Sinful Blaze (Chekhov Bratva Book 1)

The call comes in while I’m halfway through chopping vegetables and I nearly chop a finger off instead. Cursing up a storm, I rinse my hands in the sink and answer it on the tablet.

I half-expect it to be Pasha checking in, but I’m happily surprised to see that it is, in fact, my beloved sister. “Mel! Oh my gosh, hi!”

“So you are alive!” Melanie exclaims. “For a moment here, I thought you were dead. Since you’ve missed our last. Eight. Calls.”

I wince at the camera as I set the tablet up on its stand. “Sorry. Been distracted.”

“No shit! Mom hasn’t shut up about it since she found out. And here I am thinking, ‘Hey, Daph’s obviously gonna call me and give me all the details.’ But nooooo…”

My sister has every right to give me shit. We’ve maintained a consistent FaceTime schedule every week for the past eight years, and I can’t remember if we’ve ever skipped a single one. So for me to completely forget for as long as I have? No bueno.

“I swear, I really was going to call!”

Melanie pouts as she pretends to think about it before she laughs and waves it off. “It’s okay. You’ll just owe me. And judging by that stunning kitchen backdrop, you can afford it now!”

I blush and toss the spinach into the pot of boiling water. “It’s just temporary.”

“Temporary as in you did or did not move in with your baby daddy?”

“More like… he’s a neighbor? Next door. Ish.” On the other side of the wall from the bedroom.

Close enough to hear me moan if I get too carried away with a pre-bed activity, let’s say.

I don’t know why I’m hesitant to share the details with Mel. I know she won’t betray me to our parents, and she’s taken everything that happened to her in stride.

Still, I’m just… uneasy. I feel better keeping my personal life compartmentalized.

In true Melanie fashion, her mind flies straight to the worst case scenario. She frowns at me and leans in closer to her camera. “Is there something wrong with him? Are you safe? Blink twice if you’re in danger.”

Before I can answer, the screen blurs and jostles until it refocuses, and my brother-in-law’s face fills the frame.

“Daph? You okay?” Jameson tries to look around the kitchen behind me. “Is he there? Let me talk to him.”

“No, he’s out at a dinner thing.” I drop the bundle of ramen into the pot and set the lid over the steam. It gives me enough time to make sure I look as at ease as possible, starting with a happy smile. “I’m fine, really. Girl Scout’s honor. How are you doing?”

“I’d feel better if you came here to live with us. We both would. Mel’s been worried sick about you.”

“Sorry. I’ve just been so preoccupied with everything. Pregnancy brain, right?” I laugh.

Jameson looks unconvinced, but Melanie wrestles the phone away from him. “Seriously, Daph, just say the word and we’ll come get you. Okay?”

“I appreciate you. Both of you.”

I really do. Melanie and I were best friends from the day she was born. My ride-or-die through every sticky situation our family walked ass-backwards into. And when Jameson fell head over heels for her, he also became the brother I never knew I wanted or needed.

They really are a match made in heaven, if such a place or thing even exists. Nothing Melanie could ever do or has ever done would drive Jameson away from her side. When her side gig as a camgirl came out, he was only upset that she didn’t tell him first. That was it. The whole world of Hamish high society imploded around her and our own parents shunned her from the shame…

But Jameson? He didn’t care. He just held her tight, kissed her tears away, and vowed to be her new family.

Take notes, men of the world.

Ever since then, he’s been her rock and my shield every chance he gets. I know our parents say it’s Mel’s “despicable behavior” that “pushed” them to “disown” her and “call her a ‘dirty whore,’” but I’ve always been suspicious that they’re a little afraid of Jameson. He wouldn’t hesitate to put them in their place, audience of their peers be damned.

I used to daydream about having a marriage like theirs. Happy, full of love, bracing together against every storm that dares to test them. My husband would be the protective brother Mel always wanted and needed.

Now, I have… what? An unexpected, unplanned pregnancy from a one-night stand with a guy I hardly know now, sure as shit didn’t know then, and who is officially a confirmed crime lord?

Ya missed the mark a little there, Daph.

“How are you doing, though?” Melanie relaxes on her couch with a sigh. “For reals. How are you holding up?”

I glance at the timer on the stovetop. I’ve got a few minutes to dive into the ugly stuff, so I sigh and lean against the kitchen island. “Honestly? I’d probably be doing a lot better if Mom and Dad weren’t so fucking dramatic about everything.”

“I keep telling you, Daph: Ditch them. Cut the strings. Go no-contact if you can manage it. You don’t need the stress and neither does your baby.”

“You mean, your niece?”

Mel’s joyous squeal threatens to shatter my tablet speaker. Somewhere in her distance, Jameson demands to know what just happened. She squeals, “It’s a girl!” and he whoops a victory cry.

The distraction is short-lived. Mel gives me her signature, patent-pending Nice Try Look™ and settles back into her comfy couch spot. “Like I was saying, you need to cut ties. Tell them to kindly fuck off in a different direction, and then maintain that distance.”

“I… I can’t, though.” It comes out as more of a whine than an actual answer. “This is Mom and Dad we’re talking about.”

“Oh, I know. The same people who didn’t even blink when they disowned me. Which, whatever, I don’t fucking care. But that’s my problem, isn’t it? I never fucking cared what they think of me.”

“And I care too much.” I blow out a sigh of frustration. “Why do I care so damn much? Why am I such a people pleaser?”

“Are you a people pleaser? Or do you just try to avoid conflict and confrontation?”

“Both.” The timer on the pot goes off, so I turn my back to move it from the heat and add the sauce packet and egg. It also helps me avoid her scrutinizing stare.

“You should try apathy. It’s wonderful. Liberating. And probably better for my widdle, precious, sweet angel of a baby niece.”

I return the lid to the pot to let the egg cook and wipe the steam off my hands on my sides. “It’s easier said than done. Both Mom and Dad have been blowing up my phone trying to get me to spy on Pasha and get back with Conrad⁠—”

“What? Ew! Gross.” Mel scrunches her whole face in disgust. “Please tell me you’re not.”

“Not in a million years. For either one.”

That makes Mel go silent. I’m worried, for a moment, because I know she’s smart enough to put the pieces together. Pasha isn’t just some “baby daddy” I happened to run into.

He’s the reason she was disowned.

“You know what I just realized?” I turn again to pour the ramen into a bowl, careful not to splash any broth on me. As an afterthought, I add a handful of mozzarella cheese and wait for it to melt as I settle onto a barstool at the island. “You asked me how I’m feeling. But we haven’t talked about how you’re feeling.”

“Daph…”

“Seriously, Mel. I know you know who he is. To you, I mean.” I look down at my fork and finger the tongs self-consciously. “I didn’t know who he was at the time, but… that doesn’t change anything. He still ruined you.”

“Daphne. Look at me.”

I do as she says. I’m surprised to see her… smiling at me?

“Do I look ruined? That’s a rhetorical question—hell no, I don’t. Pasha didn’t ‘ruin’ me. He freed me. I ought to send the man a damn fruit basket.”

“But—”

“Shush. No. I was suffocating in that world. Mom never let up on her criticisms and Dad was always trying to find a way to wed me off like it was a business transaction. Why do you think I started an OnlyFans in the first place? I wanted my freedom. My own money, my own terms, and for once, it was nice to have people appreciate how I look rather than pointing out every microscopic flaw.”

My fork feels heavy as I slowly stir the ramen. “Damn. I’m sorry.”

“Stop that. Don’t be. My only regret is that I didn’t do it myself. I just didn’t have the balls to tell them I was leaving—and quite honestly? I was convinced they’d hunt me down and drag me back in. So when Mr. Chekhov ‘exposed’ my little side gig…” She sighs wistfully and rests her head on her hand. “I could have kissed him right on his arrogant lips.”

“Yo!” Jameson’s voice calls from their kitchen.

“I’m not gonna!” she calls back to him with a laugh. “Anyway, point is, I’m actually pretty fucking elated you’re with him. It’s so… so… so poetic!”

“Well, I mean, we’re not ‘together’ together⁠—”

“Nah, you’re just having a baby together. Immaculate conception, right?” Mel sticks her tongue out at me as I do her, and giggles. “Really, I am living for the drama that must be unfolding at the Hamish estate. And what does Pasha think about all this Shakespearean madness?”

I busy myself with the noodles and use it as an excuse not to answer right away. “I, um… I don’t think he knows. Our connection, I mean. That you’re my sister.”

“Oh.” Mel blinks in confusion. “Really?”

“I may have changed my last name and just… not told him about it?”

Mel snorts. “I don’t blame you. On the name change, I mean. But really, you should tell him sooner rather than later. You don’t want that mess to blow up with a baby in the mix.”

“I will. Soon.” I sigh. “Maybe.”

“Well, if you do and it doesn’t go well, you know where we are. You always have a room here with your name on it. Fair warning, though: I’m gonna spoil my niece so disgustingly rotten…”

We share a laugh and I’m about to launch into the finer details of nursery design when I hear the front door open. Pasha’s familiar heavy footsteps make their way through the front room; I can hear him heading toward the kitchen.

“I gotta go. Love you! Bye!” I hang up.

“Who’s that?” Pasha asks when he enters the kitchen, a frown on his face and a round container of something in his hand. He eyes the tablet with suspicion.

“My sister. She says hi.”

“Hm.” He shrugs and sets the container down on the island counter. “How’s dinner?”

I show him my half-eaten bowl of ramen. “Delicious, as promised. I’m stuffed.”

Surprisingly, a small smile tugs at the corners of his mouth. “Saving room for dessert?” When I nod, that smile grows a bit wider. “Good. Because my mother—” He lifts the lid off with a flourish. “—made this for you.”

“Oh. My. God.” I almost drop my fork at the sight of this multi-layered, powdery confection. “This thing is huge! What is it?”

“Honey cake.” Pasha rummages through the drawers and cabinets for a few small plates and cutlery. “She said it was specifically for you, but you’re allowed to share if you want.”

I can take a hint when I hear it. I flash him a playful smile between stuffing my face with the brothy noodles. “I guess I can share.”

He passes me a fork and we dig in together. The first bite is orgasmic, the second bite doubly so. “Tell me more about your mother,” I mumble through a mouthful of sugar. “Clearly, she bakes?”

“Bakes, cooks, and drives me insane.” But Pasha chuckles when he says it. He lays a thick slice of honey cake on a plate and slides it down the countertop to me. “She wants to meet you,” he adds.

“Does she?” I try not to choke on the spinach. “Why?”

“Because you’re the mother of her first grandchild. Kids are important to her.”

I watch him plate another slice for himself. He sits down on the other bar stool and seems to be waiting for me to finish my ramen. The way he’s so calm and casual and easy about it, I have to wonder… “Just her?”

Pasha’s brow furrows. “What does that mean?”

Melanie’s voice still rings in my ears. Or do you just try to avoid conflict and confrontation? I slide the bowl of noodles aside and nudge the honey cake plate in its place. “I don’t know. I think I’m just wondering, like… how far this goes. For you. I mean, I get that it’s important for you to have an heir.” I poke at the cake with my fork, avoiding his gaze. “But is that it?”

He doesn’t answer me right away. I don’t know if he’s insulted, or if I’ve pissed him off, or what. I wouldn’t be surprised if the answer is “all of the above.” And when he slides off his seat, I’m pretty sure he’s too disgusted with me to stay here.

But then he’s right behind me.

His hands spread wide over my womb, his arms wrapping around me. God, he smells so fucking good. I feel the solid wall of his chest press against my back and when he speaks, I’m suddenly aware of how close his mouth is to my ear.

Is he aware of what he does to me?

“I’m right here, Daphne. And I’m going to be right here, with you, through everything. Every doctor’s appointment, every first word and first step, every dirty diaper. I’ll be here for soccer games and parent-teacher conferences. I’m not going to miss a single recital or school play, or science fair, or driver’s ed.”

His lips lower to the pulse just behind my ear.

“I may be busy. I may be brutal. But nothing matters more to me than my family. Our daughter is my family. You are my family.”

I rest my hands on his so we can feel our baby flutter and kick together. When his fingers lace with mine, I can feel myself sink deeper into his warmth.

“You’re stuck with me, moya plamya,” he rasps. “I’m not going anywhere. And neither are you.”

I turn my face to look up at him. Fuck, he is so close. I could… if I wanted…

But I don’t. I don’t know where those lines are crossed.

Not that we had any lines at the start.

It’s good that I didn’t make a move, because he blinks, then steps away from me and leaves the room.

His honey cake isn’t even halfway finished.