Page 49 of His Darkest Obsession (Baryshev Bratva #1)

INDIGO

The café buzzes around us, but I'm struggling to focus on anything beyond the constant low-level nausea that's been plaguing me all week.

"What do you think?" Amara flips her laptop across the table towards me. "I figure I need another couple of edits, but the bones are there."

I offer Amara a weak smile as she talks about her Columbia essay, my mind feeling heavy and distant.

"Why bother with an essay?" Svetlana chimes in before I can speak. "Tolya can make one phone call, a big donation, and you'd be guaranteed a spot."

"I don't want him to make that phone call or a donation for me." Amara lifts her chin lifts defiantly and then smiles at me. "I want to get in on my own merits. Just like you did."

I manage another smile, but it feels more like a grimace.

The past week has been somewhat of a strange return to our old life. Just me and Amara as she's putting on her final touches on her Columbia application. In many ways, I've missed spending time with my sister. But something feels off even as we settle into that familiar old pattern.

I'm exhausted constantly, my stomach perpetually unsettled.

"Order for Amara?" the barista calls.

Amara stands to collect our orders, leaving me alone with Svetlana. Her sharp blue eyes immediately lock onto me.

"What's wrong, Indigo Malcolmovna?" she asks directly.

"I'm just tired," I mumble.

"That's not what I'm asking about," she says. "I meant you and Tolya. The two of you seem like you can't even spend a moment next to each other after four weeks of inseparability."

"That obvious, huh?" I shake my head.

"Even a blind man could see it. What's going on?"

What's going on? How do I even answer that?

The truth is, spending this past week away from Anatoly has been hell for me. I'd be lying if I said it wasn't painful and that I didn't miss his touch or his presence. I want to be next to him, want to spend time with him.

But on the other hand.

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

Those awful words echo in my head every time I look at and think about him. And every time I think about those words, I also can't stop thinking about what Valentina threatened to do.

Instead, I deflect.

"Can you tell me about what it's like to join the bratva?"

Svetlana's eyebrow raises. "Why are you asking about this now?"

"I never really thought about it before," I admit. "Everything happened so fast. But now that I've had some time..." I trail off, looking for answers. "I'm just curious."

"It's customary for new initiates to pledge their entire life to the bratva. And only the bratva."

"Even Anatoly?" I ask.

"Especially Anatoly," Svetlana replies. "He was born into this life instead of joining it."

Her words settle like lead in my stomach, confirming my worst fears. Before I can ask anything more, Amara returns with our drinks. A black coffee for Svetlana, a sugary bobba with taro for Amara, and a jasmine tea for me.

But the moment I sip my tea, I find that it tastes wrong. Almost metallic. A wave of nausea crashes over me so suddenly that I gag.

And as soon as I gag, the nausea intensifies.

Svetlana and Amara look at me in alarm. I try to swallow back the rising sickness, but I can't.

I put my tea down quickly, my hand shaking so much that I accidentally spill it across the café table. The fragrant liquid spreads like a stain, but I can't focus on that right now. My stomach churns violently, a wave of nausea rising so fast it steals my breath.

"I—" The word dies in my throat as my stomach squeezes.

I practically push myself away from the table and rush for the bathroom, bursting through the door as desperation claws at my throat.

The stall is occupied. And although the bathroom is clean, the scent of the cleaner triggers another intense bout of nausea in me.

I can't hold it back.

With no other choice, I head over to the sink and retch, but nothing comes up. My body shakes with each wave of sickness.

Behind me, I hear the bathroom door being pushed open. When I look up, Svetlana and Amara are both staring at me in the mirror.

"Are you alright?" Amara's voice is high with concern. "Was something wrong with the tea?"

Am I alright?

No. No, I'm not alright at all.

If I try to speak, I know I'll just dry heave again. My body feels like it's betraying me, spinning and twisting in ways I can't control.

That's when Svetlana puts a reassuring palm on my back and asks. "When was the last time you had your period?"

The question cuts me to my core. I try to think, to count back the weeks. And that's when it hits me. My period was supposed to come two weeks ago.

A familiar dread settles into my stomach like a cold stone.

My hands start to shake. This can't be happening. This absolutely cannot be happening.

My chest constricts like someone's squeezing a fist around my ribs. Each shallow breath comes faster than the last but none of them quite fills my lungs.

Cold sweat beading along my hairline, and my fingers go numb and tingly as I gasp desperately for air that won't come.

No. Please. Please. Please. No. This can't be happening.

There's a familiar look on Amara's face. And when I see it in the mirror, I'm suddenly falling back in time.

Back to that awful summer two years ago, and I swear I can smell the antiseptic in the hospital.

The nausea intensifies.

I close my eyes and feel tears welling up. A small, broken whimper escapes my throat. I want to shake my head, but I can't. Even the slightest movement now is making my nausea worse.

And the entire time, Valentina's words keep echoing in my mind.

"If there's a bastard growing inside of you that might one day lay claim to the bratva, then I won't hesitate to do what's necessary."

"Stay here with her," Svetlana tells Amara. "I'll be right back."

"But—" Amara starts, but Svetlana is already walking out the door.

The toilet flushes, and a woman walks out from the stall a few moments later. She glances at us with curiosity as she washes her hands. For a moment, I wonder if she might ask us what's wrong. If she did, will I even be able to answer?

But she doesn't. All she does is offer a look that speaks of wordless sympathy at best, and judgmental disdain at worst. Then, she walks out and leaves me alone with my sister.

Amara guides me into the bathroom stall and locks the door behind us, creating a small, enclosed space that suddenly feels suffocating.

"Miels," she starts, her voice trembling slightly. "Do you think that—"

"Don't," I choke out, my voice barely a whisper. "Please don't finish that sentence."

Not again.

I can't think about it. I don't want to think about it. The possibility is terrifying and overwhelming all at once. My hands are still shaking, and I press them against the hard unfeeling stall divider in a vain attempt to ground myself.

Outside of the stall, the bathroom door opens again, and is followed a second later by the unmistakable sound of a lock turning.

"Indigo Malcolmovna?" Svetlana calls out softly from the other side of the stall.

Amara glances at me before unlocking the stall door. Svetlana steps in with a small Duane Reade bag in her hand. She reaches inside, pulls out a rectangular box, and hands it toward me.

A pregnancy test.

My stomach lurches again.

"I don't want to," I whisper, shaking my head. "I can't..."

"You have to, Miels," Svetlana says firmly, her voice gentle but leaving no room for argument.

I notice Amara looking at Svetlana with confusion in her eyes, questioning how this woman knows my childhood nickname. But she doesn't ask.

There are bigger things to worry about.

With trembling fingers, I take the test from Svetlana. She reaches back into her bag and pulls out two more boxes.

"I bought multiple ones," she explains. "Amara and I will also take one, just to be sure. And then you need to take another one."

I feel the hot sting of tears streaming down my face. This is all too familiar. Memories swirl with the present and everything blur together.

Finally, I nod.

When the stall door closes behind me, I stare down at the plastic stick in my hands. Is this really how I'm supposed to find out? In some cafe bathroom far from home, lost in the awful memories of my past with Valentina's threatening words echoing in my head?

But do I have a choice?

Have I ever had a choice?

Slowly, I sit down and take the test, following the instructions with mechanical movements. When I'm done, I step out of the stall, clutching the plastic stick like it might explode.

Svetlana offers to go next. As we wait, Amara and I look down at the test together.

Then, I see it.

The test falls from my hand and I collapse into Amara, my body wracking with sobs just like two years ago.

Two lines.

I'm pregnant.

A few minutes later, Svetlana emerges from the stall, holding her test stick.

"Negative," she says quietly, showing me the single line.

She takes one look at my tear-streaked face and wraps her arms around me. I cry silently against her shoulder, my body shaking with each sob. I feel like I'm drowning, like I'm back in that office two years ago, helpless and terrified.

"It's okay," Svetlana whispers, stroking my hair. "It's going to be okay."

But it's not. Nothing about this is okay. I want to yell at her that she doesn't know a damn thing about this. But what would even be the point?

It's not going to undo this.

Amara squeezes my hand before disappearing into the stall with her test. The wait feels endless, though it's probably only a minute before she comes back out.

"Mine's negative too," she says.

Svetlana hands me the second test. My hands are trembling so badly I can barely hold it. "One more time, just to be sure."

I don't want to. God, I don't want to. But I force myself back into the stall anyway.

When I emerge, I don't need to say anything.

My face tells them everything they need to know.

Two lines. Again.

There's no denying the truth now.

"We need to go back to the mansion," Svetlana says firmly, her hand on my shoulder. "Tolya will want to know about this."

But what do I want?

The question jolts through me. Everyone's making decisions about my life again. Just like before. Just like always.

If I'd found out a week ago when I thought Anatoly truly loved me, I would've been ecstatic.

Terrified, yes, but also... happy. A baby is one thing, but a baby that is wanted is something else entirely.

I rest my hand on my still-flat stomach. Inside me is a tiny life. Something that's half me and half... him. Something we created during those nights when I thought what we had was real.

Yet even now… After I've overheard him swear that oath, and after I realized I was just another chess piece in his game with Bennet.

It won't change how I feel about our child growing in my belly.

As soon as I think that, I can see Valentina's cold eyes, feel the way she pressed her hand against my stomach, and hear her promise to "do what's necessary" if there was a baby.

No. My jaw clenches. A surge of fierce protectiveness rushes through me. I won't let you take.

I don't care if Anatoly only loves the bratva. I don't care if this wasn't planned. This is my child, and I won't let anyone take this baby away from me. Not Valentina. Not the bratva. Not even Anatoly himself.

I'm done letting others make decisions about my own fucking body.

"Miels?" Amara's voice breaks through my thoughts.

"Don't tell him," I finally say, my voice barely above a whisper. "Not yet."

"But—" Svetlana starts.

"Please," I beg, grabbing her arm. "Just give me a few days to get my thoughts together. Let me be the one to do it. When I'm ready."

Amara looks between us, concerned. "Are you sure?"

"I am," I say. "Promise me."

Svetlana stares at me for several agonizing seconds, her blue eyes searching mine. Finally, she nods.

"Alright. I'll keep this a secret," she says. "Now let's go home."

The mansion is quiet when we return, almost too quiet. The sun has just dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in deep purples and blues. I'm still trying to process everything that happened at the café, my mind racing with a thousand conflicting thoughts.

Both about when and how I'll tell Anatoly, and about the life growing inside of me.

But one thing is for sure. We'll need to have an honest and frank discussion about our future.

About us.

When we step through the door, something immediately feels wrong. There's a thick tension in the air that I can detect. Instead of the usual flurry of staff scurrying to and fro, Roma stands in the main hallway, pacing back and forth like a caged animal.

When he sees us, his shoulders visibly relax, though his face remains tense.

"Where have you been?" he demands, looking between me and Svetlana.

"At a café," Svetlana answers. "Why?"

Roma rakes a hand through his hair. "None of you were answering your phones."

I touch my pocket and realize I had put my phone on silent. With everything happening, I completely forgot about it.

"What's going on?" Amara asks, her voice small beside me.

Roma's eyes dart to her, then back to me. He chews his lower lip, like he's not sure of what to say. My heartbeat starts beating faster and faster with every second of silence.

Something's definitely wrong.

"Where's Anatoly?" I ask, my mouth suddenly dry.

Roma looks at me, and that's when I see it. An unmistakable flash of worry. Then, he finally answers.

"He went to go do something stupid."