Page 46 of His Darkest Obsession (Baryshev Bratva #1)

INDIGO

I back away from the door, my hand flying to my mouth to muffle any sound that might escape.

"I care for no one but the bratva, and I shall love none other than the bratva."

Those words by themselves are bad enough, but coupled with his pleasant and almost friendly tone with Grant Bennett.

The same man who destroyed my life.

My stomach lurches, and an unexpected wave of nausea surges through me.

Was this all a game to him? Every touch, every kiss, and every whispered promise in the dark? When he held me against his chest and swore to destroy the man who hurt me…

Was he laughing at me the whole time?

My vision blurs with tears, but I refuse to let them fall. Not here. Not yet.

I turn away from the door and start walking.

Of course it was all fake. How could I be so fucking stupid? This is what powerful men like Bennet and Anatoly do. They don't see little people like me as people, just pieces to move around their board. Pieces to use so that they can get what they want.

And once they do, pieces to be thrown away carelessly like a used condom.

I keep my eyes fixed on the floor as I walk faster and faster down the hallway.

You stupid, stupid girl!

I gave him everything from my body to the pieces of my soul I've never shared with others.

I let him see my scars.

I fucking begged for him.

He told you from the start what this was, a nasty little voice reminds me as I rush further down the hall. He married you to control Bennett. He never pretended otherwise. Everything he did, he did it in service of that.

I'm practically running, desperate to get away from his office, his voice, and the crushing weight of my own naivety.

A single tear finally escapes the corner of my eyes. I don't bother wiping it away as I run. But where can I even run to? Where can I run that he won't find me? Where can I run that he won't just drag me back here to this mansion and back into his bed?

But I don't care. I duck my head down and continue running.

That's when I slam into something solid.

When I look up through my tears, my heart plummets away.

Vassily.

His lips are curled into that familiar predatory smile as he looks me up and down. I start backing up slowly, and only then do I notice that he's not alone.

Valentina stands behind him like a vengeful specter.

Those cold gray eyes of hers take in my disheveled state with undisguised contempt.

"Well," she says, her voice dripping with satisfaction. "What have we here?"

Genuine terror now washes over me as I stare at Valentina. Without Anatoly's protection that I foolishly thought I had, I'm suddenly aware of just how vulnerable I am.

How easily she and Vassily might be able to hurt me if they want to.

"What are you doing in this part of the house?" Valentina asks, her voice sharp enough to cut glass.

"I was just... walking," I stammer, trying to keep my voice steady despite the panic building in my chest.

"So fast?" Vassily asks. "And with tears on your face?"

"I—"

"This section," Valentina interrupts with a dismissive wave, "is reserved for official bratva business. And since you are not bratva..." Her eyes narrow. "This area is off limits to you."

Vassily steps closer. "Maybe she's spying on my brother."

The accusation hangs in the air like poison gas. Valentina's face darkens with displeasure, her features hardening into something truly frightening.

"Is this true?" she asks.

I freeze, uncertain how to respond. Was I spying? Technically speaking, yes. But not maliciously. Just out of curiosity at what could've been so important that Anatoly would leave my side this morning.

But now, I wish I hadn't been curious.

If I hadn't pressed my ear against that door, I might've continued believing the lie that Anatoly actually cared about me. I could have stayed wrapped in that beautiful delusion a little longer.

My silence stretches too long, and Valentina takes it as confirmation.

"Hmm." She taps one manicured talon against her chin. "Perhaps what you need is a sharp lesson."

My blood runs cold. Whatever "sharp lesson" Valentina has in mind can't possibly be good. I try to back away, but she's too quick.

"Vasya," she commands. "Grab her."

His hand reaches out, and thick fingers circle my wrist with bruising force. Yet even in that moment, he takes the opportunity to rub his thumb suggestively across my skin while his tongue dart out to wet his lips.

He looks down, eyes filled with undisguised hunger, and another wave of nausea hits me.

I swallow hard to keep from retching.

Valentina doesn't even bother reacting at what she's seeing. Maybe it doesn't even matter to her. After all, I'm nothing but a gold-digging whore in her eyes, and I'd already been told that Vassily is her favorite.

She won't lift a finger to help me.

In fact, if she does do anything, it'll be to make my personal hell even worse than what it is right now.

She turns around quickly, and barks out a single word without bothering to look back.

"Follow."

Vassily yanks my arm, and drags me down the hall after his mother.

For a brief, desperate moment, I consider screaming for help. My head whips back toward Anatoly's office as Vassily drags me forward. Maybe if I yell loud enough, Anatoly will come for me.

But then I remember what I just heard, and the scream dies in my throat even as my mouth opens.

But this doesn't escape Vassily's attention. He yanks my arm hard enough that I stumble forward.

"Don't even think about it, Amelia," he hisses into my ear.

I freeze mid-step.

Amelia.

My real name.

How the hell does he know that? The only people who should know are Anatoly and...

No…

Vassily takes advantage of my shock and drags me down the corridor to a heavy wooden door into an old room that smells musty from disuse. As soon as we're inside, he shoves me forward roughly, and I brace myself as I crash against the large oak desk.

The moment I do, a familiar nightmarish memory I've tried desperately to bury swims to the surface. Fingers digging against the wood. The antiseptic smell of a hospital. A pen trembling between my fingers as I signed away my dignity and my truth through a blur of tears.

Blinking away my panic, I force myself up to face mother and son. My eyes dart back and forth between them.

"How do you know that name?"

"If there is one thing I taught my sons well," Valentina answers. "It's loyalty to family."

She circles the desk, running her fingers along its surface like she's inspecting it for dust.

"They keep nothing from each other," she continues. "They share everything. Including secrets."

I try to keep my face neutral and my expression brave. But inside, I'm shaking. Is she telling the truth? Did Anatoly really tell his family everything about me? About my real name? Has he been telling them everything this entire time?

I want to believe he didn't. I desperately need to believe he wouldn't betray me like that.

But how else would Vassily know to call me Amelia?

And didn't I just overhear Anatoly discussing the NDA with Roma?

How much more proof do I need before I accept the truth that no-one in this family gives two shits about me?

Valentina's lips curl into a cold smile. "Unfortunately, Anatoly never took that lesson to heart."

A tiny flicker of relief lightens the crushing weight in my chest at the knowledge that Anatoly didn't betray me to his family. But the relief is nothing compared to the dread of knowing that he is still working with Bennet.

Valentina runs a finger through her immaculate hair as she continues. "But thank God my daughter-in-law told me enough that I could start digging."

"But I-I'm your daughter-in-law," I stammer, my voice barely above a whisper.

Valentina's face transforms in an instant. What little mask of civility drops and she closes the distance between us in a few quick strides. Before I realize what's happening, her hand explodes across my face with shocking force. Pain blooms across my cheek and my head snaps sideways.

"My real daughter-in-law is Lola Tarasovna Volkov," she hisses. "And not a whore from the Bronx."

I instinctively reach up to touch my stinging face. But before my fingers make contact, Valentina slaps me again. The second slap lands even harder than the first, making my eyes water.

"Hands at your sides," she orders. "And look at me."

I obey, letting my arms hang limply as I force myself to meet her gaze. My cheek throbs in time with my racing heartbeat.

This time, she reaches forward to grabs my face, fingers digging into my jaw. Unlike the first time she did it on the day I met her, she doesn't dig her nails into my skin. But the grip is still firm enough that I can't move my head.

From the corner of my eye, I can see Vassily watching us with an expression that makes my skin crawl.

His tongue darts out to wet his lips over and over again.

His eyes gleam with something dark and hungry.

He shifts his weight from foot to foot like he can barely contain himself, waiting for his turn to touch me.

Bile rises in my throat. I swallow hard against the nausea.

"This won't be the first time I've dealt with a Baryshev man who picked a whore over his wife," Valentina speaks slowly. "I did it to Stepan, and I will do whatever it takes when it comes to Anatoly if I have to."

What?

Terror courses through me like electricity until every nerve is crackling with it. My lungs constrict until I can barely draw breath. Yet in spite of my fear, I keep focusing on what she said.

My mind races back to Svetlana's words weeks ago. About how Anatoly's father Stepan had humiliated Valentina by having an affair. About how Valentina took vengeance for that humiliation and put a hit on Stepan.

The hit that made Anatoly pakhan in the first place.

But she can’t mean... she wouldn't kill her own son... would she?

I care for no one but the bratva, and I shall love none other than the bratva.

The room starts to spin tilt around me.

She would. She absolutely would.