Sinful Blaze (Chekhov Bratva Book 1)

Paris is barely a step into my office when I stop her with an outstretched hand. “Whatever it is, I’ll take it from here.”

“But… it’s from the board of directors.”

I flex my fingers so I don’t have to look up at her. Breathing around her seems to give her the wrong impression, despite our last discussion. “I can read for myself.”

She clicks her tongue, but slaps the papers into my hand. I could write her up for insubordination, but I have only myself to blame here. It’s my fault for making her think attitude would get her bent over my desk with my handprint on her ass.

Those days are long behind us. The mere thought now makes me sick to my stomach.

The door to my office opens again. By the sounds of huffing and more tongue-clicking, my sister and assistant are now staring each other down.

“Put some fucking clothes on,” Sofi snaps at her.

Paris scoffs. “You wouldn’t know fashion if it was sewn onto you.”

“I know a slut when I see one. Go check the mirror and change, suka.”

I hold back my laugh.

Makari does not. “Damn, Sofi. Git ‘er!”

Paris takes a deep breath and gets ready to clap back, so I cut her off before she does something she’ll deeply regret.

“Paris. Why don’t you take an early day? Just bring me the contract files before you leave.”

She wants to fight me. I can feel it in the air. But when I do finally lift my eyes to meet hers, she clicks her heels together and marches out of the room.

A minute later, she storms back in, drops the folders onto my desk, and storms right back out.

My mood shifts upon seeing the letterhead of the first page. Bingo. This is exactly what I want to see. Exactly what I need to make this day perfect.

“Uh-oh,” Sofi chimes. “Big Brother’s got that weird smile again. What are you up to?”

I skim through the scathing assessment of Todd and Keith Bloom’s business venture, their practices, their sordid history of cutting corners and sweeping dirt under the rug. Page after page of undercover research is now highlighted and tabbed for their two-bit lawyer’s perusal, and if they’re not wetting themselves by the time they’re done reading…

Well, let’s just say they’ll take the more-than-generous buyout if they know what’s good for them.

It sure as shit beats a set of cement shoes.

“I’m taking your advice,” I inform Sofi. “I broke it, so I’m fixing it.”

She gives me her signature well-alrighty-then shrug and settles into the armchair while Mak stretches out on the loveseat. I know they’re both waiting for me to fill them in, but now’s not the time.

For now, this is just between Daphne and me. Especially since the gallery is now undergoing ownership changes, and soon, so will her position.

If she wants the new one, of course.

“So.” Sofi folds her hands over her lap. Not a good sign. “I’ve got updates. You won’t like it, but remember: it’s better to have answers than nothing.”

I set the papers down and lean back in my chair. “Lay it on me.”

“Hackers just got back from Brennan’s. Cora sends her love, by the way.” Mak and I both roll our eyes, but Sofi’s not done yet. “The runaround he’s giving you? The ghosting? Yeah. You have the Hamishes to thank for that.”

I freeze. I know I did not just hear her say what I think I heard her say. “Come again?”

Sofi solemnly nods. “Oh, yeah. Our old buddies from the old days? They’re back. With a vengeance.”

Fucking hell. “For what?”

“Who knows? Boredom? Old time’s sake? Or they have some new beef with you and it’s bad enough to get Stewart Hamish to smooth talk Brennan and his cronies out of doing business with us.”

The pen in my hand is going to snap in half if I don’t set it down. “I ended them. I destroyed them. Stewart Hamish shouldn’t have a foot to stand on, let alone a war chest big enough to ever fuck with me again. The hell is he thinking?”

“Yeah, well, rest assured it’s definitely just him and his wife. Fucking piece of work, that one is. Word on the street is, both their daughters are estranged and she couldn’t care less.”

“‘Both’? There’s two?”

That’s news to me. I knew about the one, the cam girl. I just never considered they’d have more children. It was difficult enough to fathom that ugly fuck procreating even one time, least of all twice.

“I didn’t waste our resources hunting down the other daughter. She’s so far removed from them, I’d honestly be shocked to the core if she even knew your name.”

I nod. Makes sense. Plus, I trust my sister’s judgment. “Very well. Dig up absolutely everything you can on Stewart and his wife. I don’t want the hunt called off until I know his REM cycle and which breath to squeeze the trigger on. Understood?”

“Aye aye, captain.” She starts texting her men the orders.

Mak waits a beat to make sure we’re done plotting, then scoots up to the edge of the couch. “Cool. Great. Now, can we talk about Mama and this Arlo asshat?”

Sofi rolls her eyes. “Mama is allowed to love her own life, you know. That includes boyfriends, lovers, one-night⁠—”

“Ew. No. Fuck that.”

“I think that’s his idea, yes.”

Mak turns a light shade of green at the thought. “Nope. Not with that guy. Who the hell is he, anyway?”

She sighs and swipes through her phone to pull up files. I’d bet a testicle she has everything from the guy’s birth certificate to the location of his prepaid burial plot.

“Arlo Fedorov, fifty-eight years old. Russian national. Got married to Sasha Moskowitz Federov only two years after Otets and Mama got married. Three kids, all healthy. Wife is dead, though. Passed five years ago from ovarian cancer.”

I take in every detail, my mind scrambling to fill in the blanks. “Can we trust him?”

“We can trust him to be ruthless. Cunning. Word among the Bratvas from here to Russia all says that his father was pretty even keel, but Arlo built a whole fucking empire in The Motherland that not even the politsiya could get a handle on. And now, his son is in charge with the support of the younger siblings.” She looks up at us and smiles. “Hey! Kinda like us!”

“His industries?”

“Arms dealing. Some manufacturing, but mostly procurement. Smuggling. Drugs, once upon a time, but that looks like he recently turnkeyed his Stateside cannabis farms into legitimate enterprises that now generate millions per month. God bless the U.S.A., am I right?”

“Anything else? Prostitution? Immigration?”

Sofi shakes her head. “No trafficking. No hookers. Sounds like the one time he was offered a slice of that kind of deal, he rejected it by slicing the guy’s neck wide open. Damn.”

I look over at Mak. He’s still worried about our mother, but I think we’re both more than a bit relieved to learn of Arlo’s aversion to prostitution and human trafficking.

Kostya held no such qualms. He tried, in fact, to get the Chekhov Bratva on board with one of the major rings out West. I don’t know what stopped him, but whispers among the men mentioned something about Yakuza and a rival Family stirring up trouble. In the end, he kept his hands clean.

Though not for lack of trying.

“What about his personal life? Any domestic reports?” I’m determined to find something, anything, to mar this guy’s perfect record.

Sofi shakes her head again. “No trace of abuse. Witnesses say he barely ever raised his voice against his wife, and he’d only shout at his kids when they were being little hellions. All in all, it sounds like they were a genuinely happy, normal family.”

Mak slumps back on the loveseat. “Fucking… whatever. Fuck him. Fuck his perfect, never-do-wrong background check. I say we smoke the guy.”

“I say we let Mama live her life.” Sof rolls her eyes heavenward at his dramatics. “Lord knows she needs some excitement.”

“I’m inclined to agree with Makari on this one,” I rumble. “She’s about to become a grandmother. That’s excitement enough.”

The glare I receive from my sister says otherwise. “If you think that’s ‘enough’ for our mother—who, may I remind you, is a woman with needs—you’re in for a world of hurt, big brother. Daphne is going to flay your ass alive if she hears you say that. And so will Mama. And I might help.”

“So you’re saying we should just let some complete stranger sweep her off her feet, seduce her, then break her heart?” Mak blurts. “Fuck that.”

“That’s not at all what I said, dingus. What I am saying is, we need to step back and let Mama have her fun. Respect the fact that she had a life before becoming our mother and she has a life once more now that we’re grown.” Sofi tucks her phone away and plasters on a sweet smile. “That doesn’t mean we can’t have a sniper or two trained on him at all times.”

Sounds like a decent plan to me. Both of them have valid points—we can’t just let some random stranger from across the globe burn our mother. But we can’t hover over her like overprotective hens, either.

She’d skin me if I tried.

I’m about to give Sofi a final order on the matter when we’re interrupted by a knock at the door. I frown; I don’t know who it could be, since Paris already left, and I don’t have any meetings scheduled.

Mak and Sofi both stand, resting their hands over their hidden guns. I press the button to unlock the door and clear my throat. “Come in.”

Our hands tense on our weapons. I swear, Sofi has to mentally talk herself out of downright shooting the intruder point blank.

I start to consider it when I see who’s here.

Daphne’s personal nightmare, clad in a short skirt and even shorter crop top, waltzes in without a care in the world.

“Mr. Chekhov? I’m Brittany Cleary of Cleary Consulting.” She smiles brightly and shifts her weight in her sky-high heels to pop out a curvy hip. “We’re going to be working very closely together.”