Page 16 of Her Darkest Possession (Baryshev Bratva #2)

ANATOLY

I hold Indigo against my chest, her blue hair tickling my skin as our breathing finally returns to normal. She fits in my arms like she was made to be there. Outside, the moon casts silver light through the windows, painting shadows across the rumpled sheets.

"I still can't believe it," she whispers, tracing patterns on my chest. "That we're going to have a baby together."

Her voice holds a wonder that leaves my chest tightening when I hear it. I press my lips to her forehead and take in a deep breath until the scent of her hair is buried so deep in my lungs that I'll never get it out.

"That we're going to be parents," she continues, raising herself up on one elbow to look at me. Her eyes shine in the darkness. "Actual parents."

The excitement in her voice is unmistakable. It wraps around me, making it impossible not to smile back at her. I reach and rest my hand on her still flat stomach. Our child is growing there—something we created together.

"Are you happy about it?" she asks softly.

"Yes," I answer honestly, surprising myself with how true it is. "More than I thought possible."

The idea of fatherhood is... surreal. I never imagined myself here. My own father was a cautionary tale, not a model to follow. Stepan Baryshev was cruel, calculating, unfaithful—everything I swore I wouldn't become.

"You're thinking too hard," Indigo says, touching my furrowed brow.

"Just thinking about my father," I admit. "Not exactly the blueprint for good parenting."

She shifts closer, pressing her lips against my jaw. "You're not him, Anatoly."

"I know that, but—"

"You'll be a good father," she interrupts, with such conviction it steals my breath. "I've seen how you protect what's yours. How you take care of people. That's what matters."

Her faith in me is staggering. I pull her closer, burying my face in her hair so she won't see how deeply her words affect me.

"Our baby is lucky to have you," she murmurs against my skin.

I trace my thumb across Indigo's bare shoulder, watching her breathe softly beside me. The question has been circling my mind since we heard that tiny heartbeat in the doctor's office.

"Do you want a boy or a girl?" I ask, my voice low in the darkness.

She doesn't answer right away. Instead, her brow furrows slightly, lips pursing as she considers the question carefully. I love watching her think—the way her eyes go distant, focusing on something only she can see. My britvochka, always cutting straight to the heart of things.

Finally, she sighs. "I'm not sure. There's complications either way."

I wait for her to continue, giving her the space to form her thoughts.

"A boy would have a better chance of protecting himself in this world," she says slowly. "But he'd be born into this life where men are just... disposable. Where their lives are discarded so easily." Her fingers brush against my chest, tracing old scars. "But a girl..." She trails off.

"A girl wouldn't be safe either," I finish for her.

She nods against my shoulder. "Not in this world. Not in our world."

Her words cut deeper than she knows. It's another reminder of my failure—that despite all my power, all my resources, I still can't guarantee her safety completely. What kind of father will I be if I can't even protect the mother of my child?

"Boy or girl," I say firmly, tilting her chin up so she meets my eyes, "our baby will be protected. I swear it."

She smiles, but there's still worry behind her eyes. I need to give her something concrete, something to plan for.

"We'll need to start working on a nursery soon," I tell her, brushing a strand of blue hair from her face.

Her eyes brighten slightly. "You're already planning it, aren't you?"

I smile, caught. "That's what I was discussing on the phone earlier."

I slip out of bed, feeling a sudden restlessness in my bones. The moonlight catches on Indigo's bare skin as she watches me with curious eyes.

"Come with me," I say, extending my hand. "I want to show you something."

She raises an eyebrow but reaches for the silk robe draped across the chair. I pull on a pair of pants, not bothering with a shirt. The mansion is quiet at this hour with only the occasional guard patrolling the hallways.

Indigo's hand feels small in mine as we descend the grand staircase. Her robe whispers against her skin with each step, reminding me of how she felt beneath me just moments ago. I guide her past my office toward the west wing, an area of the house she hasn't explored much.

"Where are we going?" she asks, her voice echoing slightly in the empty corridor.

"You'll see," I tell her, squeezing her hand.

We stop before a closed door at the end of the hallway. I push it open, revealing a spacious empty room bathed in moonlight from tall windows. I step inside, my mind already transforming the blank canvas before me.

"This is perfect," I say, gesturing around the room. "We'll put the crib here, where the morning light will come in." I walk to the far wall, already seeing it all. "Built-in bookshelves along this wall. A comfortable chair for feeding in this corner."

I turn, pointing to another spot. "And here, a changing table with storage beneath. Roma knows a craftsman who does custom woodwork—everything matching, solid oak or maybe cherry."

The ideas keep flowing as I pace the room. "We'll need to decide on colors, of course. Nothing too bright. Something calming. And the security—we'll need to upgrade the windows, reinforce the door."

I'm already calculating the timeline in my head. "If we start next week, we could have it finished by the time you're showing."

I turn around, expecting to see Indigo exploring the room with me, but she's still standing in the doorway. Her arms are wrapped tightly around herself, her face partially hidden in shadow.

"What's wrong?" I ask, crossing back to her.

Indigo doesn't answer at first. Her eyes dart around the room, and something in her expression shifts—a shadow passing over her face. The excitement I felt moments ago evaporates, replaced by a cold weight in my stomach.

I move to her side, placing my hands gently on her shoulders. "Whatever's on your mind, you can talk to me, printsessa."

She looks up, her eyes swimming with unshed tears. "There's something you need to know, Anatoly."

The way she says it—soft, hesitant, almost afraid—makes dread coil inside me. I take her hand and guide her to sit on the window seat, keeping her fingers entwined with mine.

"What is it," I say, keeping my voice steady despite the tightening in my chest.

She takes a deep breath. "A week before I found out I was pregnant... your mother pulled me into this exact room."

My body goes rigid, but I force myself to remain silent, to let her finish.

"She interrogated me about my past. " Indigo continues, her voice hollow. "She knew my name. My real name."

I resist the urge to curse, to demand details. But I know that Indigo needs to tell this at her own pace. So, I keep silent and wait for her to continue.

"She told me I would never be a true Baryshev. That Lola was her real daughter-in-law." Indigo's fingers tighten around mine. "She... she pressed her hand against my stomach and told me if there was ever a 'bastard' growing inside me that might claim the bratva, she would..." Her voice breaks.

"What did she say?" I whisper, though I already know the answer.

"That she would do what's necessary," Indigo finishes, tears finally spilling down her cheeks. "She threatened our baby before I even knew it existed."

Rage burns through me, hot and consuming. The image of my mother's hands on Indigo, threatening my child—our child—makes my vision blur.

I pull Indigo into my arms, holding her against my chest as my rage boils beneath the surface. Her tears wet my skin, but I force myself to remain calm—for her sake.

"Listen to me," I say, tilting her chin up so she meets my eyes. "My mother will never harm you or our child. Never. I swear this to you on my life."

Indigo's eyes search mine, looking for reassurance. I wipe away her tears with my thumb.

"If this room holds nothing but bad memories for you, we'll find another. This mansion has plenty of rooms. We'll find one without shadows."

She takes a shuddering breath before she nods.

"I shouldn't have let her live," I mutter.

Indigo stills in my arms. "What?"

"On the same day you were taken," I tell her, the memory still raw. "I had gone to her house in the Hamptons. She admitted sending Vassily to investigate your NDA, to dig up your past."

I brush a strand of blue hair from Indigo's face, tucking it behind her ear.

"When she called you a whore, I put a gun in her hand." The admission comes out flat, emotionless. "And told her to pull the trigger herself."

Indigo's eyes widen. "Anatoly..."

"I should've have walked away and let her do it," I continue, needing her to understand how far I'm willing to go to protect her.

"But then she told me you were pregnant.

She knew before I did. Found out through Lola, who had been tracking your movements.

All these years talking about the importance of family, and it turns out that family is who betrays me and you. "

Indigo looks away, her fingers restlessly tracing the silk edge of her robe. I can see her gathering courage, her shoulders tensing slightly.

"There's something else you need to know," she says quietly, still not meeting my eyes.

I wait, giving her the space to continue.

"When your mother confronted me... Vassily was there too." She glances up quickly, gauging my reaction. "He was the one who dragged me into this room at Valentina's command."

My jaw clenches so hard my teeth might crack. Vassily—my own brother—helping my mother terrorize my wife after I explicitly warned him about what would happen if he so much as even look at Indigo the wrong way again.

Red-hot fury clouds my vision. "I'll fucking kill him for this," I growl, already picturing my hands around my brother's throat. "My own blood, threatening what's mine—"

"Anatoly." Indigo's voice is gentle but firm as she places her hand on my chest, right over my thundering heart. "Vassily is still your brother."

I scoff, but she continues undeterred.

"A brash, inappropriate, and hotheaded brother, but your brother nonetheless." Her eyes hold mine steadily. "And Valentina... she's still your mother."

The rage doesn't subside, but her touch anchors me, keeps me from drowning in it.

"You almost did something you would regret forever when you ordered Valentina to kill herself," she says softly. "And if there's one thing I wouldn't want you to do, it's doing something you'll regret and never be able to take back."

Her words pierce through my anger, forcing me to pause. The memory of my mother holding the gun to her own head flashes before me—how close I came to letting her pull the trigger. Would I have been able to live with that? Could I truly kill my own brother, no matter what he's done?

I take a deep breath, focusing on Indigo's hand still pressed against my heart.

I take a deep breath, studying Indigo's face in the moonlight. She's asking me to control my rage—to find another way.

"You're afraid I'll become my father," I say quietly. It's not a question.

Her eyes soften. "I'm afraid of what killing your family would do to you. To us. To our child."

She's right, and I hate it. My father was the kind of man who didn't hesitate to hurt his children over a perceived slight.

He didn't think twice about spilling family blood.

And in the process, it left him so isolated that when mother finally had enough of his bullshit, there was no one left to stand with him.

"I can't just let them go unpunished," I tell her, my voice rough with frustration. "My mother threatened our unborn child. Vassily manhandled you. They crossed lines that can't be uncrossed."

Indigo nods, her fingers tracing soothing patterns on my chest. "I agree. There should be consequences. But not death."

I catch her hand, pressing it harder against my heart. "Then what? What punishment fits this crime?"

She's quiet for a moment, considering. "I don't know right now," she finally suggests. "But there must be something."

"We'll figure something out," I say. "Together."

"And for what it's worth," she adds hesitantly, "I think Vassily might actually regret what he did."

I raise an eyebrow skeptically.

"When he brought Amara back to the mansion," she explains, "he seemed... different. Almost sheepish. He couldn't meet my eyes."

Now that Indigo mentions it, I remember Vassily's strange behavior right before the rescue. How he tried to tell me that there's something I needed to know.

Was he trying to apologize for the part he played that resulted in Indigo's kidnapping?

And then during the rescue itself, he moved to protect Amara with his own body. He'd handled her gently, and with none of his usual lewdness.

Maybe Indigo is right.

"If there is regret in Vassily, we'll find out for certain," I say, my voice still hard despite Indigo's softening influence. "We'll find out tomorrow. Speak to him in person. Make him explain himself."

I run my hand through my hair, trying to imagine what Vassily might possibly say to justify his actions. The image of him dragging my wife into this room at my mother's command burns in my mind, threatening to reignite the rage I've just managed to contain.

"I think that's fair," Indigo says, her voice pulling me back from the edge. "People deserve a chance to explain themselves."

She's more forgiving than I am. It's one of the things I love about her—how she can see the humanity in monsters like me and my family. How she can still believe in redemption after everything she's been through.

"But," she adds, a firm edge entering her voice, "if he shows no remorse, or if he ever threatens me or our baby again..."

"Then we'll find a punishment fit for his crimes." I finish for her, relieved that her kindness has limits.

She nods, satisfied with our understanding. Then, as if deciding to set aside the heaviness of the moment, she slips her hand into mine. Her fingers are warm, delicate—a stark contrast to the violence that usually fills my palms.

"Now then." she says, her lips curving into a small smile. "Would you like to show me another room you have in mind for the nursery?"

The simple request tugs at something in my chest. This is Indigo—my wife—asking me to plan a future with her. To create a space for our child. Despite everything, she still wants this life with me.

"Yes," I reply, squeezing her hand gently. "I know the perfect room."