Sinful Blaze (Chekhov Bratva Book 1)

Nothing is going as planned.

Truth be told, nothing has gone as planned since the night I decided buying some fucking loser’s artwork would get me what I wanted.

Did I get the piece? In a manner of speaking, yes.

Did I keep the piece? No.

Did I get the contract? No.

Is it because I let my dick take over my brain?

… Possibly.

I’ve been wanting to blame everything that’s happened—or not happened—on my inability to ignore a pretty face. That would be easy. That would be something I could explain away.

But it would be a lie.

My plans literally went up in flames when I saw her face. When I felt her near me.

When she stole my breath—and everything I am—with one single fucking kiss.

Now, our child is due any day, and I’m sleeping (and drinking) away each day in the corporate office. Years ago, I had it fitted for temporary overnight stays just in case something happened with work to keep me here. Never did I fathom I’d be staying here because I’m trying to avoid going home.

Coward.

It hasn’t been easy. I want nothing more than to rush home, sweep Daphne into my arms, feel the strong kicks and wriggles of our unborn daughter, and forget anything was ever amiss.

But the easy way has never been my path.

I have to see just how far and deep Daphne’s hand extended into my company. Into my Bratva. She’s been in this building, she’s made allies here and with her guards… She lives with me, for fuck’s sake. She’s an extremely intelligent woman who could undo me with a few simple clicks and the right ears willing to listen to any lies she fed them.

Her father did it to mine. How far does the apple fall from the tree?

She told you the truth.

So far, the investigation has unveiled as much. Daphne’s only discovered lie to date was the omission of her birth name and the names of her parents.

Mama seems to believe Daphne’s claims. Fuck, I want to believe Daphne.

But swallowing convenient lies has never been my path, either.

I can’t let my feelings make me vulnerable. I can’t let my own desires destroy everything I have. Everyone I’m responsible for.

“Anyone ever tell you what the definition of insanity is?”

I lift my bleary gaze from the papers in front of me to my sister. She stares at me, one brow raised and her arms folded as she leans back in her chair.

“Watch yourself,” I warn.

Sofi shakes her head. “Not this time, big brother. The doors are locked, most of your employees have gone home, and by the looks of things here…” She scans the office and curls her nose at the sight of the rumpled, unmade futon in one corner. “Clearly, this has become your temporary home. So I’m invoking House Rules.”

“Fine.” I return my focus to the reports. “Do as you please.”

“‘Doing the same thing over and over expecting different results.’ That’s the definition of insanity.” She drums her fingers on the arm of the chair. “Remind me again, how many audits have you done?”

“This is the third one.”

“Right.”

“I’m going to order a fourth.”

“Bullshit.”

I cock a brow at her. “Excuse you?”

“If you think wasting people’s time and paper is ever going to give you a different result, then by all means, audit away. But I’m telling you, it’s not. If it hasn’t by now, it never will.”

“I have to be certain.”

“Of what? That she loves you? That she’d never betray you?” Sofi rolls her eyes. “You’d know that if you went home. If you, y’know, talk to her?”

“I can’t do that.” I snap the file folder shut.

“Because…?”

“Because it’s none of your fucking business.”

“Oh, no. No, no, no. It’s because you’re letting some jealous, pathetic bitch stand between you and your happiness. And it’s working.” Sofi leans forward and jabs a finger on the desk in front of me. “That’s the sad part, Pasha. Of all the things that could happen, that have happened in your life… this is what shakes you down?”

I want so badly to have a valid counterargument.

But she’s my sister. She’s been there, through everything, our entire lives.

And she’s right.

“This is why I never wanted to get married,” I rasp. “Exactly why.”

“How dare you catch feelings for an insanely beautiful woman who’s about to give birth to who will obviously be your insanely beautiful daughter? How could you? The audacity!”

Gritting my teeth, I roll my desk chair over to the wet bar and pull out supplies. Maybe, if I drink myself into oblivion, I’ll be able to actually get a good night’s sleep for once. Not that I haven’t tried that for multiple nights running.

Insanity, chirps an annoying voice in my head. The textbook definition.

“I’m not the only one who wants her,” I croak aloud. “Or did you forget that?”

Sofi scoffs. “I’m not the one with a bad memory here, bud. Half the male population wants Daphne. You’re the one forgetting essential shit, like how she chose you over all of them.”

“Did she now?”

“I know you’re not referring to Ewing.”

“Maybe I am.” I pour her a shot of vermouth. I pour myself a shot of… basically everything. “What of it?”

“Are you blind, concussed, or just plain stupid? That man is a predator. What you saw in the hallway has to be at least his third try at assaulting her. Assault, Pasha.” She accepts the glass when I give it to her, but her glare remains just as sullen. “Even you know the difference.”

I sigh and rub my temples. “I know. I know. I fucking know—and I still can’t get over how enraged I was when I found them like that.” I sigh and knock back the burning shot of fuck-all. “Every time I think about it, I just…” My fist clenches on the desk.

“So stop thinking about it. You’ve got plenty of real shit on your plate that needs your attention.”

She’s right. I know she’s right. “We’ve got one hell of a road ahead cleaning up Hamish’s mess if we’re going to get that contract⁠—”

“I’m not talking about the damned contract, goddammit!”

Sofi’s hand slaps down on my desk and actually manages to make me jump back in surprise.

She balls that same hand into a fist, then points her finger in my face. “No one can lead their company or their Bratva if their house isn’t in order. And right now, your house is a complete mess. Clean it up. Fix it.”

“What do you want me to do?”

“For starters, stop running. Stop hiding.” She looks me over, disdain growing on her face. “Stop lying.”

“Lying?”

I don’t know what she’s talking about… but something in my gut already stings at the accusation.

“You told Daphne you’d be there for everything. For every moment. Through every hardship.” She sighs and gives me that look again. “First sign of trouble, you tucked tail and ran.”

That painful feeling spreads. I think some people call this guilt. I despise it. “I didn’t⁠—”

“Yeah, you fucking did. Call it whatever you want; nothing changes what it is.”

I don’t have anything to say in my own defense. I’m not sure there’s anything that can be said to justify the fact that I’d rather sleep on a futon than next to the mother of my child. The woman I said I loved.

The woman I swore I’d never leave.

Sofiya shakes her head again and grabs her bag. It seems like there’s something more she wants to say, but she decides against it and sees herself out of my office with a haughty sniffle. Considering the work day isn’t completely done, she’ll probably go down to her own office and take care of a few things, giving me some time to think of something else I might need to pick her brain over.

Or, I can just take my licks and accept when I’m wrong.

No. That’s weakness. I am never wrong.

My thoughts instantly make me cringe. I’m so used to thinking like that, acting like that, that it’s difficult to put my finger on what’s so wrong with always being right.

Unless it’s tied to my cowardice. Because Sofi’s right—I tucked my tail firmly between my legs and ran from my problems. From Daphne.

Just like good ol’ Father of the Year, Kostya Chekhov.

He was never wrong. He was the highest point of power and no one dared challenge him.

When they did, he beat the shit out of them.

Never in a million years will I ever lift my hand against Daphne. Or our daughter. Or any woman, for that matter, even if their name is Brittany Cleary and they’re trying to fuck up everything that’s good in my life.

So why the hell am I hiding?

Why am I allowing myself to act like my father?

I let my head hang until my forehead thumps against the desk. I don’t know how long I stay here like that; it’s cathartic to just be in the dark and the silence for a little while.

I’m going to fix this.

Because I love her.

I fucking love her.

No one can steal that from me. Not her parents, not her abandoned name, not some wannabe artist or his psycho pseudo-fiancée.

I shove my chair back, grab my things, and jog to the door, head whirling. On my way home, I’ll grab a bouquet of flowers. Maybe some jewelry. I’m not a man accustomed to apologizing, but I have to start somewhere.

I’m going to fix this.

We’re going to be just fine.

I take a deep breath as I ride the whyisitsofuckingslow elevator down to the main floor. “C’mon, you son of a bitch, go faster, go⁠—”

The doors open to a swarm of police filling the lobby.

Guns point at me from every direction. Voices shout at me to get down, put my hands in the air, drop whatever I’m carrying. The building officers at the security desk look completely shocked.

As am I.

So much so that I almost forget about the safety alarm button programmed in my key fob.

Without a word, I slowly raise my hands with a nod of confirmation so they know I’m not armed, I’m not going to pull any swift moves against them, I understand the orders. My coat is slung over one arm and my keys were already clutched in my hand before the elevator opened, so I have to do whatever it takes to not get accidentally shot.

I keep my hands open, only holding the keys to my palm with my thumb. They need to see it’s not a gun.

They won’t see that I’ve pressed the button to alert Mak and Sofi about their presence.

A man in an untailored business suit steps forward with a pair of cuffs in his hand. “Pasha Chekhov, you’re under arrest for violations in arms trafficking, racketeering, and money laundering. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law…”

My keys and coat are taken from me. My arms are yanked behind my back and cuffed and they haul me outside to a waiting squad car.

I maintain my silence, even as they taunt and threaten and try to goad me into speaking. By the time we get to the station, my phone will be completely wiped. Mak and Sofi are already gathering our legal team and preparing to meet me there.

“We’ve had our eyes on you for a while,” one of the officers remarks as we pull away from the building. “This should be interesting.”

It should be fast, too. I don’t care what dirt they think they have—it won’t be enough to hold me.

I have to get home to Daphne.