Page 80 of Her Darkest Possession
"What's wrong?" I ask.
"Marcus told me something." He looks at me intensely. "Once at the hospital and again tonight. That what I should be doing is to make you happy and give you the life you deserve. And he's right."
He pauses for a moment to gather his thoughts before resuming. "Making you happy is more than giving you material things or keeping you safe, even though those are important. Making you happy is about being there for you and with you. Forever."
He traces his fingers along my jaw. "Since I've found out about this pregnancy, I've been thinking about this child as an heir. As the next generation of the bratva."
He shakes his head.
"I've been thinking like a pakhan instead of thinking like a father." His voice drops lower. "What if our child could just be... our child? Not an heir or a pawn in some game. Just ours to love and protect and raise together. And what if…"
My heart quickens as I start to understand what he's suggesting.
"What if I can give you a real home again, Indigo? Not just a mansion with guards and weapons hidden in every room, but a home where you feel safe because you are loved. A home with that special ingredient that makes the food taste as good as it does tonight."
I pull back slightly to look at his face, searching for any sign that he's not being serious.
"I'd be lying if I told you I haven't thought about what life would be like without the bratva," I admit softly. "But I know it's just a fantasy. There's not a way to ever escape this life."
Anatoly's shifts, and I can see he wants to contradict me, but I continue before he can.
"In the time I've been here, I've come to recognize that the bratva isn't just an organization. It's a system. A system designed to keep those who enter it forever inside it."
"We'll find a way out," Anatoly says with conviction, his hand squeezing mine.
"We won't be able to." I shake my head. "You can't just leave and expect all of our enemies won't come looking for us. You can't leave and just expect that all the blood on our hands—on both our hands—will just fade away."
I take a deep breath. "And honestly? I'm not even sure I want to go back to a life where the bratva isn't part of it. Like it or not, this is the life we've chosen."
His eyes search mine, uncertainty flickering across his face.
"And for what it's worth, Anatoly," I tell him firmly. "Youhavegiven me a home. You've made me your wife, crowned me your queen, and now we'll face the greatest challenge of our lives: being parents."
I cup his face between my palms. "You didn't marry Amelia Taylor, who would've wanted nothing more than to go back to a time before innocence was lost. You married Indigo Taylor, who has stared into the abyss and knows what stares back."
Anatoly's hands come up to cup my face, his thumbs brushing across my cheekbones. "I promised you there was a way for you to go back."
"You did," I acknowledge with a small nod. "But I don't want to. Not anymore. This is where I belong. Here, with you, my husband. My pakhan. My king."
His eyes widen slightly at that last word, and I can see a flicker of something intense pass through them—pride, possession, devotion.
He continues to stroke my face with pads of his thumb. With each full circle against my skin, the heat continues to rise in my heart. There's a seriousness in his eyes that makes my heart race. And when he opens his mouth again to speak, I know what he's about to say before the words even leave his lips.
"I love you, Indigo."
My heartbeat quickens at Anatoly's confession, each beat thundering in my ears like a drum. Time stretches and slows around us as his words hang in the air between us.
I turn in his lap until I'm facing him completely with my legs straddling his thighs. The dining room fades away until there's nothing but him. Nothing other than this dangerous, complicated man who came into my life like a hurricane and changed everything.
I become hyper-aware of my body—every nerve ending, every cell, and every breath. The weight of my body against his. The warmth of his hands resting on my hips and face. The rise and fall of his chest underneath me.
Our eyes lock, and I see something I never thought I'd see in those icy blue depths—vulnerability.
Anatoly Baryshev is looking at me like I hold his heart in my hands.
And I do, I realize.
Just as he holds mine.
