Sinful Blaze (Chekhov Bratva Book 1)

“Meeting went well?”

“The meeting went perfectly. We approve.”

I squint as the gun range pulleys bring the target papers close, each dotted with bullet marks. I need to know who’s the best shot and who needs more training before putting them anywhere near my family.

“Approve wholeheartedly, really. I definitely see the appeal.” She nudges me as we walk over to one of our top vors who chose today for his firearms testing. “And I can totally see why you’ve become such a bear since she started living with you. Mak said you’re still on the couch? You should be⁠—”

“Valerii, my man!” I cut my nosy sister off with a less-than-formal greeting to one of my inherited vors. He served my father, but shed no tears when the man died. Now, he’s someone I trust with my life, which is pretty fucking rare for me. “How’s the new model treating you?”

Valerii hefts the automatic in his hands. “Call me old-fashioned, but I like a little more weight than this. Too light, too easy to whip up at the worst moment. But in practice, not too bad.”

“This is one of the 3D printed versions we’ve been testing out.” I take the gun from his outstretched hands and run a few checks of my own. “How’s the kickback?”

“Nonexistent.” Valerii points at the scope. “Sight’s good, but I wonder if it’s too good. If it’s made with that plastic shit those printers use, that piece will break off easily. Have you seen the aim on these novichki?” He shakes his head. “Pitiful.”

“Good to know. Mak! Make sure we check in on our first few shipments of these once they’re delivered,” I call to my brother over my shoulder. “We don’t want disgruntled customers coming at us over plastic shit.”

“You got it.” Mak salutes from where he’s finagling some wiring in the control booth. I don’t know what he found in disarray, but it’s enough to get him cursing under his breath.

Pulya, this gun range, is one of Makari’s personally-owned businesses. He wanted something more original than a nightclub or restaurant.

And I have to admit, he was on to something great. Not only is the range something he built from the ground up—legally, no less—it’s served our family as the best place for arms deals to really go down.

We keep the good items in gleaming display cases up front for the public to peruse.

We store the scary shit in the back for the clients I’m trying to land via Senator Brennan.

“Speaking of meetings…” Sofi pulls up the calendar on her phone. “Shall we schedule another one with the senator?”

“Get me one with his wife and my answer will be yes.”

Her brow pops up. “Are you sure? You know how she is with…” She gives me a onceover. “Well, you know.”

Yes. I’m aware. I don’t need a reminder.

“Senator?” Valerii chuckles, drawing the attention of the other vors in hearing range. “Something we should know?”

I side-eye my sister, who suddenly finds something better to do on her phone. Ah, fuck it. Might as well let them know now in case things go sideways and we get raided. Or worse.

“I’ve been in talks with Senator Brennan regarding a lucrative contract with the military,” I explain. “We’re hammering out the details, but the goal is to make Chekhov Industries a primary provider of weapons and ammunition to the armed forces.”

Almost everyone seems excited for this news. Only one guy, who doesn’t rank high enough to be in this conversation, pipes up with dissent. “What? Are we going patriotic now?”

“And you are…?” I snap at him.

All eyes turn to the kid. He can’t be older than twenty.

He’s all bravado mixed with the sheepishness that comes with realizing his mouth should have stayed shut—but it’s too late to back down.

I walk over to him, calm and collected, but the other men know better. They part to let me through without question.

“What’s your name, kid?”

“Tyler, sir.”

One of my other vors interjects on his behalf. “My nephew. He’s new.”

“Clearly.”

Tyler grimaces at me like he’s waiting for me to go nose to nose with him. He’ll get what he wants—but not in the way he’s anticipating.

“Since you’re new here, Tyler, here’s a crash course on how this business works.” I loop an arm around his shoulders and steer him to look out over the green target field with me. “What do you see out there?”

He shrugs. “Targets. Grass. Bullet casings and shit.”

“Right. But you can see it, yes?”

“Um, yeah. Everyone can see it.”

Somewhere off in the distance, I hear Sofi groan at this kid’s idiocy. She knows what’s coming. So do the vors, who have all taken several steps back.

“Everyone can see it,” I repeat. “Good. So you’re not as fucking blind as I thought.”

Tyler stiffens. Good.

“If you can see that, and everyone here can see that, so can the goddamn government.” I fist my hand in his hair and tug hard so he has nowhere to go, nowhere to look, but where I allow him to. I pull my own handgun from the holster and he starts to quiver. “I don’t know if you were too deaf, stupid, or high during your initial orientation, so allow me to remind you what a ‘front’ is. It’s exactly what everyone can see because we want them to see it. We want them to use it, and buy it, and enjoy it. We want witnesses. Because when we need to do things that are best done out of sight…”

I press the barrel of the gun into his ribs.

“… no one will notice until it’s too late.”

His uncle shifts in my peripheral vision, but doesn’t move to stop me. He knows better. He knows this kid fucked up.

Kid. That word rings in my head.

He’s a kid.

He’s someone’s kid.

I have a kid, too.

I swallow the bile back down my throat, then holster my gun. “Understood?”

Tyler can’t nod fast enough. “U-underst-st-stood, s-sir.”

I let him go with a hard shove toward his uncle. “Have a talk with your nephew. Make sure he’s cut out for this life before you give him a fucking weapon and let him loose.”

I march away from the two; I don’t care where, so long as it’s far the fuck away from them.

And away from that disturbing shift of perspective.

That’s not me. That’s not like me. I should be reloading my smoking gun right now. My men should be dragging his body out of my sight. No one challenges me and lives to talk about it.

But he’s so young. Probably has a mother at home, wondering where he is, what he’s doing, if he’s okay.

I couldn’t… I can’t… take a child from his mother.

Shit.

I brace my hands down on the counter. Mak pops up and hands me a shot glass full of who knows what. I throw it back and he refills the glass as soon as I slam it back down on the counter.

Fucking hell. I’m not sure what I expected with Daphne crash-landing in my life, but it wasn’t anything like this softness, this weakness that’s chewing me up from the inside like poison.

Not after I spent years swearing off relationships.

Not after my father.

Not after what he did to my mother.

I know I’m not him. I am my own man, capable of making my own decisions and charting my own path through life.

But sometimes, I look in the mirror or I hear myself talk and it’s like he’s here. In my clothes. Inside my skin. Possessing me, haunting me, threatening to destroy everything and everyone I love.

I can’t have that. I need to purge him from my system.

Before it’s too late.