Page 51 of Her Darkest Possession
"She told me I would never be a true Baryshev. That Lola was her real daughter-in-law." Indigo's fingers tighten around mine. "She... she pressed her hand against my stomach and told me if there was ever a 'bastard' growing inside me that might claim the bratva, she would..." Her voice breaks.
"What did she say?" I whisper, though I already know the answer.
"That she would do what's necessary," Indigo finishes, tears finally spilling down her cheeks. "She threatened our baby before I even knew it existed."
Rage burns through me, hot and consuming. The image of my mother's hands on Indigo, threatening my child—our child—makes my vision blur.
I pull Indigo into my arms, holding her against my chest as my rage boils beneath the surface. Her tears wet my skin, but I force myself to remain calm—for her sake.
"Listen to me," I say, tilting her chin up so she meets my eyes. "My mother will never harm you or our child. Never. I swear this to you on my life."
Indigo's eyes search mine, looking for reassurance. I wipe away her tears with my thumb.
"If this room holds nothing but bad memories for you, we'll find another. This mansion has plenty of rooms. We'll find one without shadows."
She takes a shuddering breath before she nods.
"I shouldn't have let her live," I mutter.
Indigo stills in my arms. "What?"
"On the same day you were taken," I tell her, the memory still raw. "I had gone to her house in the Hamptons. She admitted sending Vassily to investigate your NDA, to dig up your past."
I brush a strand of blue hair from Indigo's face, tucking it behind her ear.
"When she called you a whore, I put a gun in her hand." The admission comes out flat, emotionless. "And told her to pull the trigger herself."
Indigo's eyes widen. "Anatoly..."
"I should've have walked away and let her do it," I continue, needing her to understand how far I'm willing to go to protect her. "But then she told me you were pregnant. She knew before I did. Found out through Lola, who had been tracking your movements. All these years talking about the importance of family, and it turns out that family is who betrays me and you."
Indigo looks away, her fingers restlessly tracing the silk edge of her robe. I can see her gathering courage, her shoulders tensing slightly.
"There's something else you need to know," she says quietly, still not meeting my eyes.
I wait, giving her the space to continue.
"When your mother confronted me... Vassily was there too." She glances up quickly, gauging my reaction. "He was the one who dragged me into this room at Valentina's command."
My jaw clenches so hard my teeth might crack. Vassily—my own brother—helping my mother terrorize my wife after I explicitly warned him about what would happen if he so much as evenlookat Indigo the wrong way again.
Red-hot fury clouds my vision. "I'll fucking kill him for this," I growl, already picturing my hands around my brother's throat. "My own blood, threatening what's mine?—"
"Anatoly." Indigo's voice is gentle but firm as she places her hand on my chest, right over my thundering heart. "Vassily is still your brother."
I scoff, but she continues undeterred.
"A brash, inappropriate, and hotheaded brother, but your brother nonetheless." Her eyes hold mine steadily. "And Valentina... she's still your mother."
The rage doesn't subside, but her touch anchors me, keeps me from drowning in it.
"You almost did something you would regret forever when you ordered Valentina to kill herself," she says softly. "And if there'sone thing I wouldn't want you to do, it's doing something you'll regret and never be able to take back."
Her words pierce through my anger, forcing me to pause. The memory of my mother holding the gun to her own head flashes before me—how close I came to letting her pull the trigger. Would I have been able to live with that? Could I truly kill my own brother, no matter what he's done?
I take a deep breath, focusing on Indigo's hand still pressed against my heart.
I take a deep breath, studying Indigo's face in the moonlight. She's asking me to control my rage—to find another way.
