I shake my head as she releases my arm and I stand. I know I have to do it. I know I don’t have a choice. Anya’s life is reliant on my absolute obedience—Renata has made that crystal fucking clear.
I sigh, already feeling shitty about what I’m about to do as I move along the side of the table. I want to dump out both glasses on Renata’s head and smash the glass into her face. I reach between Lorenzo and Olivia, removing her wine glass from the table. She’s sweet, giving me a quick smile of gratitude for my service, and I can’t help but feel sorry for her. This girl, marrying Lorenzo, would be like Anya marrying Nikolai—her captor, her tormentor, her master.
Fuck.
She did marry Nikolai.
My hands shake from the frustrated fury building inside me as I make my way to Anya’s seat. She doesn’t look up at me as I approach but continues eating silently. She looks restrained, like she wants to shovel the whole damn plate into her mouth but refuses for appearance’s sake. She’s stronger than I think she’s ever been given credit for.
I admire her.
I adore her.
And that’s why I feel like the biggest asshole in the world when I reach across the table in front of her and pick up her glass. I’m not able to catch her eyes before I do it, but I know I have her attention. I stand back up, one glass in each hand now.
Fuck, I hate this.
This is so childish and I fucking hate it.
“I have to, I’m sorry,” I mutter quickly under my breath.
Anya turns her head to look up at me just at the moment I turn the half full wine glasses upside-down over her lap. I spill the liquid down the front of her shirt, and it pools onto her tight black skirt. She drops her fork and jerks backward in her chair, her hands raising in surprise as liquid tumbles from her lap, dripping down the chair and landing on the carpet beneath her.
I turn the empty glasses upright again. “I’m so sorry,” I whisper before forcing myself to stride away while everything inside me screams to go back to my girl and help her get cleaned up.
I scowl at Renata’s pleased grin as I return to her side.
Goddammit.
I fucking hate Renata Vittori.
Anya pushes her chair back and stands as silence falls in the room and everyone waits for something to happen. They’re watching her, wanting to see her reaction—and I know how important it is that she reacts to this the right way in front of these fiends.
But who the fuck knows what way is the right way to act?
I took her completely off-guard by my malicious act, which was exactly why Renata asked me to do it. She could’ve had Luca do it, but the bitch wishes to torture me as much as she wants to torture Anya. But Anya is too strong to let it knock her down.
She brushes her hands down her front and shields her true feelings in her eyes behind a layer of icy blue. She pulls her shoulders back and steels herself. But as she opens her mouth to say something, Lorenzo slaps his palm on the table and leans forward, craning his neck around to look pointedly and severely at Renata.
“Will you stop it?” he practically shouts at her. “Is it really so much to ask for a peaceful family meal in Vigo’s honor?”
Renata chuckles sourly. “In his honor with her at the table? His murderer?”
“There’s nothing you can do about that!” Lorenzo says with anger edging his tone. “She’s a Mikhailov, and she’s one-quarter of our joint family board.” He laughs a little, darkly. “This, this is why women aren’t given the responsibility of being Heads of House. I suggest you keep yourself in check unless you want me to have a serious talk with Murphy and Leo about your emotional instability.”
“Lorenzo…” Olivia carefully lays a hand on his on the table, but he jerks it back, pointing a finger at the poor girl as if he’s going to start in on her now. But somehow, he softens when he looks at her, then settles back in his chair. He leans over to kiss Olivia on the cheek as he gradually calms, though the room still ripples with tension.
“Excuse me,” Anya says quietly before she rushes with harsh strides from the room.
I’m itching to chase after her, grab her in the hallway, wrap my arms around her and tell her I’m sorry that I have to play Renata’s wicked game with her.
I want to be there for her, and I can’t be.
I have to be here at Renata’s side.
I have to serve her to save Anya.
My blue-eyed girl comes striding back into the dining room about ten minutes later. She’s always fierce and determined, but I don’t think I’ve ever seen such cold hatred in her eyes. I hope all her hatred is directed toward Renata and not toward me, but I don’t think I could blame her if it is.
Anya changed her clothes while she was gone and she looks so smoking hot, charging into the room with furious confidence, that I want to fall to my knees for her and worship her with my undying love. I don’t know where she got these clothes I’ve never seen her in before, but she’s come back daringly in a little red dress.
It’s form-fitting, though it hangs a little loosely on her. Still, it has the same effect as if it were skintight. It stops just above her knees and the open neckline leaves little to the imagination. Her breasts are full and perky, and the low neckline gives her ample cleavage that makes me want to rip the dress right off her.
She struts across the room, heading right back to her chair—which Luca wiped clean—and she catches my eyes on her as she slowly sits. She blinks, giving me a brief glimpse of her understanding—a tiny, subtle smile—before she takes her position as the one and only Queen Mikhailov.
Anya takes her cloth napkin off the table, shaking it out and setting it on her lap just as Luca brings in a tray with the main course. “Thank you for the suggestion that I wear red, Renata. This dress does seem to better suit my small…What word did you use? Stature? It’s more my style, wouldn’t you agree?”
Renata’s fingers are steepled in front of her chin as she waits for the next course to be served. “You look like a whore.”
“Hmm. Your brother thought that, too. But let me remind you that this whore is now positioned to vote on business decisions for your family. It might be in your best interest to consider the way you treat me. Now, can’t we just enjoy our family dinner? “
Anya is…She’s just…She’s fucking amazing.
I stare at her until she looks at me and she smiles before straightening her spine, leaning back casually in her seat, as if she owns the place.
She could own the place.
She has power now. She could rule and we could win.
For the first time I think we might actually have a shot at getting out of this alive.