Page 4 of Her Darkest Possession (Baryshev Bratva #2)

ANATOLY

The last twelve hours have been hell. I've torn through the Bronx with my men, searching every corner where Indigo might have run after escaping that train.

But her trail has gone completely cold.

I rub my eyes and feel the exhaustion settling into my bones as I drive through the streets for what feels like the hundredth time.

My phone rings every once in a while with updates now that I've sent out feelers to every hospital in the area. But so far, nothing.

No woman matching Indigo's description.

If there was at least one piece of good news, it was that Svetlana wasn't dead by the time Roma found her bleeding by the side of the road.

She's still hanging on in the ICU at Weill Cornell in the Upper East Side. And the doctors say the next twenty-four hours are critical. But she's still alive. And more importantly, she's still accounted for.

Which is the opposite of what I can say for Amara.

In spite of my best efforts, there's no sign of her. I have no idea if she's either still with Lola or if she's been handed off to someone else.

My fist hits the steering wheel. "Fuck!"

How could I have let this happen? How could I not have seen this coming?

I take small comfort in the knowledge that Grisha is still in NYPD custody with a gunshot wound to his leg. No firearm was found on him, but a few witnesses willing to testify identified him as the shooter. I know Taras will have him out before morning. But for now, he's off the streets.

And he's fucking hurting.

Serves him right for trying to hurt my wife.

The thought of Grisha fuming in a holding cell while nursing his wounded leg brings a small smile to my lips.

Indigo shot him. She escaped him, wounded him, and disappeared.

My britvochka indeed.

I just wish I can find her.

She's out there somewhere, carrying my child. Alone. Scared. Possibly even wounded.

That last thought squeezes my chest like a fist and I force myself to focus back on the task at hand, waiting for anyone to send me an update that she might've been found.

Is she safe? Does she know I'm looking for her?

Suddenly, my phone rings again, and I pick up without hesitation.

"Mr. Baryshev?" A woman asks softly on the other end.

The voice on the other end is unexpected. Instead of the usual rough voice of a brigadier, this one sounds soft and understanding.

I glance down at my phone, and see that it's an unknown number.

Odd.

"Who is this?"

"I'm Dr. Jocelyn Espina," she says. "At St. Barnabas Hospital in the Bronx. I used to be on your father's payroll ten years ago."

Espina… I rack my brains for the name but come up empty.

While it's true that my father did employ doctors all across the Bronx—both as an easy entry point to gain access to prescription drugs as well as having a steady source of people who can patch up wounded men—I have next to no knowledge about just who is all on the payroll.

That's something Roma handles.

Which means it's also entirely possible that she's telling me the truth.

"What can I do for you, doctor?"

"I think I just saw your wife."

My chest tightens, but I force myself to keep my voice even and to keep hope from blooming inside of my chest. "I need some more proof than that, doctor."

"Of course," she replies quickly. "Young woman somewhere in her mid-twenties. Hazel eyes. Blue hair with red roots."

My lungs expand with their first real breath in twelve hours. The tension coiled around my spine loosens just a fraction.

"That's her," I say, my voice dropping low. "That's my wife."

Relief floods through me so intensely it's almost painful. She's alive. She got away from Grisha. She's in a hospital. But for now, I know she's safe.

"Is she still there?" I ask, already moving toward my car.

"Yes, she was brought in as a 'Jane Doe', but she's since told us her name is Indigo Baryshev."

My heart catches on her use of my last name. Even after everything, she's using it. She still thinks that she's mine.

"How did you get this number?" I ask.

"I contacted your brother Roma first, as he requested. But once I told him what I knew, he suggested that I call you directly."

I pause with the key halfway to the ignition. "Roma told you to call me?"

That's not like Roma at all. My brother is meticulous about proper channels, especially regarding bratva business.

" He thought you might want to hear from me and not him that your wife is pregnant," Dr. Espina says, her voice softening further. "We're scheduling an ultrasound for later this afternoon. If you hurry, you might make it in time."

My entire world freezes.

Pregnant. The word echoes in my head like a gunshot.

But it also sounds like nobody is certain whether or not the baby is still there.

Lola’s taunting words echo in my head.

A box of abortion pills.

No. I think. Indigo wouldn’t. She wouldn’t. She couldn’t. I won’t believe it! I can’t believe it!

"I'll be there in twenty minutes," I say, my voice unrecognizable even to myself. "I'll see you soon, doctor."

A protective instinct slams into me and it feels different from anything I've felt before.

I've killed for the bratva, fought wars over territory and respect, but this goes deeper.

This is Indigo. This is family. This is about keeping that family alive and whole in a world that's doing everything it can to try and destroy it.

"Of course, Mr. Baryshev."

"Please," I tell her as I take the road towards St. Barnabas. "You can call me Anatoly."