Page 18 of Her Darkest Possession (Baryshev Bratva #2)

"As much as I understand what Valentina wants, Anatoly is still right. Your mother is not the pakhan. Her powers to judge and act behind the scenes ended the moment Anatoly became the pakhan." I meet Vassily's eyes directly. "Do you understand that?"

Vassily nods slowly. "I do." His shoulders slump slightly, the weight of what he's done—what he's been part of—finally seeming to settle on him.

"I'm sorry," he says suddenly, the words bursting from him like they've been trapped inside. "I'm truly sorry, Indigo."

He takes a deep breath before continuing.

"I guess I always had an idea that what I was doing against you at my mother's command was wrong.

" His voice grows quieter. "I got an inkling of that when I saw Tolya's reaction to the contents of that NDA.

And to tell you the truth, when mother put me up to find the content, I treated it like a game. "

Vassily glances at Anatoly, then back to me.

"Maybe it was because I never bothered to see you as someone befitting my brother due to my mother's influence, but I didn't realize the depth of the hurt that you suffered.

" His voice cracks slightly. "And only after Tolya killed Grant Bennet with his bare hands did I truly understand what brother felt for you. "

He shakes his head, regret etching across his features. "But by then, it was already too late." Vassily's eyes find mine, and for the first time, I see genuine remorse there. "Will you forgive me? Both of you?"

I sit there, stunned by his admission and apology. It's not at all what I expected when we called him in here. I thought he'd be defiant, self-righteous even. But this—this vulnerability and admission of wrongdoing—catches me completely off guard.

Anatoly gives me a long, knowing look, and I understand the meaning in his eyes.

The forgiveness that Vassily is really asking for won't come from him.

It comes from me.

I take a deep breath, studying Vassily's face, searching for any hint of deception. But all I see is genuine remorse in his eyes. The man standing before us is not the same person who dragged me down the hallway that day, who stood by while Valentina threatened my unborn child.

"Of course I forgive you, Vassily," I reply softly.

Anatoly stands, his chair scraping against the floor.

He squares his shoulders and steps out from behind the desk.

The transformation is immediate and noticeable.

The gentle husband who holds me in his arms and tucks sweaty strands of hair behind my ears while my heart returns to normal is gone now.

In his place is the implacable and unyielding pakhan of the Baryshev Bratva.

"Kneel, Vassily Stepanovich."

Vassily obeys without hesitation, dropping to one knee before his brother. His head bows slightly, a gesture of submission I've never seen from him before.

Anatoly walks forward until he's standing directly in front of his kneeling brother. "Say the words of your oath."

Vassily's voice is clear and steady as he speaks the words: "I care for no one but the bratva, and I shall love none other than the bratva."

"Who is the pakhan of your bratva?" Anatoly asks.

"You," Vassily answers immediately.

"And whom does the pakhan protect through the bratva?"

"Us."

"Who else?" Anatoly presses.

Vassily's eyes flicker toward me briefly. "His wife. His children."

Anatoly nods, seemingly satisfied with this answer. "What is the bratva if not for a pakhan and his wife?"

"Nothing," Vassily responds without hesitation.

As I watch this ritual unfold between brothers, I can't help but realize just how wrong I was about the words of that oath when I first overheard them through this very door.

On that day, those words had felt like a knife twisting in my heart. I'd believed they were proof that I meant nothing to him. That I was merely a tool and a means to an end in his political chess game against Bennet.

I remember how I'd spiraled after hearing them, how quickly I'd convinced myself that everything between us was a lie. How desperately I clung to the belief that I should go as far as hating him, even when my body craved his touch and my heart ached for him.

But now, I understand that the oath isn't a rejection of love for others. It's a redefinition of what the bratva actually is.

The bratva isn't just an organization or a criminal enterprise. It's not just territory or money or power.

The bratva is family.

It's protection. It's the lives of those the pakhan holds dear.

The oath doesn't mean Anatoly can't love me. It means that the only thing he can do is to love me. It means that I've become part of what he's sworn to protect. That perhaps I was always part of what he's sworn to protect from the moment our paths crossed that day in Marcus' barbershop.

I was never something secondary to the bratva. I was always an essential part of it. Our child won't ever be an obstacle to his duties but will become the very thing that gives purpose to everything he does.

And perhaps the most profound realization: this is what marriage truly means to Anatoly. Neither ownership, nor possession, but a place in his heart that no-one else is allowed to inhabit.

"Do you understand now?" He asks Vassily, but in my heart, I feel like he's asking me.

"I do," Vassily replies.

Anatoly extends his hand, the signet ring with the double-headed eagle gleaming in the light. Vassily leans forward and presses his lips to the ring, a formal acknowledgment of Anatoly's authority.

"Then rise," Anatoly commands. As Vassily stands, Anatoly places a hand on his shoulder. "Never forget the oath you swore: that your life and your devotion are for the bratva, to your pakhan, and to the woman who holds your pakhan's heart. And no one else."