Page 21 of Her Darkest Possession (Baryshev Bratva #2)

INDIGO

I adjust the napkin in my lap, waiting for Valentina and Vassily to arrive for dinner. The massive oak table stretches between Anatoly and me, polished to a gleaming shine that reflects the chandelier's light. My husband sits at the head, scrolling through his phone, completely at ease.

My mind keeps turning back to what we did in Anatoly's office after Vassily's departure.

The way Anatoly knelt before me. The way I commanded him. How I perched on his desk while he pleasured me with his mouth, his tongue working between my thighs until I came apart screaming his name.

Heat rises to my cheeks just thinking about it.

But the most significant part wasn't just the mind-blowing orgasm—though God knows that was incredible—or the dirty things both of us said to each other.

It was the fact that it happened on his desk.

For two long years, the memory of the unfeeling hard surface of a desk haunted my nightmares. But after yesterday, I finally feel like I was able to reclaim something that had been stolen from me.

I took pleasure on that unfeeling surface. But more importantly, I demanded it on my own terms.

I controlled it. I owned it.

And now, I'm about to reclaim another piece of power that had been taken from me.

The doors swing open and Valentina enters with the imperious stride of a queen, Vassily trailing behind her like a dutiful shadow. His eyes meet mine briefly, offering a quick nod to both Anatoly and me.

Unlike before, there's no leering or mockery in his gaze, just a newfound respect following his renewed oath.

Valentina, however, remains oblivious to this shift. Her eyes narrow when they land on me, her lips pursing as if she's just tasted something sour.

"Why is she still here?" she asks, directing the question at Anatoly while pretending I don't exist.

Before Anatoly can respond, I smile sweetly. "I thought it would be nice for all of us to have dinner together... as a family."

The word 'family' seems to inflict physical pain on her. She sniffs loudly, adjusting her perfectly styled blonde hair.

"Well, at least you have the good graces to not parade the bastard and the other charity case here," she says, her voice dripping with venom.

I feel Anatoly tense beside me at her spiteful words. I reach over and place my hand gently on Anatoly's, feeling the coiled tension in his muscles. slowly ebbing His eyes meet mine, dark with fury, but I give him a slight smile and a barely perceptible shake of my head.

I've got this.

"Vasya," Valentina snaps at her youngest son, "pull out my chair."

Vassily pulls out his mother's chair, still playing the role of the dutiful son. After he settles her in, he takes his own seat beside her, carefully avoiding eye contact with me.

The staff brings out the first course, a chilled soup that smells of cucumber and dill. I take a small spoonful, my stomach still a bit sensitive from the morning sickness that's been plaguing me.

"Tolya," Valentina says, dabbing her lips with a napkin, "are you aware that Taras Volkov has been raising absolute hell about the murder of his son in this very house?"

I feel Anatoly stiffen beside me, but his face remains impassive.

"I thought I taught you better. It's highly improper to spill family blood in this house," she continues, her voice carrying the weight of supposed tradition. "What were you thinking?"

Anatoly sets down his spoon with deliberate care. "Grisha was neither blood nor relation, mother. He's an outsider who tried to hurt my wife."

The tension in the room builds like a gathering storm. I take another spoonful of soup, trying to appear calm despite my racing heart.

Valentina's face contorts with rage. She slams her palm against the table, making the silverware jump and clatter against the fine china.

"Your wife is Lola, not this whore you picked off the streets!" she spits, finally looking directly at me with undisguised hatred.

My entire body goes rigid at Valentina's words. I'm tired of her venom, tired of being called a whore in my husband's house. A calm clarity washes over me as I set down my spoon.

"For all your misgivings about my status," I say, my voice steadier than I expected, "I'm still pregnant with Anatoly's child."

I place my hand protectively over my stomach, feeling a surge of fierce love for the tiny life growing inside me.

"And nothing can change that."

The words hang in the air between us, simple but undeniable.

Valentina's face transforms before my eyes.

Her perfectly composed features contort, her skin flushing an angry red that spreads from her neck to her hairline.

Her knuckles turn white as she grips her napkin so tightly that I think she might tear it.

For a moment, I see raw hatred in her eyes, so intense it sends a chill down my spine. Then something else flickers there too. Fear. It's one thing for her to threaten me on my own. But to hear the confirmation in this house in front of her son. In front of her pakhan.

The silence stretches uncomfortably long. Vassily shifts in his seat, eyes darting between us.

Finally, Anatoly speaks, his voice dangerously calm.

"Mother," he says, the word somehow sounding like both an endearment and a threat. "Is it true that you threatened to hurt Indigo's child?"

For a split second, Valentina's carefully constructed facade cracks. Her eyes widen slightly, her lips parting in surprise that he knows. But she recovers quickly, years of practice allowing her to rearrange her features into something resembling indifference.

"What of it?" she asks with a dismissive wave of her hand. "I was simply acting to keep the bratva safe. That's always been my priority, Tolya. The family. Our legacy."

I hold my breath as Anatoly's eyes darken with fury. His voice remains dangerously calm, each word precisely measured.

"Our legacy," he says, placing his hand over mine on my stomach, "is with the child growing in Indigo's belly. Son or daughter, that is our future."

Valentina's nostrils flare, her chest heaving with barely contained rage. "You fool," she hisses. "It's because of her that the Volkovs are now fully committed to war! Taras isn't just mobilizing his men he's actively participating in the investigation of Grant Bennet's death."

Her eyes narrow as she studies Anatoly's face. "A death that you made happen Tolya. Or are you going to deny that as well?"

Anatoly's silence speaks volumes. His jaw tightens, but he doesn't deny it.

"Tell me," Valentina says with a bitter laugh. She snatches up her knife, pointing it directly at me across the table. "Did you murder the man who could've given us the key to the city for this whore?"

"I've warned you," Anatoly's voice drops lower. "About calling my wife a whore."

"What else would you have me call a girl with no claims to power or wealth, who worked in a barbershop, who had nothing to her name suddenly rising to become a pakhan's wife?

" Valentina counters, still holding the knife.

Her eyes bore into mine with undisguised hatred.

"If that's not the definition of a whore, then what is? "

I feel each word like a physical blow, but I refuse to flinch or look away. Instead, I meet her gaze steadily, refusing to give her the satisfaction of seeing me hurt.

Valentina gives a harsh, brittle laugh that reminds me of glass shattering.

"And warn me all you want, synok," she says, tossing her napkin onto the table. "We both know you won't do a damn thing about it. You couldn't even pull the trigger when you made me put a gun to my own head."

I feel a chill run through me at her words. I glance at Anatoly, whose face has gone completely still. Vassily stares at his plate, refusing to look at any of us.

"You're not wrong about that, mother." Anatoly takes a slow, measured breath. "I did not have the strength to sentence you the way that you deserved to be sentenced."

Valentina sits back in her chair, a smug smile tugging at the corners of her lips. She looks like a cat that's just cornered a mouse, believing she's won this particular battle of wills. Her fingers tap a victorious rhythm against the tablecloth.

But then Anatoly adds: "That's why it's not up to me."

The tapping stops. Valentina's smile freezes on her face.

Anatoly turns to me, his blue eyes meeting mine with an intensity that steals my breath. "It's up to her."

The silence that follows is absolute. Even the staff in the corners of the room seem to have stopped breathing. Valentina's face drains of all color as she stares at me, truly seeing me for perhaps the first time.

I feel a strange calm settle over me as all eyes turn in my direction. The power to decide Valentina's fate rests in my hands now. This woman who threatened my unborn child, who called me a whore in my own home, who constantly undermines my position as Anatoly's wife.

Valentina recovers quickly from her shock, her face morphing into a sneer.

"Her?" she asks with a mocking laugh, gesturing at me dismissively. "What would this whore know of sentencing? What does she know about what it's like to be a pakhan's wife?"

Her voice drips with condescension, but I don't rise to the bait. Instead, I meet her gaze steadily, remembering every humiliation she's heaped upon me since I arrived.

"I sentenced Grisha to death," I say quietly, my voice carrying easily in the silent room. "I watched the life leave his eyes. You don't know what I'm capable of, Valentina Ivanovna."

The use of her patronymic seems to infuriate her. Her face flushes crimson as she leans forward, pointing a perfectly manicured finger at me.

"I told you never to let my name pass your filthy lips," she hisses.

I remain perfectly still, drawing strength from Anatoly's presence beside me. When I speak again, my voice is measured, controlled.

"I am your pakhan's wife," I say simply. "You should address me with the respect I'm still giving you."

Valentina's lips curl into a cruel smile. "You don't have what it takes," she hisses, her voice dripping with venom. "To sentence me to death would mean depriving my sons of their mother. Would you really do that? Would you really take me away from Tolya, Vasya, and Romochka forever?"

Her voice grows softer, almost mocking in its gentleness. "Could you live with yourself, knowing you've turned my sons into orphans?"

I take a deep breath, steadying myself against the weight of her words. The room feels impossibly still as everyone waits for my response.

"You're right," I finally say. "I wouldn't take a mother from her sons."

Valentina's face brightens with triumph. Her shoulders relax as she sits back in her chair, satisfied that she's won this battle of wills.

"In fact," I continue, my voice growing stronger, "I don't intend to."

Valentina's smile falters slightly, confusion flickering across her features.

"There is strength in mercy, Valentina Ivanovna," I say carefully. "But not all mercy is alike."

Wariness creeps onto Valentina's face now, her eyes narrowing as she realizes this isn't over.

"My judgment is this: you are exiled, Valentina Ivanovna Barysheva," I pronounce, my voice steady and clear. "You are never to set foot in any place where the Baryshev bratva operates. Neither here nor abroad."

Valentina's face drains of color, her mouth opening in shock.

"You will be allowed to keep your money," I continue, "just enough so that you will not lack any creature comforts. But your words will never carry any weight again."

I turn to Anatoly, our eyes meeting in perfect understanding. "Tolya," I say softly, "say the words."

Anatoly nods, his face solemn as he turns to his mother. "Eto eyo prikaz," he says firmly.

Valentina jolts to her feet, sending her chair toppling backward with a crash. Her face contorts with a fury unlike anything I've seen before - even worse than when she cornered me with Vassily.

"You have no right!" She points her finger at me. "No right to make such a judgment! You're nothing but a common whore who spread her legs for my son!"

Her chest heaves with each ragged breath, her perfectly manicured hands curling into claws on the tabletop. "You can't do this to me. I have endured and sacrificed for this family for a lifetime when you've only been here for weeks!"

Despite her rage, I remain seated, my hands folded calmly in my lap. The storm of her anger washes over me, but I refuse to be moved by it.

"You know nothing," she continues, her voice cracking with emotion. "Nothing about what it takes to be a real pakhan's wife!"

I meet her gaze steadily. "You're right," I say, my voice soft but clear. "I don't know everything yet. But I will learn."

I rise slowly to my feet, placing one hand protectively over my stomach.

"And yes, I might make mistakes along the way.

But I will make them with my husband by my side.

" I look over at Anatoly, drawing strength from his unwavering support.

"And above all, I will do so knowing that I am still capable of mercy, something that you have forgotten. "

Valentina's wild eyes dart to Vassily, who stands frozen beside her.

"Vasya," she pleads, her voice suddenly softer, manipulative. "Say something. Do something. Talk some sense into your brother! Don't let him do this to me!"

Vassily shifts uncomfortably, looking between his mother and Anatoly. For a moment, I wonder if he'll falter, if his loyalty to his mother will override his oath to Anatoly.

But then he straightens his shoulders, his face settling into a resolute expression.

"Mother," he says quietly, "Anatoly is the pakhan, and Indigo is the pakhan's wife. It is not up to me to defy their orders."

Panic finally settles into Valentina's eyes as she realizes she's truly lost. Her last ally has abandoned her. She screams, a primal sound of rage and fear that makes the hair on the back of my neck stand up.

"You'll regret this!" she shrieks, her composure completely shattered. "Both of you! You're making a mistake you can never undo!"

Anatoly rises slowly from his chair, his face impassive. "Perhaps one day we will," he says calmly. "But that day is not today."

He turns to Vassily. "Escort Valentina Ivanovna off the grounds."