Page 31 of His Darkest Obsession (Baryshev Bratva #1)

“Who else could’ve authorized such a hit?” Svetlana shrugs. “She couldn’t stand the idea that she had to stare at this child who had Stepan’s eyes. A child who should not have lived if she got her way. A child that reminded her of the control Stepan took from her.”

“And Anatoly didn’t do anything about it?”

“There was nothing he could do. Valentina kept her hands clean. And even though we all knew it could only be her, there was no way any of us could prove it.”

“And she’s still bitter about it?”

“Yes. And over the years, she’s nursed that bitterness like an infant at her breast. So believe me when I say: that old bitch hates everyone.”

“She didn’t seem to hate Vassily.” I wrap my arms around myself and recall how she rushed over to him and cradled his bloodied face after Anatoly ripped the door open.

“She only cares about him because he looks the least like Stepan,” Svetlana explains. “And because he’s never once dared to question her actions.”

I nod. Then, curiosity gets the best of me, and I look at Svetlana again. "What happened to the baby? The child that cost Stepan his life?"

Something shifts in Svetlana's expression. The change is so subtle that I might have missed if I hadn't been watching so carefully. Her blue eyes soften, and a sad smile tugs at her lips.

"For someone who sees everything, you can be incredibly blind sometimes, Indigo Malcolmovna."

I stare at her questioningly, expecting her to continue.

But she doesn’t. Slowly, I can feel the pieces falling into place in my head as I realize what she’s not saying.

Her commanding height. The way she carries herself with such confidence.

How she seems to know everything about the inner workings of this family.

How Valentina broke skin when she gripped Svetlana’s face the same way she held mine.

And most importantly, how she keeps calling Anatoly by that affectionate name of Tolya, the same way that his mother and brothers do.

"It's you," I whisper. "You're Stepan's child."

Svetlana nods, her piercing blue eyes holding mine. Up close now, I realize that they are the exact same shape as Anatoly’s.

"Yes,” she says. “I am that bastard child.”

My mind races through the implications. "But you're... you’re a guard? I thought Stepan recognized you as his.”

“Father recognized me, yes,” she says. “But Valentina did not. And once Stepan died, my fate was temporarily put back into her hands. Tolya did what he could to keep me from the worst of her wrath.”

“But not all of it.”

She runs her hand over her chin at the evenly spaced marks. “Not all of it, no.”

I sit back, absorbing this new information as I tuck a strand of blue hair behind my ear. "Did you ever go back to look for your mother?"

Svetlana’s face darkens. Warmth drains away like water down a drain. Those blue eyes now harden into two chips of ice, and her lips press into a thin line.

"I did once." The word falls between us. "But she didn’t want me."

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have—"

"She was hardly a girl herself when she was forced to become a mother," Svetlana cuts me off, voice flat. "I don’t blame her for not wanting me."

My stomach knots, and I take Svetlana’s hand into mine.

She looks at me directly, now, her gaze penetrating me deep into my core.

“There are many things that people don’t want in this cruel thing we call life,” I recall the words she said to me on our first meeting. “You’re allowed to admit that you didn’t want them. To admit that you were hurt by them.”

“But you are never allowed to wish that they didn’t happen.” Svetlana finishes for me.

The sad smile returns to her face. She withdraws her hand and pats mine before she stands up.

"Confronting your own past is hard,” she says. “People don’t like digging up old graves only to find new ghosts."

The weight of her words settles heavy on my chest. My hand unconsciously drifts toward my thigh, where my scars crisscross the bronzed caramel flesh. Each carved line in my skin a failed attempt to feel like there’s still something that I can control.

My own graves. My own ghosts.

"I know." I whisper. "Some days I think I'd rather tear my skin off than live inside it. I guess…" I pause before I can muster up the strength to say the words I’m about to say. “I guess that’s why I wanted to erase the part of me that used to be called Miels.”

“But that part will always be with you.”

“Yes,” I admit. “It will.”

Svetlana's expression softens slightly as she reaches out. Her hand rest against my shoulders against my arm in a gentle gesture that says more than any words ever can.

"You survived whatever it is that made you want to erase your old self, Indigo Malcolmovna. That’s why I told you you’re stronger than you think."

“Svetlana?”

“Yes?”

“You can call me Miels,” I say softly. “If you’d like.”

She smiles at me as she stands up. “In private, perhaps. But in public, when you stand as my brother’s wife, you will always be Indigo Malcolmovna.”

Now it’s my turn to smile. For the first time since I’ve arrived at this place, that name starts to feel like it’s me.

“But for now,” Svetlana says as she walks to the door. “Good night, Miels.”

When she opens it, I see Anatoly standing there, hand raised as if he’s about to knock.