up, I do the only thing I can.
I pull the trigger.
Dmitri’s head explodes, spraying the far wall of the room in blood and brain. This time Katja doesn’t hold back her screams, which I can hardly blame her for, since she is standing in the far corner, pressed against the wall and gets covered in that shit.
All of that only registers in my peripheral vision since I’m already aiming at the guys entering the room. I recognize one of them. The other must be one of the men who came with Dmitri from Russia.
Guess they must have wondered where Dmitri’s guards disappeared off to.
Riccardo is no longer at my back. He’s beside me, his gun also trained at the newly arrived Brotherhood men.
Before things can go downhill from there, more men appear behind the newcomers, and I hear Sergei’s voice. “Put down your weapon, Maxim, you idiot. That is Anya Tspeov, and you better not fucking shoot the owner of this club or we’ll have a serious issue, you and I. As for you, I don’t know you.” With that, he shoots the guy from Russia in the head, adding more gore to the floor of the room.
Fortunately, everyone else stays calm. The second guy who’d stormed into the room, the one who looked familiar and whose name must be Maxim, lowers his gun. “Shit, Sergei. I’m cool. Don’t shoot, man.”
Riccardo lowers his gun part-way and takes a step back. I take a step forward, ignoring the fact that I’m now in the puddle of blood leaking from the head of the first man I shot today.
The first man I shot ever .
“Sergei, I’m glad you’re here. We have a bit of a clean-up job on our hands.”
Sergei chuckles. “No shit, my girl.”
Maxim looks between us, wide-eyed. “She shot Dmitri. I saw it.”
I give him a hard stare. “He was trespassing in my club.”
Maxim looks at Sergei as if expecting him to make sense of the situation, but Sergei shakes his head at him. “Just do what you’re told and don’t embarrass yourself in front of the boss.” Then he looks at me. “Just these three bodies, Mrs. Tsepov?”
I nod, as if I’ve dealt with situations like this a hundred times. “These three, and I have another one of Dmitri’s men tied up in the parking lot.”
This time someone from behind me speaks up. “I can take care of that for you, Mrs. Angelo, if you’d like?”
Turning around to look at Toni, I catch Maxim’s eyes going even wider. “That would be great, Toni. Please make it a permanent solution.” I manage to keep my voice perfectly calm. The kind of calm I practiced during business meetings in grad school and police interviews throughout my childhood when things went to shit, but I had to bluff my way through them. That latter experience had never made it onto my resume, though right now it was probably the life experience that was getting me through this looking like I had my shit together.
Sergei waves two men into the room and I’m surprised Viktor is one of them. The other one is Vlad, who used to be part of my father’s ever present security, sour expression and all. Both of the men give me respectful nods, though Viktor gives a brief scowl in Riccardo’s direction.
“I assume you can handle things from here?” I ask, doing my best to sound empirical.
Sergei gives a firm nod. “Certainly.”
“Good. In that case, I will meet you and the relevant people in my office at Downsview Park tomorrow morning at seven to deal with the... follow-up from tonight.” With Dmitri taken care of, it was high time for me to claim my father’s office in our biggest club.
“Shall I pick you up at the Angelo Estate, Mrs. Tsepov?” Vlad asks, and I meet his eyes. If I didn’t know better, I’d say he’s actually looking pleased.
“Yes, please. Pick me up at six.”
When I turn around, I realize Riccardo left with Toni. I take a few steps into the parking lot before my legs start to feel a bit shaky. At that same moment, Riccardo shows up between two cars.
“Let’s ride home together.” It’s not so much a question as an order, but I don’t give a fuck about him being bossy right now. I’m too damn high on adrenaline and the fact that I think it actually worked.
I’m also not sure I can walk the two blocks to retrieve my father’s car. But mostly I’m feeling high.
I got the respect I wanted.
Viktor might not be a fan of my marriage to Riccardo, but I proved that I can take care of shit tonight. If I can handle the fallout tomorrow, I don’t think I’ll have any more opposition to my new position.
Boss.
I’m a fucking boss.
Riccardo takes my arm and doesn’t let go the entire way, guiding me firmly toward his car while I try to keep up with my legs wobbling underneath me. I slide into the passenger seat, glancing back just once at my men before Riccardo closes the door and joins me.
“What about Toni?” I ask.
“He’s made a call. He’ll be busy disposing of that parking lot roadkill you left for him.”
Riccardo smirks. “I think he considers it a present from you. He quite enjoys killing Russian scum.”
I laugh. An actual belly laugh that triggers something, because for the next thirty seconds, I can’t stop laughing. And when I finally stop, I’m breathing so freaking hard, it’s difficult to stop sucking in air.
“Relax, Tesoro . We’ll be home soon.”
Riccardo
After Anya’s giggling fit, the car ride home is quieter than I expected. Anya sits in the passenger seat, her arms crossed tightly over her chest, her gaze fixed out the window. The adrenaline from the club is still coursing through her. Her shoulders are tense, her breaths shallow. But there’s something else, too.
She’s shaken. Seriously shaken.
She’d never admit it, not out loud, but I saw it in her eyes the moment I joined her outside the club when she finished giving her men directions. What happened tonight is sinking in, even if she’s trying to drown it in pride.
I grip the steering wheel a little tighter, stealing a glance at her. She’s so much more than I expected when I agreed to this marriage. Strong, capable, unrelenting in a way that puts most men to shame. It’s the reason I reigned my anger in and decided to offer her my unquestioning support tonight. Something I’ve never done for another soul.
Something I’m not sure I could ever bring myself to do for someone other than her.
But there’s something fragile under her surface. And it makes me want to protect her even more.
Not that she needs protection. She isn’t like my mother, breaking under the pressure. No, it would take more to break Anya. Hell, she just executed Dmitri Solntsev in her own club and stood her ground like she’s been doing it for years. But that’s exactly the point. She’s not like my mother, brittle and submissive under my father’s thumb. And she’s not Gianna, with her polished armor of poise that’s hiding the venom underneath, either.
Anya is fire. And tonight, she proved it.
But even fire needs tending sometimes and I’ve got just the stick to keep her flame burning.
I smirk at my own joke while we pull into the driveway. As soon as the car stops in front of the house, I turn to her.
“Come,” I say, my voice firm but quiet.
She doesn’t question me, just unbuckles her seatbelt and steps out. There is no noise of heels clicking against the stone walkway as I guide her inside with a hand at the small of her back, and I realize that I’ve gotten used to the noise of her usual footwear. Enough that I notice her change of shoes today.
The house is still and dark, save for the soft glow of a few lights Mrs. Batton always leaves on. I steer her upstairs, my hand never leaving her as we ascend.
“I’m fine,” she finally says as we reach our bedroom. Her voice is steady, but I catch the slight tremor beneath it.
“I know you are,” I reply, stepping ahead of her to open the door. “But you don’t have to be. We keep shit together in front of our people, but this is home. You can give a little.”
She looks at me sharply, her defenses rising again, but I don’t give her time to argue. I lead her into the bathroom, flipping on the light. The marble gleams under the warm glow, the massive shower beckoning.
“Riccardo...”
“Quit arguing, Mrs. Angelo,” I cut her off, turning on the water. Steam fills the air almost instantly, curling around us like a veil. I didn’t like the way Sergei called her Mrs. Tsepov earlier. She’s my wife. But I know she’ll keep the name. It’s about image. If she’s going to lead the Tsepov branch of the Bratva, she has to stay a Tsepov.
But there are other ways I can claim her. And fuck do I want to, against all logic.
She watches me warily as I unbutton my shirt, shrugging it off and letting it fall to the floor.
“Take off your clothes,” I say, my tone low and commanding.
She arches a brow, but there’s no real fight in her. Slowly, she unzips her dress and lets it pool at her feet. My gaze drags over her, taking in every inch of her flawless skin, the way her chest rises and falls with each breath.
“You’re shaking,” I murmur, stepping closer.
“I’m not.”
I don’t call her out on the lie. Instead, I take her hand and lead her into the shower. The hot water cascades over us, washing away the remnants of the night. Blood and sweat and other disgusting shit. That fucker really made a mess in her club, spraying his brain all over the place.
Hopefully Sergei and his men know what they are doing, because if this gets back to Russia there will be a shit-storm to pay, but that’s a problem for tomorrow.
I press her against the cool tile, caging her in with my arms. Her breath hitches as I lean in, my lips brushing her ear.
“You were incredible tonight,” I whisper. “Do you know that?”
Her eyes flick up to meet mine, wide and unguarded for a split second before she recovers. “I didn’t need you to save me.”
“I didn’t come to save you,” I lie, my lips trailing down her neck. “I came because I wanted to see you win. And you did, Tesoro . You won.” No need to discuss now that the war isn’t quite over yet.
Her hands come up to rest against my chest, her fingers splaying over my heart. “I’ve never...” She hesitates, her voice barely audible over the water.
I understand instantly. “You’ve never shot anyone before.”
She nods, and for the first time tonight, I see the cracks. The uncertainty she’s been burying. The fear.
I tilt her chin up, forcing her to look at me. “It was the right move. He deserved it. You did fucking amazing, Cara .”
Her lips part, and I don’t wait for her to respond. I capture her mouth in a searing kiss, pouring everything into it. My admiration, my desire, my need for her.
She melts against me, her hands sliding up to tangle in my hair. I press her harder against the tile, my body molding to hers as the water streams over us.
“I’m going to keep you, Anya,” I murmur against her lips. “Completely. And I’m going to show you exactly what that means.”
Her eyes blaze as she meets my gaze, a spark of fire flickering back to life. “You can’t just decide that.”
“Then I’ll convince you.” I smirk, responding to her usual objection. My hand slides down to grip her thigh, lifting her leg around my waist.
She clings to me, her body aligning perfectly with mine. The moment lingers as I position myself. I hold her gaze, waiting for that last flicker of surrender in her eyes, that moment where her walls crumble and she lets me in.
When it happens, it’s fucking exquisite.
I thrust into her in one smooth, deliberate motion, claiming her with a groan that echoes off the tiled walls. Her sharp inhale turns into a soft moan, her head tipping back as her nails dig into my shoulders.
“Look at me,” I command, my voice rough as I pull back and sink into her again. Her eyes flutter open, and the vulnerability mingled with desire there nearly undoes me.
I keep pumping into her, every thrust a reminder that she’s mine. Her hands grip my shoulders, her body meeting mine with a ferocity that matches my own. She’s on fire all right. Her gasps and moans only spur me on, pushing me closer to the edge.
I slide a hand up her back, tangling it in her wet hair, as I pull her mouth back to mine. The kiss makes me feel feral, our tongues tangling as the water streams around us. Her legs tighten around me, her body shuddering as I hit the spot that makes her cry out my name.
“That’s it, Tesoro ,” I murmur against her lips, my voice thick with need. “Take everything I’m giving you.”
Her hands slide into my hair, pulling hard enough to sting as her body clenches around me, driving me to the brink. I bury myself deep, grinding against her as her release crashes over her, her cries swallowed by the noises of the water.
The sight of her unraveling, the feel of her trembling in my arms, is all it takes to push me over the edge. I let go with a guttural groan, my forehead dropping to hers as I spill my seed into her, marking her in every way I can for now.
We stay like that, breathless and clinging to each other as the water keeps washing away the remnants of the night. I press a kiss to her damp forehead, my hand still cradling the back of her neck.
As I hold her under the cascading water, one thought cements itself in my mind. This woman isn’t just my wife or my equal. She’s my everything. And the day I let her walk away from me will be the day my body turns as cold as Dmitri fucking Solntsev is now.
And soon, she’ll carry my child, whether she wants to or not.