Page 27 of His Darkest Obsession
I purse my lips.Sure. Personal guard. More like personal jailer.But I keep my mouth shut.
“So you are the woman that he is willing to start a war for. Indigo…”
She drags out the final syllable of my name as if she’s waiting for me to say something. I lean forward and give her a questioning look.
“I need your father’s name, silly girl,” she says.
My spine stiffens. “Why?”
She sighs and gives her hair a lazy flip. “You are to be a pakhan’s wife, and I need to know your father’s name so that I might address you with the respect your title demands, until a time comes when we can be more familiar with each other.”
“Pakhan?”
"He didn't explain anything, did he?" Svetlana rolls her eyes. "Just told you that you're going to be his bride in two days and left? Typical Tolya."
There it is again. That familiar way she’s referring to him. And like clockwork, the resentful jealousy follows almost immediately. But why am I getting worked up what some other woman wants to call Anatoly? Why do I even care?
“If you must know,” Svetlana says. "Tolya is the pakhan of the Baryshev Bratva.”
Baryshev… What?
Sensing my confusion, Svetlana adds. “You may be more familiar with the term Russian Mafia. But as I’m sure you will quickly find out, we are nothing like the Italians."
Russian Mafia.
Suddenly everything makes a whole lot more sense now. The suits, the guards, the mansion. The way he and the driver laughed after the shootout. His plans to blackmail the mayor. The way he acts like he owns everything he lays his eyes on.
Oh my God. What have I gotten myself into?
"Now then, your father's name, please." The playfulness vanishes from her voice and her eyes turn to ice. "I won't ask again."
Guilt claws at my sides at her request. I haven’t said Dad’s name since the day he died. Haven’t thought about his warm smile or the way the corners of his eyes would crinkle when he laughed.
And now this woman is about to pry it out of me.
"Malcolm." It comes out as a whisper. "His name was Malcolm."
I close my eyes, wishing I can see him again. But all I see is that closed casket that denied me my final chance to apologize to him for what I did.
"Thank you, Indigo Malcolmovna," she repeats, her expression and voice softening slightly. "A pleasure to make your acquaintance."
"Is this..." I lick my dry lips. "Real? This marriage to Anatoly?"
Svetlana opens her mouth, and for a moment I think she’s about to correct me on something that I might’ve said wrong.
But to my surprise, she says. “Of course this is real. He told you he’s marrying you, and he does not lie. Especially not to his wife.”
His wife.
“And just what is a pakhan’s wife expected to do?”
“You are expected to stand by his side, in victory and defeat. To be the anchor of his life. The ruler of his home in his absence. The queen on his chessboard.”
“I don’t know how to be a queen,” I confess. “And I certainly don’t know how to rule a home.”
“No, you do not.” Svetlana nods. “But you are not the first woman to find herself thrust upon this position. And you will certainly not be the last. You will learn, as every pakhan’s wife has learned before you.”
Does she think her words sound reassuring?
