Sinful Blaze (Chekhov Bratva Book 1)

One would think I’d be in a far better mood.

I should be. Daphne blushed hard when she saw me at breakfast. As if she knew that I knew, though there’s no way in hell that could be true. She doesn’t have to worry; her secret’s safe with me. For now.

What’s killed my good mood is the fact that Senator Brennan is now blatantly ignoring my calls, texts, emails from my corporate office, everything. As if he has any grounds to dodge me, the same man who can blow up his marriage and his career at the snap of my fingers.

“I’ll be out most of the day,” I warn Daphne as I pack up to leave. “Call me if you need anything.”

I try my best to ignore the way her face falls as I tug my coat on and grab my keys. What more does she want? I have shit to do. Lives to fucking ruin.

But fuck me, I can’t leave. I get to the front door and find myself unable to leave the penthouse with this nagging feeling that I’ve somehow disappointed the mother of my unborn child.

The trek back to the kitchen is worth the squeal of surprise she gives me when I wrap an arm around her waist from behind. With a low, wordless growl, I snatch her up and press a savage kiss to her exposed neck.

“What was that for?” she breathes giddily.

“Because I fucking wanted to.”

This time, when I return to the front door, leaving feels much, much easier.

“I need to see Senator Brennan. Now.”

The senator’s assistant, a mousey little man by the name of Barney Fitz, stares at me with wide, fearful eyes and a gaping mouth. He puckers like a fish before he finally manages to squeak out, “D-do you have an appointment?”

“I’ve been trying to make one. Since he’s been so busy, I figured I’d save him the time.”

“Ah. Right.” Fitz shuffles through some paperwork on the desk as he collects his thoughts. “I’m s-sorry, but the senator is unavailable today.”

Fucking figures. “When will he be back?”

“I’m sorry, sir, but…” Fitz glances at the computer screen, at me, and back down at the papers he keeps fiddling with. “The senator has several prior engagements he cannot miss. I will let him know you stopped by.”

My gaze narrows.

I have a few options here, and I only like one or two of them. I could grab this poor excuse of an assistant by the shirt collar and make him regret ever standing between me and the office door.

I like that one.

I could just shove the scrawny runt aside and kick down the door to Brennan’s office. If he’s there, I could give that fuck a full shakedown until he signs the contract in front of me. If he’s not there, I could turn his office over until the right paperwork falls out and just forge his damn signature myself.

I like that option even more.

But there’s a third option that involves diplomacy and doesn’t involve me getting arrested: swallowing my frustration, dealing with my impatience, and pretending to be a reasonable corporate CEO who plays by the politician’s game.

I despise that one.

And yet it’s my only real choice.

“It’s imperative that Senator Brennan contacts me as soon as humanly possible.” I reach into my coat pocket and pull out a Chekhov Industries business card with my office information on it. I grab one of the pens from Fitz’s desk and jot my personal cell phone number on the back. “Here’s my personal number. It seems he may have lost it.”

Fitz accepts the card from my hand with shaky fingers. The way this man’s sweating under the collar, it’s like I’m holding a gun to his head.

Not that the temptation hasn’t popped up in the back of my mind. One of many blood-soaked options I considered.

“I will—I mean, I’ll be sure to pass the message on to the senator.” Fitz tucks the card under the corner of the desk phone and shrinks back down in his cheap office chair. None of this inspires any confidence that he’ll do what I’ve ordered.

But I’m the head of an organized crime syndicate, currently standing inside a government office.

Sometimes, it’s best to just play ball.

With the bare minimum accomplished, I turn to leave this office and return to my own. I make a mental note to see if Mak will have any luck applying pressure to Fitz—that man is so tense, a simple poke would probably make him burst wide open with information and intel.

But before I can reach the exit, Brennan’s office door opens and the man himself emerges…

… laughing and chatting with the last motherfucker on earth I wanted to see.

Jeffrey fucking Alisher.

Part of me can’t help but admire Alisher. He runs a shipping corporation that has caused me no end of grief over the last decade. Everywhere I go, there they are, bidding me up, undercutting me at every turn.

The far bigger part of me wants to skip rope with his fucking entrails, though. But he’s got a Q score as high as my body count. The public loves him, for reasons I will never understand. His smiling mug is pasted on damn near half of Alisher Industries’ advertisements.

The question of the hour, though: what the fuck is he doing here, schmoozing up to the senator?

“Chekhov! As I live and breathe!” Alisher grins as he booms my name with an outstretched hand. “We were just talking about you!”

A glance at the senator confirms that they were, in fact, talking about me. And Brennan really, really didn’t want me to know about that.

Interesting.

I shake Alisher’s hand and return his charming smile with my own. “Apologies for such a dull topic of conversation.”

“Hardly! You know, I have to admit some jealousy on my part. You’ve been the leader in weapons manufacturing for… shit, how many years? And that takes an incredible amount of development to even get updates off the ground, let alone new innovations for our armed forces.”

Again, I cast a glance at Brennan. They dared discuss me and my business? Behind my back?

“Well, it’s about throwing darts at the wall and seeing what sticks. We can’t have everything, no matter how hard we try.”

Alisher claps a hand on my shoulder as he passes. “But we do try, am I right?”

Fucking snake. He’s up to something. I can practically smell it in the air.

“Thanks for everything, Senator,” he adds when he reaches the lobby door. “We’ll be in touch!”

The second that door closes behind Alisher, I spin around to glare at Brennan. “What⁠—”

“It is standard policy, Mr. Chekhov,” he interrupts with a placating hand, “to solicit multiple bids from multiple companies.”

My teeth grind together as I resist the urge to throttle him against the wall. “I’m aware of the policies, Senator.”

“So you understand⁠—”

“No, actually, I do not.” I take a deep breath and once again remind myself that I can’t plant my fist in his face—at least not here and now—no matter how much I want to. “We’ve been in talks on this deal for over six months. Six. Goddamn. Months. And now, you want to hedge your bids? With Alisher?”

Brennan straightens his tie, like he’s the one in charge of what’s happening here. “What I do and how I do it is my concern, Mr. Chekhov. Not yours.”

I’m so tempted to reference his latest romps at an out-of-town hotel as an example of “what” and “how” he does “things.” One glance at his assistant, however, makes me bite my tongue. There’s no telling who knows how much in this office, and less is always better. Swing a weapon too often and people learn not to be afraid of it.

“I’ll be in touch,” I snarl instead.

Nothing in my gut buys the bullshit he’s spewing. It nags at me on the way to the elevator and all the way down to the parking garage floor.

Six months of clear sailing.

What’s changed?

I snatch up my phone and dial. “Sofi—tail Brennan around the fucking clock. I want eyes on him twenty-four-seven.” I shoulder through the elevator doors and beeline for my car. “Something’s up.”

“Oh?” my sister’s voice chirps on the other end. “Anything special I should be on the lookout for?”

“I need to know everything about every single person he talks to. Housekeeping staff, the homeless guy on the street, I don’t fucking care. Don’t overlook a single one. No bribe is too high, either. Find out what you can about his recent behavior.”

“You suspect something.”

“I suspect a lot of somethings. I just have to figure out how many of them might hurt us.”