Sinful Blaze (Chekhov Bratva Book 1)

Intel updates this morning did not bring me good news.

What they did bring me is straight to Brennan’s office.

More specifically, to his assistant’s desk, where the events calendar is open on the computer.

“Um, can I help you?” Fitz glares at me from across the room, a steaming mug of coffee in his hand. He closes the distance with impressive speed, shouldering me away from his abandoned post. “Do you have an appointment?”

“That’s what I was trying to figure out.”

Brennan’s assistant sniffs derisively. He knows as well as I do that my name is nowhere to be found on the senator’s calendar. “I’m sorry; you’ll just have to wait for Senator Brennan to contact you.”

“Or…” I pull a hundred-dollar bill from my pocket and slide it across the desk. “You can help me find him.”

Fitz looks at the money, then back to me. “As I said, you need to wait for the senator to reach out to you.”

I’m partially irritated, partially impressed. This might be an expensive bribe, and that’s saying something about Fitz’s character. I pull out the wad of cash I always keep on hand and slide a few more hundreds across his desk.

“I really, really don’t like waiting.”

He eyes the cash. This time, his resolve visibly cracks. It’s another few silent moments of internal debate before he takes the money and stuffs it into his pocket. “What do you want?”

“A copy of his schedule.”

Fitz scoffs at me. “You’re serious? That’s a huge breach in security! I could get fired!”

“And I could make it worth the risk.” I tap the wad of cash to remind him of just how much more there could be waiting for him.

Again, he considers it. And again, I have to admire the internal struggle he puts himself through. I’ve seen guys like him sell their grandmothers for twenties without a second thought, but he’s weighing the pros and cons of accepting far more lucrative bribes for a politician who probably pays him slave wages.

“Why do you need to see him so badly?”

I think I know what he’s asking. If I show you the calendar, will you do something that will land both of us in prison?

Tempting. But I’ve got too much to lose nowadays.

“Brennan gave me his word. I gave him mine. Only one of us seems intent on keeping it.” I soften my tone into something reasonable. “All I want to do is talk to him.”

Fitz is silent for a while. Then, at last, he nods. “Fine. I can give you a printout of this week’s schedule, but that’s it. Anything more will risk raising the alarms.”

I call bullshit, but I’ll take it. He does as he said and I peruse the sheet when he hands it to me. Aaand… bingo.

“Give me the information for this dinner.”

Fitz scoffs. “The state dinner? That’s a political hotspot! The senator is one of the keynote speakers and that guest list is airtight. There’s no way you’re going to be able to just show up.”

I weigh the costs and benefits of barging in. Can I wait until another, better opportunity arises? Preferably when the senator is alone?

Then a mental image of Daphne on my arm, wearing something slinky that accentuates her swollen womb, makes the decision for me.

I slap the entire roll of cash onto his desk right in front of him. “Get me in. Plus one.”

“Close out everything after 4:00 P.M. and move my morning appointments tomorrow to early afternoon. Anyone who doesn’t want to reschedule can kiss my ass.”

Paris scrambles to carry out my barked orders. “Is everything alright?”

“Perfectly fine.” I slip off my tie and undo the top buttons to let Daphne’s mark breathe again. “Last-minute invitation came through for a state dinner. I’ll be in attendance, so make sure that’s notated on the calendar as well. Seven o’clock until… when the fuck ever.”

With any luck, I’ll tidy up Brennan with minimal effort, then sweep my woman off to some luxurious hotel nearby for a far better night.

Just thinking about Daphne in a glittering dress, enough of a slit up one side to bare her creamy leg, has me hard as a rock. I don’t want to stay at the dinner any longer than absolutely necessary.

I have more pressing matters to attend to.

“I’m available,” Paris chimes in through my heady thoughts. “If you need a date for the dinner, I mean. Or dessert.”

I sigh. She was doing so well up until that point.

I turn to face her. “Your services are no longer needed. So no, I do not need a date. I already have one.”

Paris slowly stands, anger simmering beneath her skin. Hurt, too, and I know at some point I might have to address that. Right now, though, she’s leaning into the anger and I’m ready for a fight.

“I don’t understand. You’re single; I’m single. And unless you hired someone else⁠—”

“I’m going to stop you right there before you say something we’ll both regret.” Like accusing Daphne of being an escort. “I am not single. Not only have I made that exceptionally clear for quite some time, but I wouldn’t choose you even if I was.”

She sucks in a sharp gasp. “Are you kidding me? After everything we did?”

“What we did was mutually beneficial. You fully consented, we blew off some steam. That was it.”

“But—”

“Did it never occur to you that all we ever did was have sex? I never asked you for anything more. I never will.”

Paris clenches her fists at her sides. Her bottom lip trembles, but she’s determined to hold her own ground. I can almost admire it. “You used me. You… you used me!”

“No more than you used me. No less, either. And before you get any ideas about filing lawsuits, don’t forget how shamelessly you’ve been throwing yourself at me in front of witnesses. The fact that I haven’t fired you for inappropriate conduct is a mercy you won’t get anymore. I’m happy to discuss an enhanced salary and benefits package, if that will help you move on. But I don’t pay you for what’s between your legs—I pay you for what’s between your ears.”

She’s fuming, but she remains silent. Thank God. I get that she’s hurt, and I recognize that on a logistical level, she probably has every right to be.

But she’s also vindictive as hell. If I don’t keep a close eye on her, there’s no telling what she might try to do.

Makari may have been right. It might be time to fire her.

On the other hand, I need to keep all my enemies close at hand. Even the potential ones.

Especially the potential ones.

I’m greeted with Daphne’s smiling face the second I walk through the door. “How was your day?” she asks cheerfully.

It’s not her fault that that question irks me. Shit, it’s not even my fault. I’m just irritated with the rest of the world for being so fucking difficult. “It was a day.”

“Ah.” Her smile fades a bit, which I despise in its own right. “I was wondering, whenever you’re settled in… could we talk?”

“I’d rather not.” The words fly out in the worst way before I can stop myself. “Not in the mood. Too annoyed with people. Things. The universe.”

Her smile is completely gone. So is the cheerful light that was in her eyes only seconds ago.

Good job, asshole.

“It’s… it’s fine. No biggie.” Daphne waves it off and turns to leave the room.

Why does it feel like she’s waving me off, too?

I flop down on the couch with a heavy sigh. But as she passes, at the last second, I loop my arm around her waist and tug her down on top of me.

Daphne squeaks with surprise. I wrap my arms around her and bury my face in the curve of her neck where it meets her shoulder. She smells so good. She feels even better.

“Tell me about your day,” I croak into her sweater.

She balks. “My day? My day was boring. My days are always boring.”

I hold her tighter. “Nothing about you is boring, moya plamya.”

Daphne sighs and leans into me. “Well, The Tweedles aren’t too happy about losing what they called their ‘golden goose.’ They’ve been trying to find ways to keep the showcase on the books for Conrad, but Hazel refuses to work with him and Sofi scared them into leaving me alone.”

“She’s good at that.”

“Maybe too good,” Daphne agrees. “I keep trying to tell them there are other, better artists with more consistent performances in both sales and audience pull, but what do I know? I’m just the curator.”

I move on to massaging her wrists. She moans in satisfaction and just like that, I’m hard. “You’re more than just a curator,” I murmur into her throat.

“Yeah? Tell them that.”

My mouth moves to the shell of her ear. “I can. I will. If you want me to.”

She turns just enough to give me a knowing smile. “I do actually love my job, despite my complaining. I’d like to keep it.”

“Fine. Ruin my fun.”

A wiggle of her ass on my lap makes me suck in a breath. “If it’s fun you want, don’t let me stop you from enjoying it.”

“Naughty plamya.” I rub her hip, lightly smack it, then rub again. “Don’t tempt me.”

“Why not?” Her lashes lower and so does her gaze, down to my lips. “We have plenty of time.”

“Actually, we don’t.” I reach up to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. My God, her skin is so soft. “We’re going to a dinner party tonight.”

“At your mom’s?”

“Fuck, I wish. No, this is one of those fancy state dinners. Black tie only.”

Daphne stiffens. I don’t know what’s set her on edge, but she’s skating right on it. “Do we have to? Can’t we just don’t and say we did?”

My hand flits toward her thigh. “I’ve been daydreaming about you in a sexy gown. Taking you out of it, specifically.”

She doesn’t relax. She’s tense. Too tense based on the little scrap of information I just gave her.

What am I missing?

“I just… I’m so over dealing with the posh and pompous.” Daphne sighs and tries to relax. She doesn’t fool me, though. “If I rub any more elbows, I’m gonna be raw. All those egotistical men and catty women. Throwing themselves at each other and for what? Clout?”

“You can throw yourself at me. I’ll give you way more than clout.”

She levels her gaze at me. “I’m serious, Pash.”

“So am I.” I adjust her on my lap until I’m cradling her in my arms. “We’re going to this dinner. You are going to wear something sexy as fuck, I’m going to wear a tuxedo that makes your panties drop, and we are going to be the envy of every wrinkled old fuck still breathing oxygen without a tank. And you,” I say to her rounded tummy, “are going to make Mommy and Daddy look like responsible, loving parents. I expect you to be on your best behavior, young lady.”

That makes Daphne giggle, which in turn makes me relax in ways I didn’t know I needed until now. Does she have any idea how much I truly, deeply need her? Just to hold, to touch, to see her smile and hear her laugh?

To have this beautiful, sensual, brilliant reminder that my life isn’t completely fucked?

“So, now that that’s settled…” I nip at her neck. “Tell me all about how Brittany got her ass kicked.”

Daphne rolls her eyes and laughs. “I didn’t do anything.”

“That’s not what I heard. I heard you practically flayed her alive.”

She blushes. “Okay. Maybe that part happened.”

“I love it. Tell me all about it.”

“Well, I mean… Okay, explain to me how people just don’t process words? Like, you can say it and write it and chisel it into a giant marble statue and they still just…” She mimics something flying over her head. “She thinks I still want Conrad.”

“Do you?”

Daphne nearly flays me alive with the look she levels at me. “Be serious.”

“Point taken. Go on.”

“See? Was that hard? I don’t think that’s hard. But for some reason, Brittany thinks I’m out to ruin her life and steal everything she has—and I’ve gotta be honest, she’s never had something I wanted.”

“Tell me how you really feel.”

She blushes again and looks away. “Sorry. I just⁠—”

“Don’t be sorry. I’m loving this side of you. Keep talking.” I rock myself against her plump ass to prove my point. “I might just get off before we have to leave.”

“You’re terrible,” she mutters with a stifled laugh.

“You’re worse. Finish your story—I’m almost there.”

Blushing and grinning all at once, she keeps telling me the story—and all I can think is, That’s my woman.

How the fuck did I get so lucky?