Sinful Blaze (Chekhov Bratva Book 1)

Everyone takes a seat so the auction portion of the evening can begin. The auctioneer steps up to the podium, clears his throat, and opens up the bidding with some small landscape by a minor artist. An ice breaker, of sorts.

I sit and drift off in my thoughts as one lot after another is rattled off. I came here tonight with a singular purpose: find the most expensive S.C. Ewing I could get my hands on and have it delivered to a certain amoral politician who has been nothing short of a pain in my ass.

For months, Senator Scott Brennan has hemmed and hawed as we hashed out the details of our arrangement. I’ve showered him with gifts he doesn’t deserve, complimented him at dinners where criminals like me didn’t belong.

This is the final straw. The last attempt at bribery. If it doesn’t work, and if he doesn’t approve the military arms importing deal I’ve shoved across his desk time and time again, then we’re switching tactics.

He’ll get whiplash from how fucking fast the carrot is exchanged for the stick.

Fine by me. I much prefer wielding the latter.

At the sound of a cleared throat, I wrench my attention back to the proceedings. The feature of this evening, Conrad’s so-called “life’s work,” is the final item up for bid. The auction team wheels it on stage and whips off the curtain, and people gush over the fucking scribbles.

I glance across the room in time to see Daphne roll her eyes. She’s been quiet and subdued throughout the earlier pieces, but this one? This one keeps crawling under her skin.

I have plans for it.

“We’re opening the bid at fifty thousand dollars,” the auctioneer says. “Do I hear fifty-five?”

Some scarf-wearing art critic in the back raises their card.

I raise mine, too. “Seventy.”

The auctioneer blinks his surprise at the quick escalation. “Seventy thousand from the gentleman in the front. Do I hear seventy-five?”

Another patron, a snooty woman in a feather boa, raises her card.

“Ninety,” I counter.

Daphne shifts uncomfortably in her seat. I stay focused on the bidding.

The bids keep climbing, and I refuse to back down. More jump in as others jump out. None of them deter me.

The auctioneer looks positively giddy as the numbers grow and grow. “Do I hear nine hundred thousand?”

Boa Lady raises her card. I have no idea what the fuck she wants with some misogynistic fever dream covered in Jackson Pollock-styled paint jizz.

I do know she won’t be getting it.

“Two million.”

The auctioneer sputters at my response. “Two… two million! Do I hear⁠—”

“Two and a half!”

I roll my eyes. Now, the mudak in the Coke bottle glasses wants to participate and be a fucking hero? I raise my card again and shoot him a dangerous glare. “Three.”

Boa Lady bows out with a mutter and a grimace.

Critic huffs. “Three and a half.”

I’m done playing games. “Five million.”

A hush falls over the crowd. All except for Daphne, who lets out a soft groan.

The auctioneer looks at me like I’ve lost my damn mind. “Five… million! Five million from the gentleman in the front. Do I hear five and a half?”

No one raises their cards.

“Anyone?”

I dare them to fucking try.

“Five million… going once… going twice… sold! To the gentleman in the front.”

The gavel clacks on the podium. The monstrosity belongs to me. Off to the side, Ewing smirks with pride.

The crowd shuffles to their feet with awed gasps in my direction. I stand up and stride across the room to Daphne, who looks like someone just sucker-punched her in the stomach.

“Is something wrong?” I ask.

She sighs and shakes her head. “Sorry. It’s… it’s fine. I should have figured. And hey,” she adds with a forced smile, “you helped me look good for my bosses. So, y’know, thank you.”

“Don’t thank me just yet.” I take her hand in mine and pull her after me. “Come on.”

“What? Where are we going?”

I don’t answer. I just take her with me to the table where sales are finalized so I can sign on the dotted line and clear the funds. She keeps glancing nervously over her shoulder, where her bosses are huddled and whispering in a dark corner.

I sign the paperwork, wait for the transfer to finalize, and nod solemnly when the agent gives me the all-clear.

“Wait here,” I order in Daphne’s ear. I lead her to the end of the front row, squeeze her hand once more, then stride to the front of the stage.

“Sir!” the auctioneer sputters at me in shock. “Sir! You cannot be up here! I must ask you to step down!”

“Take a fucking breath, my friend. This won’t take long.” I spot the painting I just bought and pluck it off the wall. It’s almost as wide as I am tall, and a thousand times uglier up close.

“What are you—SIR!”

Gasps echo through the room when I toss the painting off the stage and onto the floor. One part of the wood frame cracks. Music to my ears.

Ewing leaps to his feet. “What the fuck, man?!”

I hop off the stage right as Daphne rushes forward. “What are you doing? You just bought this!”

“I know.” I smirk at her with what I know must be a wild gleam in my eyes. “And now, I want to enjoy it.” I snatch up a shot of vodka from someone’s limp hand and fling it onto the canvas.

“What do you—oh my God! Stop it!”

Damn. Nowhere near as much liquor as I wanted for this, but it’ll have to suffice. I steal another glass and slosh it around the painting as best as I can.

Daphne grabs my wrist, eyes wide with panic. “You’re ruining five million dollars’ worth of art!”

I use my other hand to reach into my back pocket and pull out my lighter. Even more horrified gasps fill the air, including a yelp from Ewing himself.

The resounding click of the metal cap accompanies a satisfying flicker of flame. It dances in front of me, white-hot and beautiful.

“He ruined how many years of your life?” I ask Daphne softly. “How many hopes? How many dreams?”

It’s there. The temptation is there. I see it in her face, in the stunned quiver of her lip.

But Daphne hesitates, then shakes her head. “No! I can’t let you do it!”

“I don’t want to do it.” I flick the lighter shut, then press it to her palm. “You do.”

She does. We both know it. That fire in her soul matches the flame shimmering at the tip of her thumb. She’s definitely thinking about it.

But then she snaps it shut. “No. I’ll lose my job.”

I steady my gaze on her two employers, who are beet red with anxious fury, clustering closer and closer like they think they have any hope at all of stopping me from doing whatever the fuck I want.

But when they look at me, they realize how wrong they are. I am not a man to fuck with.

“If you lose your job,” I say, loud enough for them to hear, “they’ll lose their highest-paying client. The best way to keep my business and my money is to do what I want.”

Daphne swallows. And yet, just as earlier, her fingers don’t betray a single tremor. “What do you want?” she asks me.

That is a loaded question. Mainly because the answer has changed dramatically since I arrived at this godforsaken affair.

“I want to see you smile.”

I have no idea where that came from. But it’s true. Probably one of the truest things I’ve said all evening.

Daphne studies my face.

She sees that I’m serious.

And then she tosses the open lighter onto the painting.

The spilled alcohol helps the flames grow fast and hot. In seconds, it’s an inferno of crackling canvas and burning oil. Daphne’s face is illuminated from below, shadows shifting across the planes of her cheeks.

Then she begins to smile. It’s soft. Tentative. It’s the smile of someone who didn’t know that it could feel so good to win instead of losing again and again and again.

I don’t believe in love at first sight.

I don’t believe in love, period.

But as I stand here, watching this woman revel in the destruction of her enemies’ most valued possession, I feel a sudden euphoria.

Is this what love would feel like?

Then she turns to me, throws her arms around my neck, and pulls me in for an open-mouthed kiss nearly as fiery as her vengeance.

“Thank you,” she breathes.

Somewhere amidst the shouting and the panicking, Ewing sobs and the two dumbasses who run this shithole are screaming at Daphne to leave.

She just smiles. Absorbs the energy of the chaos.

I want her.

Now.

I grab her by the waist and haul her off to the side as the chaos unfurls on every side. “Come with me,” I murmur into her ear as the scent of ash cloaks us both. “I’ll show you something else to light your world on fire.”