Sinful Blaze (Chekhov Bratva Book 1)

I’m on my tenth attempt to read the same sentence in the Chekhov International Employee Handbook. No matter what I do, my mind keeps wandering back to Daphne’s blowup in the car.

Do you respect your employees?

I know what she was really asking. Do I walk my talk? Do I hold my people accountable? Am I the man I claim to be?

I wanted to say yes, just to have the higher ground. So I could proudly be better—far better—than her dickhead employers.

But it’s been bugging me ever since she brought it up.

That’s why I’m on page seventy-two of this handbook and silently cursing whoever decided we needed a fucking Bible instead of a few simple pages.

I’m still irritated that Daphne has no problem standing up to me, but can’t do the same to those idiots she calls her bosses. She doesn’t hesitate to tell me exactly where I can stick my overbearing habits—but them? The second they seem even mildly displeased, she bows under their pressure and slinks off to the corner.

I was so fucking pissed. Not at her. Never at her.

It’s them who got my wrath.

The way the Bloom brothers reacted when I outed Daphne’s pregnancy still flashes through my mind. She is right: she’s probably going to go back to find her desk packed and a pink slip resting on top of her things.

Not if I have anything to say about it, though.

I slam the handbook shut and shove it to the side. I’ll have the head of Human Resources review it tomorrow and make amendments wherever necessary.

Right now, I need to follow through on my promise to find Daphne a better job. Something that will keep her busy and give her the fulfillment she craves, but with the respect she’s been sorely deprived of.

Maybe add a little vengeance into the mix. Make those two misogynistic idiots drop to their knees and beg for her forgiveness. For her mercy.

I’m still scheming when the door to my office flies open and my sister barges in.

“Knock-knock, asshole!”

I glare at her. “Watch it. You’re my sister, but⁠—”

“Nope. Right now, I’m the angel of fucking vengeance.”

I’m about to ask her what I’ve done this time when I see Daphne’s tear-streaked face peek out from behind her.

Instantly, I’m on my feet, damn near knocking my chair over in the process. “Daphne? What’s wrong?” My heart slams inside my chest. “Is it the baby?”

“No, dumbass.” Sofi rolls her eyes. “It’s you.”

Daphne looks away. In an instant, I feel the gut punch of her avoidance as hard as if she’d planted her fist in my stomach.

I can handle her anger. I can handle her fire.

I can’t take her withdrawal. Not from me.

Sofi wraps an arm around Daphne and guides her toward me. “Handle your shit, man.”

Daphne bursts into tears. My first instinct is to wrap her up and hold her as close as humanly possible. Protect her from the world and whatever, whoever, just hurt her.

Sof leaves with a muttered, “You broke it; you fix it. I’m out.”

Grimacing, I scoop Daphne up and carry her to my office couch. She lets me pull her onto my lap, to my surprise. But it’s a long several minutes before she calms down enough to talk.

“I hate the silence,” she mumbles against my chest. “That’s how I know I fucked up.” Daphne sniffs and straightens to look me in the eye. “My parents wouldn’t acknowledge me until I was perfect again. I stopped existing whenever I messed up.”

“Jesus, Daphne. I⁠—”

“They do it to each other. They decided to make it permanent for my sister, since she messed up so bad that she’ll never be perfect again in their eyes.” Daphne snorts. “I keep trying to mess up bad enough they’ll leave me alone. Oh, the irony.”

I don’t say anything. This isn’t my time to speak; it’s hers.

Daphne shudders. “One time, I fell and scraped my knee at a birthday party. Bled all over my dress. My mother was so embarrassed, she didn’t look at me for a week. Kept telling my father to tell me what she wanted to say. He just went with it.”

Anger flares up in me, hot and bright. But I say nothing. It’s not my turn to speak.

“I know I fucked up.” She plucks at my shirt absentmindedly. “You were right. But I… I don’t want to stop existing just because I made a mistake.”

I cringe. It’s so stupidly obvious how this all could’ve been avoided. I’m a fool for taking… I check the clock: six hours—to realize my mistake.

“Hey. Come here.” I ease her to sit up enough to look me in the eyes, and then I tip her chin up so she actually does. “Look at me, moya plamya, because I don’t say these words easily: I’m… sorry.”

She blinks, and blinks, and blinks again.

“I can admit when I’ve fucked up. I don’t do it often, though, so embrace the moment.”

“You don’t apologize often?” A playful little smirk tugs at her mouth. “Big surprise.”

“I don’t make mistakes often,” I correct teasingly. “For the most part, I’m damn near perfect.”

That earns a laugh. It’s soft, it’s light, and it’s everything to my ears.

“What I do do, a lot, is bury myself in work when I’m pissed off and don’t want to hurt anyone around me.”

When I don’t want to hurt the people I love. But that last word makes my lungs tighten, so I leave it as is.

Daphne looks down at her hands. “I know I pissed you off⁠—”

“Not in any way that matters.” I sigh and take one of her hands in mine. Her slender fingers fit so perfectly with mine, which are calloused and scarred from fights and dirty work that no one ever talks about but everyone needs me to do. “I was more pissed at those two assholes. Pissed for you, not at you.”

Daphne frowns. I reach up with my free hand to smooth the lines away with my thumb, and she leans into my touch.

I don’t know if I’ll ever get tired of that feeling.

Of being trusted.

“I need you to stand up for yourself. All the time, everywhere. Like you do with me without hesitation.” I offer a gentle smile. “Our baby needs you to stand up for yourself, too. Especially right now, when you’re the only one who can fight for her.”

“You’ll fight for her.” Daphne presses a soft kiss to my palm. “You’re her father. Hell, you fought for her today and she’s not even here yet.”

The whispers of my deepest fears circle through my mind. Usually, I manage to shut them up with something else.

But right now, maybe giving them a voice is the better choice.

I tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. I don’t think she knows just how much she soothes the beast inside me. I definitely don’t think she realizes just how dangerous that beast is.

It’s the same beast those whispers constantly warn me not to become.

“My father was the same way. When Mama was pregnant with me.”

Daphne shudders. “What happened?”

“To be honest, I don’t know. Power corrupted him, maybe. Or maybe he was always a terrible human being. All I do know is that I never got to see the kind or loving version of him. I only knew the disciplinarian, the dictator. The terror in my nightmares who beat my mother and me if we so much as breathed wrong.”

She sucks in a gasp. “Pasha. I am… I’m so sorry.”

“He’s dead. You don’t have to worry about him.” You just have to worry about me turning into him. “What I’m trying to say is, I’m alive because my mother fought for me. She stood up for me. She never let anyone shove me aside, even when it was her own husband trying to do it. He’d beat her bloody for defying him. And yet she never stopped fighting for her children.”

Daphne’s chin falls to her chest. “And here I am, a total chickenshit over lunch breaks and doctor appointments.”

I touch her jaw with my fingertip until she raises her face again to look at me, albeit reluctantly. “Head up, Daphne. Never down. Promise me that. That’s all I’m asking for.”

“Only if you promise not to shut me out. No more silent treatment. And,” she adds, “no more barging into my office. And no more outing my secrets. And no more using my own logic against me. And⁠—”

I laugh and drag her back into my arms as she dissolves into teary giggles. “I don’t negotiate with terrorists,” I growl in her ear as she laughs and eases and unclenches from head to toe.

And as she unclenches, so do I. And so does the air, it seems. One bit at a time until it’s finally easy to breathe again and I realize that I’ve been holding onto every inhale for the last six hours.

“Are you hungry?” I ask when Daphne’s laughter fades. “I can cook for you.”

She tilts her head to one side. “Later, I think. Right now, I just want to sit with you. Reconnect. Just… be.”

“You’re asking a lot,” I warn with a chuckle.

She pulls a stern expression and jabs a finger in my face. “Sit here, mister, and don’t move. I’ll even be nice and not make you talk about your feelings anymore.” She wriggles her body down the couch and settles her head onto my lap.

There’s no way it’s this easy. This simple. Daphne smiles up at me, then closes her eyes and just lies there. Doesn’t say anything more. Doesn’t ask me to do anything else.

Just… be.

What a fucking concept.

It’s not long before she drifts to sleep. Still right here, on my lap, nestled in close. I rest a hand on the firm swell of Daphne’s womb. Our daughter flutters and kicks against my palm.

“I’m here, baby girl.” I should feel ridiculous talking to a stomach, but I don’t. “Daddy’s right here. I had no idea you or your mama were gonna show up like you did, but I’m so glad you did.”

Daphne stirs in her sleep. I hold my breath, waiting for her to wake up, but she doesn’t.

She trusts me enough to stay.