Page 45 of His Darkest Obsession (Baryshev Bratva #1)

ANATOLY

I close the door behind me, still irritated at Roma's interruption. His timing couldn't have been worse. I'd much rather be back in bed with Indigo right now, watching, tasting, and hearing her come again.

Even after four weeks of this, I can't get enough of her.

I don't bother throwing on a shirt. Roma's seen me in worse states.

"This better be important," I growl, reaching for the crystal decanter.

Vodka splashes into two tumblers. I hand one to Roma before walking to the window, bringing my fingers to my nose. They still smell like Indigo - her perfume, her sweat, her essence. I inhale deeply, allowing myself this small pleasure while Roma gathers his thoughts.

The silence stretches between us until Roma finally speaks.

"Bennett won the election last night, not that you seem to care."

I take a long sip, letting the burn of alcohol replace the warmth of Indigo's body. "And?"

"He should be calling you any moment now. To honor your agreement."

I grunt in acknowledgment, watching the morning light spill across the sea over the cliffs in the distance. In a few weeks, the Baryshev Bratva will control New York's underworld. My father died dreaming of this.

I should feel triumphant.

This victory that once meant everything now seems insignificant. Four weeks with Indigo have shifted something fundamental inside me.

Instead, I feel hollow.

And I know why.

Somewhere in the last four weeks, I stopped caring about what the Bratva wants or needs. And at the same time, the only thing I want is to make Indigo happy. To make her forget everything from her past. To help her move on.

Getting that phone call from Bennet isn't going to do that.

If anything, it's just going to make things worse.

I know exactly how this call with Bennet will go. He'll spew the usual politician's bullshit about his glorious election victory, then acknowledge that none of it could have happened without me.

And that's the fucking thing, isn't it?

I don't want to hear Bennet thank me out loud for helping him win.

I don't want to acknowledge any of it. Even the thought of having this conversation feels like I'm about to betray Indigo.

Every time I think about Bennet's voice on the other end of that line, I remember the terror in Indigo's eyes at the gala.

I remember her scars. I remember her tears.

The vodka suddenly tastes bitterer than usual in my mouth.

Roma keeps talking, something about potential men we should place in positions of power under the new Bennet administration. How it would shore up support against the Volkovs in this fucking war I started.

"...and with Ustinov heading the licensing board, we can ensure our legitimate businesses remain untouched while we squeeze the Volkovs out of theirs. And God knows we need that help right now. Are you even listening?"

"Hm." I nod, not really giving a shit about any of this right now.

"You do know the war's not going well, right?

" Roma sighs. "It's not terrible. But it's not great either.

Bodies are dropping all across the city.

The Volkovs have lost more men than us, but just barely.

I don't want to have to get into a war of attrition if push comes to shove, and we need these appointments. "

I nod as the words pass over me like feathers on the wind. A few weeks ago, I'd be enthusiastically trying to figure out how we might be able to gain an edge now that we have Bennet in our pocket.

But the moment I think about it, all I feel is this heavy exhaustion settling in.

I know I should care more. I have to care more, as the pakhan. Because even as detached as I am right now, I have that uncomfortable sensation in my gut telling me that there's real tension boiling beneath the surface. And sooner or later, that surface is about to break.

And then, all hell is going to break loose.

But my mind drifts back to Indigo. To her warmth in my bed. To the way she gasped and begged this morning. To the way she looks at me like I’m the only one who can shield her from the world.

Blyat…

The glass rises to my lips again as Roma drones on, and this time, I down the entire thing and let the vodka burn a path straight down into my stomach.

I fucking hate this. All of it. The scheming, the backstabbing, and the duplicity—this endless game of chess where the pieces are people's lives.

A long time ago, some Italian said that when the game is over, the king and pawn will go into the same box.

What he didn't acknowledge is the fact that in this game I'm playing, the player is chained to the board.

And I can't fucking walk away.

Yet even so, for a brief, indulgent moment, I let myself imagine what it would be like to do exactly that.

Hand over the reins to Roma. He's capable enough.

Take Indigo somewhere far from here. Maybe one of those islands in the Pacific where no one would look for us.

Or a cabin in the mountains away from it all.

A place where the blood and bodies and bullshit of New York and our past will never reach us.

I almost smile at the thought.

But it's just a dream. An unrealistic fantasy. The kind of fairy tale you tell children before they learn how the world really works.

I can't walk away from the bratva. No one ever does. And if I tried? They'd come for me. Drag me back like a dog on a leash. And the first thing the bratva does when it pulls you back is to remove whatever tempted you away in the first place.

Which means Indigo.

Fuck, I hate this.

"The NDA," I interrupt Roma mid-sentence and finally turn to face him. “Have you found out anything about it?”

I'm not even trying to pretend this is purely business anymore. I just want to hear about her, to understand what happened, to have an excuse to think about Indigo while still making it seem like I'm doing this for the bratva. It beats spiraling in my own thoughts.

"It definitely exists," he says. "It's exactly like you said. Between an Amelia Taylor and Grant Bennet. But the contents are locked behind multiple court orders."

"So?" I raise an eyebrow, impatience flaring.

"So." Roma sighs, setting down his glass. "Short of outright intimidating judges and lawyers—which would draw way too much fucking attention—there's very little I can do."

I slam my glass onto the desk. "I gave you a fucking order, Roma."

"And some orders are impossible," Roma says. "Even for me. You asked me to look into this with one hand tied behind my fucking back."

"And since when has that ever stopped you before?"

But Roma doesn't back down. "I understand your need to find out about the contents. But have you given any thought to the fact that maybe some things should stay buried?"

"I don't want this buried," I bite back, my hand tightening around the empty glass. "I need to know."

And it's the fucking truth.

I'm drowning in my own obsession. Every time I look at those scars on Indigo's thighs, I feel like I'm staring at a lock without a key. Her body tells a story that her lips refuse to speak.

And it's fucking killing me not knowing the specifics of the details.

I need to understand what broke my wife. Destroying Bennet is just the cherry on top. Because not knowing means that there will always be a barrier between us. Not knowing is a silent admission that she still doesn't trust me, somewhere deep down inside of her.

Yes, we fuck, we laugh, and we talk... but until I know, that shadow will always loom over us. She'll always hold a part of herself away from me.

I can't blame her.

But I can't stand it either.

How can I truly protect her if I don't know what I'm protecting her from? How can I claim to be her husband when I don't know the whole woman I married? And most importantly…

How can I right the wrongs of her past, if I have no idea what that past even holds?

The irony isn't lost on me. I forced her into this marriage, and now I'm the one desperate for it to be real.

"I'm not asking for your opinion on what should stay buried," I tell Roma, my voice flat. "I'm asking why you didn't fulfill your pakhan's fucking orders."

Bennet is already in our pocket. He won the election. And the knowledge that you might know what's in that NDA is enough to keep him in line." Roma leans back, frustration creeping into his voice to match mine. "Does it even matter at this point?"

"It matters to me," I growl.

"More than what the Bratva needs? More than the war with the Volkovs?" Roma challenges. "The bratva needs you to lead, not seclude yourself in this mansion while you busy yourself with unearthing your wife's past."

"You're about to cross a fucking line, Roma," I warn, my voice dropping to a dangerous whisper.

"I'm about to cross a fucking line? What about you?" But Roma doesn't back down. He steps closer, his eyes hard. "You've fucking crossed that line the day you told me you were going to marry her. Have you forgotten what you are? Do you still know what fucking matters? What really matters?"

The question hangs in the air between us. My jaw clenches so tight I can feel my teeth grinding.

"Of course I do," I say finally.

"Do you?" Roma presses, unwavering. "Because I don't fucking believe it, Tolya. I don't fucking believe that you still remember that we have nothing without the bratva. Or that the bratva must come first before all else. You know the words as well as I do."

"I do."

"Then say them." He stands up. "Say them and prove to me that you are still the fucking pakhan."

"I care for no one but the bratva," I lie through gritted teeth as I repeat the hateful oath even man of the East Coast bratvas have said. "And I shall love none other than the bratva."

But that's not true, is it? Because in my heart, I care for no one but Indigo, and I will love none other than Indigo.

Roma steps back. He doesn't look convinced, but before he can say anything, the phone rings.

It's Bennet.

Part of me wants to ignore it and walk away from this entire fucking arrangement. But I know I can't.

I can feel Roma's eyes drilling into me. He's waiting to see what I'll do. If I hesitate now, it will only confirm his suspicion about where my priorities lie.

Hating myself, I answer and put the call on speaker.

"Congratulations," I tell him. "It seems that the people have spoken."

"Indeed they have."

Bennet's voice is as oily as ever and I can almost see his smug face through the phone.

"I wanted to assure you personally that I intend to honor our agreement to the letter," he continues.

"You need but ask, and it will be done. As I said before, the police commissioner is a harder ask.

But I'm sure I can grease a few palms and get city council to come around to it, especially with all the recent uptick in street violence for the past four weeks. "

You slimy fuck. I knew he wasn't going to deliver on everything right away.

The man has more survival instinct than that.

You don't stay the mayor of New York for more than two terms if you offer up everything on the first day. And continuing to dangle the prospect of having one of my men be police commissioner is Bennet's way of reminding me that he still has cards to play.

I need to know the contents of that fucking NDA if I want to truly wrap a leash around his throat.

And then, I can finally turn that leash into a fucking noose.

I lean forward over the desk and hang my head, letting a few errant strands of hair falling over my eyes.

"I expected nothing less, Mr. Bennet."

My voice remains steady and calm out of duty to the bratva, but my heart rages at me to scream and threaten that slimy fuck out of my love for Indigo.

"And I must say." Bennet's voice slowly stretches out every syllable as if he knows that he's tormenting me with every word. "None of this would have been possible without your assistance. We're going to do amazing things in this city, you and I."

Fuck you! Fuck you! Fuck you!

"Perhaps we should meet in person soon?" Bennet continues. "I'd love to discuss the particulars of our new arrangement. And there's so much to be done."

"Pick a date, Mr. Bennet," I say through gritted teeth. “But first, I have a list of names that I want to pass along to you.”

I glance at Roma, and finally see his shoulders starting to relax.

I know that I passed my test in my brother's eyes. I've confirmed to him that I'm the pakhan our bratva needs.

But it comes at a cost that I'm not willing to fucking pay.