Really, I am positively murderous over this news.
Honestly, it’s the best thing the Don could do for his daughter if he really expects her to run the organization someday. Organized crime is still built by men for men. Strong women talk, but only a few get to be heard. Most are tolerated only if there’s a man to take the heat.
That tells me plenty about Leanna—that her father has enough faith in her to risk the optics. It means she’s sharper, more challenging, and more dangerous than most.
But the truth is, I don’t know that Leanna.
The Ana I know is vulnerable in ways I can barely put into words. She’s intelligent, yes. Sexy beyond reason. But she’s not the vixen in red commanding this room. She’s not the woman who can stand tall in front of killers and hold her own.
Leanna, though, might very well be that woman. I don’t know if it’s an act for her father, for me, or for her own survival.
Maybe it’s a total façade.
Or maybe it’s not an act at all. Maybe that vixen finally clawed her way out of the chrysalis. And if she has… perhaps I had something to do with it.
Because she is not the same girl who once walked nervously into that room, stiff and almost embarrassed by her own pleasure,she’s not even the same woman I saw this morning in our hotel room, seizing control of her own body, her own desire, and wielding it like a weapon.
Yes, Antonio Campisi is smart to try to lock her down quickly. She’s too beautiful, and she’ll turn too many heads. Too many men will want to claim her, own her. She’ll need a strong husband, someone who makes it clear that laying a hand on her comes with consequences worse than death.
I understand the logic. Lars is doing the same with Misha. The difference is, Misha wants it. She’ll follow his lead. My Ana? I can’t see her agreeing.
I don’twanther to agree.
And that’s the problem.
Because I know the truth: I can’t have her, she can’t ever really be mine. And even if she could, I’ve never wanted marriage or children. That life isn’t for me.
But still?—
I know how family men can be. How they treat their women. And the thought of some asshole pawing at her, fucking her, filling her with babies, and displaying her like a trophy?—
It makes my blood boil.
I told her once I’d kill any man who touched her. I meant it then. I mean it now.
What a fucking mess. What the hell did I do, getting tangled up with her?
Dom and I have already discussed options. My old plan was clean: ship her to Russia while we talked to the Don. Lars hasroom for her on the estate, Volya would take her in like a daughter, and I wouldn’t have worried about her safety there.
If the Don chose not to cooperate… well, then it would have been on him if anything went wrong. I wouldn’t have lost sleep over it.
That was before I learned Leanna is Ana.
I can’t send her away like that anymore. Can’t pretend I can trade her off.
Now, I’m already formulating a new plan that involves locking her in my apartment. She’ll be my personal prisoner. No one touches her but me, and maybe I’ll give her back, or perhaps I won’t.
Maybe I’ll start a war over her.
She is mine.
This thought somehow makes me angry. And the anger only increases as the day’s meetings continue.
I can barely concentrate.
I want to punch something.
Dom texts me, asking if I’ve laid eyes on the princess yet.
