Page 6 of Her Darkest Possession (Baryshev Bratva #2)

ANATOLY

My entire body freezes at Indigo's question.

Lola's words come rushing back to me like a knife plunging in my gut: "Do you know what I found in her purse? A box of abortion pills. Your whore doesn't want your baby, Tolya."

I stare at Indigo's face, searching for an answer. Her skin is pale under the harsh hospital lights. But there isn't guilt in her eyes. Only fear.

Was Lola telling me the truth when she called to taunt?

Did Indigo really not want a baby with me?

"It depends entirely on the amount." Dr. Espina answers. "Typically, Mifeprex is administered as a two-pill regimen. The first pill blocks progesterone, which is needed to maintain pregnancy. The second pill, taken 24 to 48 hours later, induces contractions to expel the pregnancy."

Indigo's hand tightens around mine, and her lower lip starts to tremble. My heart races in my chest.

Tell me this isn't true. Tell me that you didn't do this deliberately.

Dr. Espina looks directly at Indigo, her brow furrowing. "Did you take Mifeprex, Mrs. Baryshev? If so, I need to know exactly how much and when."

Indigo looks away and my heart sinks. The hope that had bloomed in my chest earlier when Dr. Espina told me that she's here fades away. And now, only dread remains in their place.

Dr. Espina steps closer "Mrs. Baryshev? How much did you take?"

"I don't know how much…" Indigo admits quietly. "But someone forced a pill in my mouth. I didn't swallow it, I spit it out, but... it was dissolving. I tasted it." Her hands shake as she clutches at the hospital blanket. "Could that be enough to hurt my baby?"

Lola.

Fucking Lola forced that pill into my wife's mouth? That manipulative bitch lied to me on the phone, twisting everything to make me believe Indigo wanted to terminate our child.

I squeeze Indigo's hand, fighting to keep my voice steady. "Lola did this to you?"

Indigo nods, a tear slipping down her cheek. "She threatened to sell Amara if I didn't leave you. She... she said she'd make sure I lost the baby if I didn't cooperate."

My free hand curls into a fist, knuckles white with rage. How dare she threaten my wife? My child?

No more fucking games.

Lola will die. I'll make sure of it.

"She knew I was pregnant before I could tell you," Indigo whispers. "I'm sorry, Anatoly. I wanted to tell you myself."

Dr. Espina clears her throat gently, drawing our attention back to her.

"To answer your question, Mrs. Baryshev, it's unlikely that simply having the medication in your mouth briefly would cause harm to the pregnancy.

If you didn't swallow the pill and it was only dissolving for a moment, the amount absorbed would be minimal. "

"Really?" Indigo looks up, and hope returns to her eyes.

"But we'll still proceed with the ultrasound immediately to check on your baby. And given the stress and trauma that you've experienced, we'll want to monitor you closely."

"Of course, doctor. Do whatever you think is necessary." I nod.

"We can go now, the techs should be ready."

I lean forward, pressing my forehead against Indigo's hand that I'm still holding. Relief washes through me, but it doesn't erase my murderous rage toward Lola.

"I'm going to kill Lola," I whisper, too low for Dr. Espina to hear. "First, I'll get your sister back. And once everyone is safe, I'm going to fucking murder that bitch."

I help Indigo out of the hospital bed, supporting her weight as she carefully swings her legs over the side. When her feet touch the floor, she winces slightly, and I feel a flash of anger toward Lola and everyone else who put her in this position, myself included.

But anger quickly transforms into concern.

"Take it easy, printsessa," I murmur, wrapping my arm around her waist.

The older man who was also in the room rushes over from where he was standing. "Here, let me—"

"It's okay, Marcus." Indigo tells him, leaning into me. "Anatoly has me."

Marcus studies my face for a moment, clearly weighing whether I can be trusted with her. I meet his gaze steadily, silently communicating that I would die before letting anything happen to her.

Finally, he gives a small nod, and I return it with one of my own.

An understanding passes between us. This man cared for my wife when I couldn't be there.

I owe him.

We follow Dr. Espina down the hallway to another room where the ultrasound machine has already set up. Another doctor stands beside it.

"This is Dr. Martinez," Dr. Espina introduces us. "She'll be overseeing the ultrasound."

Dr. Martinez smiles warmly. "Mrs. Baryshev, if you could lie down on the table, please."

I help Indigo onto the exam table, keeping hold of her hand as she settles onto her back. Her fingers tighten around mine.

"How far along are you, Mrs. Baryshev?" Dr. Martinez asks as she prepares the equipment.

Indigo hesitates. "I... I don't know exactly. Probably about four or five weeks, if I had to guess."

Dr. Martinez nods. "That's alright. We'll be able to determine more precisely after the ultrasound and some bloodwork."

As the technician begins preparing the ultrasound gel, I stare at the blank screen, my heart pounding. Our child is in there—the child I didn't know existed until today. A life created between us that Lola tried to destroy.

I squeeze Indigo's hand and then bring it to my lips for a kiss.

"Because it's your first ultrasound and you're relatively early in your pregnancy, Mrs. Baryshev," Dr. Martinez reaches for the long wand-like transducer beside the machine. "We'll be using an intrauterine transducer rather than the over-the-stomach one most people are familiar with."

"I know," Indigo says softly.

Something in her voice makes me look down at her. There's a distant look in her eyes—like she's somewhere else entirely. Of course... she's been through this before.

With Bennet.

My jaw clenches at the thought of what she endured then. What that monster put her through. Now she's here again, in the same position, only this time with my child growing inside her.

A child that she wants.

I give her hand another reassuring squeeze, watching her face carefully. She blinks, coming back to the present, and squeezes back. There's still strength there, despite everything.

"I'll be right here the whole time," I promise her.

Dr. Martinez begins explaining the procedure step by step in a soothing, professional voice. Indigo nods along, but I can feel the tension in her grip.

"Are you ready?" the doctor asks.

Indigo takes a deep breath. "Yes."

As the ultrasound begins, I keep my eyes fixed on Indigo's face, studying every micro-expression. I want to absorb any discomfort she feels, take it into myself if I could. This woman who has suffered so much yet remains unbroken—she shouldn't have to endure anything else. Not alone, at least.

"Try to relax," Dr. Martinez encourages. "I know it's uncomfortable."

Indigo's eyes find mine, and I see a vulnerability there that makes my chest ache. For a moment, she lets her guard down completely, allowing me to see her fear and uncertainty.

I bring her hand to my lips again, pressing a kiss against her knuckles.

Dr. Martinez moves the wand carefully, her eyes fixed on the monitor as she adjusts the image.

"There we go," she says, turning the screen slightly so we can both see it better. "Take a look."

I lean forward, unsure what I'm looking for at first. Then I see it—a tiny, curved shape in the center of a dark space. It's small and doesn't have quite the recognizable shape of a baby yet, but the basic shape of tiny life is there.

Our baby.

"That's..." I can't finish the sentence. Something's caught in my throat.

"That's your baby," Dr. Martinez confirms with a smile. "I would say you’re at approximately five weeks, which matches up with what Mrs. Baryshev said."

Five weeks. I do the math quickly in my head. The night after we came back from the gala, likely. The first time she begged for me and the marathon of lovemaking we went through that night until both of us were breathless and spent.

I stare at the screen, transfixed.

I'm familiar with the way life leaves bodies. But I'm an absolute stranger to the creation of it. And when Indigo's hand squeezes mine as we stare at this tiny shape that will become our child, something profound moves inside of me as well.

It's unlike anything I've ever experienced.

"And everything is alright?" Indigo asks, her voice tight with worry. "The baby is fine?"

"Yes." Dr. Martinez assures her. "In fact."

She presses a button on the machine.

Suddenly, a rapid whooshing sound fills the room—quick, rhythmic, almost like galloping horses.

Whoosh-whoosh-whoosh-whoosh.

I freeze, my hand tightening around Indigo's as a gasp tumbles from her lips. The sound is fast—much faster than I expected—and it's strong.

"Is that…" I start again, unable to form coherent thoughts.

"Your baby's heartbeat," Dr. Martinez confirms. "Nice and healthy at 150 beats per minute, which is exactly where we want it to be at this stage."

Whoosh-whoosh-whoosh-whoosh.

Our baby's heartbeat. It's real. This is real. They're still here, just like she's still here.

Indigo's eyes are fixated on the monitor with wonder. A smile slowly breaks out across her face, and then a single tear rolls down from the corner of her eyes. Without hesitation, I reach out and brush the tears from her cheek with my thumb.

Whoosh-whoosh-whoosh-whoosh.

I blink, and feel my own world turn blurry when I do so. A few more blinks clear it, and I can taste the salt of my own tears on my lips.

Indigo turns and faces me, the smile on her face widening. "That's our baby, Anatoly. They're alive."

"Yes." I breathe. "They are."

Our baby's heartbeat continues to fill the room, steady and insistent, like it's announcing its presence to the world. To us.

At my insistence, Indigo's been finally moved to a private room with better security and she's sleeping peacefully. Both Dr. Espina and Dr. Martinez wanted to keep her overnight for observation.

And as much as I want to argue against it, I know that they have a point.

When we finished the ultrasound, Dr. Martinez gave us a folder with first trimester instructions. No alcohol. Limited caffeine. Plenty of rest. Take prenatal vitamins. Avoid raw fish, unpasteurized cheese, deli meats. And be mindful of any additional bleeding.

She emphasized that stress could be particularly harmful—something that made Indigo and I exchange a knowing look. Our life isn't exactly low-stress right now.

Indigo's next appointment is in two weeks instead of the usual four. Dr. Martinez explained that given the Mifeprex scare, she wants to monitor the pregnancy more closely.

I agreed, but on the condition that she come to the mansion instead of us coming out to the hospital. She was a bit reluctant at the travel, but I made her a very generous offer.

Once Indigo has fallen asleep, I step out of the room and find Marcus waiting in the hallway. His face is weathered, but his eyes are still sharp and observant as he looks at me.

He hasn't left her side this whole time, and the concern in his eyes look fatherly.

Or what I imagine fatherly affections to look like.

"Mr. Baryshev," he says, nodding.

"Call me Anatoly," I reply. "I need to know everything that happened."

Marcus sighs, rubbing his chin. "Well, this morning, Indie just... appeared. Stumbled in with a gun in her hand. Scared the shit out of my customers. Scared the shit out of me. But she was shaking... said she needed help."

"The gun. Do you still have it?"

"No." He nods. "Wiped it clean and tossed it before the ambulance showed up."

I nod. It would’ve been nice to retrieve it, but the gun won't offer me anything other than proof that it belonged to Grisha. And the ownership doesn’t matter. He's going to be dead soon enough.

"Anyways, right after she came in." Marcus shakes his head. "Indie fainted. I caught her before she hit the floor."

"You checked her in as Jane Doe," I say. "Smart move."

Marcus just shrugs. "Been around long enough to know when discretion matters. Indie's a good worker. I take care of my own."

I nod, understanding completely. "As do I."

"Never seen her look so scared before. Had no idea her name was Amelia either. Or that she's married to you. Guess you learn something new every day about people you think you know."

"I guess you do." I spare another look down the hallway to make sure we're alone. "Your barbershop was shot up a few weeks ago when I first met her. How much did it cost to fix it? I'd like to reimburse you, as a thanks for helping my wife."

"With all due respect." Marcus gives me a level stare. "I'm not interested in your money. I know better than to take cash from someone like you. No offense meant."

I raise an eyebrow. "None taken."

"Thank you." He crosses his arms. "It's just that I've spent too many years keeping my business clean. Walked the right path after spending half my life walking the wrong one. Finally carved a piece of this world that I can be proud of. Finally moved forward. You know what I mean?"

"I do."

There's a depth to his words that resonates with me. I've spent my entire life in the darkness, never questioning my path or seeking anything more.

And then Indigo came into it.

"Still. You helped my wife when she needed it." I persist. "I don't forget things like that. And I want to do something for you to show you my gratitude."

Marcus shakes his head, his stance unwavering. "There are better ways to show gratitude."

"Like?"

"Take care of Indie." His eyes grow serious as he looks directly at me. "Make her happy. Give her the life she deserves." He pauses, his voice growing quieter. "God knows enough people have hurt that girl already."

His words hit me harder than I expected. I think about everything Indigo has endured—from Bennet's assault to her parents' murders, to being forced to marry me, to nearly losing our child today. The way she shied back when that bastard Ryan dared to raise his hand against her.

The faraway look in her eyes as she waited with bated breath for confirmation that our child was still there.

And the gratitude on her tears.

Marcus is right.

Giving Indigo the life she deserves is the only thing I can do for her.

I extend my hand to him and he takes it in a solid handshake.

"I'll do exactly that," I tell him solemnly. "You have my word."