Page 33 of Her Darkest Possession (Baryshev Bratva #2)

ANATOLY

The interrogation room at the NYPD is exactly what you'd expect.

Cramped, uncomfortable, and smelling faintly of desperation and bad coffee.

What a shame that I had to experience this twice in less than twenty-four hours.

Unfortunately for me this time, it was much easier yesterday to leave.

Detective Webb stares at me, drumming his fingers across the table impatiently while he waits for Kaufman to finish reviewing the security camera footage with forensics on the other side.

"You know, Baryshev," he says, tapping his pen against a manila folder. "I don't think your fancy lawyer is going to pull a rabbit out of his hat this time."

Roma had delivered the footage personally a few moments ago. Apparently, there was something wrong with the internet at the mansion that forced him to come out here personally with the footage.

A pain in the ass for everyone involved, but now the pieces are in place and the only thing to do is wait.

In the meantime, Webb is taking every opportunity he can to push my buttons in the hopes of getting me to say something I'm not supposed to.

I offer him a neutral smile. Well, more of a smirk if you have to put a name to it. It's not enough to be overtly dismissive and confrontational, but also not meek enough to make him think he's got me cornered.

I know how this game is played.

Cops will do anything and everything to get the accused to slip up under pressure. And once you say something—anything—they'll take that opportunity and throw the book at you.

They're not fucking around when they say anything you say can and will be used against you.

I've seen men get put away for the dumbest shit they've said. So, I keep the smile on my face and let Webb talk.

"We have multiple officer statements confirming that you threw Ryan Bennet through a glass window.

Hell, I watched it myself last night on the news.

" Webb flips open the folder, though I know it's just for show.

"Assault and battery, at the very least, and that's before we even talk about the shit that went down today.

Mr. Bennet would've pressed charges if he weren't, you know.

.. dead. So, why don't you stop wasting both our times and make this easier? "

My eyes flick to the clock on the wall.

"Nothing to say?" Webb prods, leaning closer. "No clever explanations? No attempt at arguing about how you're innocent?"

I meet his gaze steadily. "Lawyer."

Webb laughs harshly, but there's no humor in the sound. "Don't think your lawyer is coming back, Baryshev. We both know you had Bennet killed."

I repeat myself. "Lawyer."

Webb slams his hand down on the table. "Your lawyer can't help you! You think we don't know what you are? What you do?"

He's willing to hear me out. That I won't deny.

But just like when I clocked him back during the arrest, he's only doing that because he sees me as a criminal, and it's his God-given duty to put me away.

I keep my face impassive. It's funny. I thought I might be more agitated, being pulled away from Indigo twice now in such a short amount of time to get familiar with the insides of an NYPD interrogation room.

But all I feel right now is an immense calmness.

Maybe it's the knowledge that I'm completely innocent for once. And so, while Kaufman continues to make threats and implications that he can't back up, I'm thinking about when I can go home to make sure Indigo is alright.

And how I'm going to make the Volkovs pay for this once I'm out.

So, I stare at him one more time and repeat that same word again. "Lawyer."

The door opens and Kaufman walks back in. There's a smug confidence in his step that wasn't there before.

"Detective Webb," he says, sliding into the chair beside me. "Your boys in forensics agree with our argument. Mr. Baryshev never left his residence from the time of his return last night until you arrived to arrest him earlier this afternoon."

Webb's eyes narrow. "That doesn't mean—"

"The timestamps were all there," Kaufman continues smoothly. "Mr. Baryshev was at home with his pregnant wife during Ryan Bennet's death. The footage is unaltered and continuous. You have no more cause to hold him."

Then, Kaufman leans toward me, his lips nearly touching my ear.

"Roma has a name," he whispers. "Ivan Yumatov."

Everything clicks into place. Ivan Yumatov isn't a real person. Just a pseudonym the Volkovs use for their fixers when they need something particularly nasty done.

Lola—and I know it's fucking Lola because no way in hell is Taras ever this devious—is setting me up to take the fall for Ryan's death, and this just about fucking confirms it.

But what's her end game?

She knows that NYPD wouldn't be satisfied with letting me out on bail without evidence. Which means she put me in here twice now for a reason.

It means she wants me here.

Webb's frustration is palpable. "Just because he didn't leave the house doesn't mean he didn't issue orders. He could have made a phone call—"

"Do you have evidence of such a call?" Kaufman interrupts. "Phone records? Witness testimony? A confession from this supposed hitman if you even have one? No? Then you have nothing but speculation, which isn't enough to hold my client."

Webb's face reddens. "We have reasonable cause—"

"You had reasonable cause to question him," Kaufman says. "Now you have evidence proving his innocence. Once Mr. Baryshev pays his bail for the window incident, he's free to go."

Webb starts to object but Kaufman holds up a hand to stop him.

"The security footage establishes an alibi, Mr. Webb," he says. "You can't hold him for murder without evidence."

Webb opens and closes his mouth, then glares at me. "Fine. Process the bail. But I'm going to go over the footage personally, Baryshev. And if I so much as see a single goddamn pixel out of place, I'm going to bring you back here myself."

Kaufman adjusts his tie with a self-satisfied smile. "If you want to question my client again, Detective Webb, you'll need a warrant. And good luck getting one with the evidence we just provided." He turns to me. "Is my client free to go now?"

Webb's jaw clenches so tight I can almost hear his teeth grinding. "Yes," he finally spits out. "He's free to go."

As we walk out of the interrogation room, I can't shake this nagging feeling in the back of my head.

Something isn't adding up. I still can't quite figure out why Lola would want to do this. Why go through all this trouble?

When we turn down the hallways, I spot Roma standing by the wall and looking agitated. He rushes over as soon as he sees me.

"Tolya, sorry about having to do things the old-fashioned way," he says. "I tried sending the file directly to Kaufman but the internet was completely fucked at the mansion. Didn't realize until he called me."

That's when it hits me.

The internet was fucked but the mobile line was still working.

That's not a fucking a coincidence.

Someone was deliberately targeting our connection. Someone who needed our security system compromised.

I grab Roma's arm roughly. "How many men do we have at the mansion right now?"

Roma looks confused. "Just the usual guards, plus whoever might have arrived after I left to come here."

"Who else is at the house?" I demand, my grip tightening.

"Svetlana is still recovering in the east wing. Amara was there with your wife when I left." Roma starts to continue, "I can put men on finding who the current Ivan Yumatov is—"

"No," I interrupt him sharply. "The internet being down wasn't an accident."

Roma's eyes widen as understanding dawns. "You don't think—"

Before he can finish, my phone starts ringing.

The caller ID is masked, but I already know who it is.

"What did you fucking do," I answer, keeping my voice measured despite the rage building inside me.

"Ooh, so aggressive, Tolya." Lola's sing-song voice comes through the line. "Is that any way to talk to your wife?"

"Where the fuck are you, Lola?" I demand.

"Why don't you take a guess, Tolya?"

Her voice pulls away from the phone for a moment and I strain to hear what's in the background. At first, I hear nothing. Then, the sound of rushing wind and the unmistakable crash of waves against a cliff edge.

She's at the fucking mansion!

Now it all makes sense. Lola must've been behind the internet outage. She deliberately orchestrated it so that Roma would be away from the mansion, leaving Vassily alone with just a few guards.

I lock eyes with Roma and motion urgently toward the car. He nods and quickens his pace. We exit the precinct and rush for the car, and Roma is already pulling out the keys as soon as the first gust of cold air hits our face.

"How the fuck did you do it?" I ask. "How did you cut the internet?"

"Oh, Tolya," she sighs. "You should really be careful about who you choose to insult these days.

I mean, when I heard what you did to poor Valentina Ivanovna…

To be cast out of her own home by her eldest son.

Well, I assured her that I'll return her to her rightful place.

After I clear out the rats, of course. She was the one who installed those lines years ago.

And she showed me exactly where she needed to cut. "

Red creeps into my vision at the mention of my mother helping Lola do this.

After the mercy Indigo showed her by letting her walk away with her life intact. This is how she repays us?

"I made the mistake of mercy once, Lola." I say, my voice dangerously calm as I get into the car with Roma. "I won't fucking do it again."

"Oh, is that so?" Lola taunts.

"When I get home," I continue, ignoring her mocking tone, "I'm going to kill you both. I'm going to fucking end this."

"I'm sure you will, Tolya." Lola's laughter echoes through the phone, high and manic. "But your threats don't fucking matter anymore."

"Not a threat, you fucking bitch," I snarl. "A promise."

"Promise away, then. It won't change anything," she says, her voice suddenly hardening. "Because I'm already here."

My blood turns to ice as Roma peels away from the curb and towards the highway heading east.

"Our war ends now, Tolya," Lola continues. "Your farce of a marriage ends now."

"You're making a mistake, Lola."

"No, you were the one who made the mistake.

You're the one who continues to make mistakes, because you've grown soft.

" She laughs coldly. "If you had chosen me from the start, we wouldn't be having this conversation right now.

If your whore had the wisdom to not run from my brother, I wouldn't have to do this to you.

And when you let her pass judgment on your own mother's fate instead of acting like the pakhan you're supposed to be, you might have one final chance to tell that cunt goodbye.

But you've squandered every opportunity that has been placed before you. And now you're going to pay the price."

I bang on the dashboard, urging Roma to go faster. But he's already going as fast as he can. The final light of day fades, and in the headlights, I see the unmistakable dance of the first snow of the year.

Hope starts to fade from my heart.

No, no, no!

Snow means car accidents. Snow means traffic delays. Snow means that maybe by the time that I get to the mansion, Lola will have made good on her threats.

"Lola, please." I force myself to say the words that I never thought I'd ever say. "Please don't hurt her. Please don't hurt Indigo! She's innocent in all of this. Your quarrel is with me! Not her!"

"See, that's where you're wrong. My quarrel is with both of you. You killed Grisha for her. I'm just evening the score." Her voice turns to ice. "A brother for a brother. A bride for a bride."

"LOLA! DON'T FUCKING DO IT!"

"Do you remember what you said to me the last time we talked like this?" she asks softly. "You told me that you will burn everything in my world to the ground, sift through the ashes for my bones, and throw them into the Hudson."

My heart stops. Everything around me—the car, Roma's cursing as he swerves around slower vehicles, and the snow trying to stick between each swipe of the windshield wipers—fades away into nothingness.

All I can hear is Lola's tittering laugh on the other end of the line and the blood rushing in my ears.

"This is what happens when you make the wrong choices, Tolya," Lola says softly. "You chose that whore over me. You choose love over the bratva. You chose wrong on everything that matters. And now you pay the consequences"

Silence hangs for a moment between us, pregnant with threats.

Then the line goes dead.

"LOLA!" I roar into the phone, but it's useless.

I slam the phone against the dashboard as a guttural scream tears from my throat. My hands shake with rage and pure fucking terror.

Every muscle in my body tenses as if preparing for a fight that isn't here yet, against an enemy I can't reach in time. My breath comes in ragged bursts and the metallic taste of blood fills my mouth.

I've never felt this helpless before in my life. I've never felt this goddamn weak.

"Faster, Roma!" I roar, even though he's already pushing a hundred and weaving through the snow and traffic like a madman.

I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to think. The moment I do, I see Indigo's face. Her hazel eyes looking back at me earlier today when we were painting our baby's nursery.

No. This can't be how it ends. I won't let it end like this.

"Call Vassily," I order Roma. "Warn him what's about to happen."

As Roma dials, I open my eyes with newfound clarity. The fear is still there, hanging in the back of my throat. But it's now joined by anger. A sharp, focused rage that burns me up from the inside out.

I grab my phone and start dialing one brigadier after another.

The orders are clear and simple:

Go to the mansion.

Kill every Volkov you see.

No questions. No survivors.

Every one of them responds without question. This is still my fucking bratva. Indigo is still my fucking wife.

And no one will take her away from me.

No one.