Sinful Blaze (Chekhov Bratva Book 1)

I don’t know what else to do. I’ve tried everything.

I’ve tried calling him. Texting him. Video chat. Email. I even googled “carrier pigeon.”

Pasha wants nothing more to do with me.

Sofi’s been a listening ear, but she doesn’t know what Pasha is doing or why he’s ghosting me. Mak is the same; he even took me for a smoothie run just to help me get out of the house for a bit. Asya visits me every day to make sure I eat. I’m pretty sure if she didn’t, I wouldn’t be eating at all.

Thursday was the final straw that broke the camel’s back. I asked Viktor to drive me to the office, thinking that maybe it was time to face Pasha in person. We got there, he escorted me into the building, and we were stopped by security.

“Apologies, ma’am—you’re not cleared for entry.”

My heart dropped into my stomach. “Are you sure? I’m Daphne Covington. Pasha’s girlfriend.” I rested a hand on my swollen womb just for good measure.

The guard solemnly nodded. “I’m sure. I’m sorry, but we can’t let you through.”

Even Viktor didn’t like this turn. He scowled, stepped forward, and braced a hand on what I hope was his wallet in his back pocket. “Did you hear what she said?” At the guard’s nod, he glared even harder. “You recognize me, yes? So what’s the problem?”

The guard gestured at the computer. “The problem is, Miss Covington isn’t allowed to come in. I know who you are and I know that you’re one of Mr. Chekhov’s employees, but so am I. The best I can do is run this by the head of security when he comes in this afternoon. But right now, I’m sorry. Your name’s been removed from the approvals list.”

Viktor’s hand on my shoulder kept me from collapsing to the marble floor. I heard him mutter something in Russian under his breath as he turned us around and led me back to the car.

He didn’t say anything else. Not until we pulled up to an ice cream drive-thru and he ordered me my favorite Triple Chocolate Volcano sundae.

I don’t know if the fact that my guards are still flanking me every day is a sign that Pasha’s just thinking through things. Or if all four of them have decided to keep an eye on me because of my baby.

Either way, I’m grateful for their constant presence.

And I’m probably going to need at least one of them with me for my road trip.

“Are you sure you want to drive?” Melanie asks me over speakerphone. “It’s, like, five hours from here. That’s so long with your baby. And bladder.”

“I’m too far along to fly.” I sigh and toss another stack of folded tunic tops into the suitcase I have open on the bed. “I’ll take a lot of stops, I promise.”

“Do you have a backup plan? In case, you know, my niece decides to debut while you’re here?”

I feel a small smile tug at my face. “I’m sure we’ll be fine. Baby isn’t due for another two, three weeks tops, and I’m not planning on overstaying my welcome.”

Mel scoffs. “As if. You know you’re always welcome here. Unlimited.” Her voice softens. “I’m sorry things aren’t turning out the way you wanted, boo. You deserve so much better.”

“I’m hoping—praying—that this is just a hiccup, or a misunderstanding, or something.” I swallow hard before I choke up again. “It can’t be over just like that. He wouldn’t do that to me. Or our baby.”

I rest a comforting hand on my stomach, hoping my daughter can feel me here. She’s been nervous, kicking and rolling more since her father left.

Can she feel his absence?

Can she feel my pain?

“If he does, he’s an asshole. A dumb, stupid asshole.” Melanie sighs. “And he doesn’t deserve you. I mean, he never deserved you, but like… If that man lets a singular omission destroy everything between the two of you, take it as a win. He’s not worthy of your time or tears if he’s that delicate.”

I echo her sigh. I wish it was that easy. I wish I could shake this feeling that we’re not done—and even if we are, I can’t stop myself from loving him.

And even if I could, with our daughter coming into this world, I’ll never be truly separated from him.

I don’t know if I can handle seeing Pasha all the time and yet not be allowed to touch him. He promised he’d always be there for our daughter, through every first, every high and low. He won’t abandon her.

Then again, he also promised he’d be by my side no matter what.

“I’m leaving in a few minutes,” I tell my sister. “We’ll be there by tonight.”

“‘We’?”

“My driver and I. He’s going to get a hotel nearby, so you don’t have to worry about hosting him, too.”

“At this point, Daph, I don’t care what we have to do. We just want you to get here safe.”

“Thanks. I’ll keep you posted.”

I’ll be honest—I don’t really know what to pack. Clothes, obviously, and some toiletries. But do I need to bring more for a longer stay? Should I pack a few things for the baby?

Should I be planning for a longer arrangement? Maybe a more permanent one?

I toss in a few newborn onesies just for peace of mind. Then diapers, wipes, receiving blankets…

By the time I’m done, it looks like there’s more packed for my baby girl than for me.

I zip up the suitcase and heave it to the floor. Navigating my body when it’s the size of a blimp is a challenge, so I’m careful not to smash my toes or throw my back out.

Pasha would have carried this for me.

Tears sting my eyes at the thought, and I blink them back. I can’t let myself cry. Not right now.

Not when I need to leave.

I haven’t told Asya or the family that I’m leaving. I don’t know why. Maybe I’m afraid they’ll inform Pasha, and he’ll only come after me out of some misplaced panic instead of genuine desire to fix things between us.

Maybe I just don’t want anyone to try to stop me.

I do leave a note on the kitchen island for whoever finds it first. If they have any follow-up questions, they know how to text me.

I give the penthouse one more longing glance when I reach the front door. Sanity demands that I focus on this just being a temporary trip; I’m only going to visit my sister and her family as a mini-vacation before I officially become a mother.

Reality whispers that this might be the last time I call this place “home.”

Ivan meets me in the foyer downstairs. He’s one of Pasha’s dedicated drivers who typically chauffeurs him around town, but for some reason, he was available today. And yesterday, when I needed to make a grocery trip. From how it sounds, Pasha hasn’t left his office building this whole time.

He’s stubborn like that. I’d believe it.

“Do you have everything?” Ivan asks me before he opens the door to the parking garage.

I pause. How is it possible to have everything I need and yet feel like I’m leaving with nothing at all?

“I think so.”

He nods once and takes my suitcase. We don’t speak to each other on the way to the car, or when he helps me climb in. I take a deep breath, trying to steady my racing heart while he loads and arranges our luggage in the trunk.

“Traffic is fairly clear right now,” he says once he’s buckled in. “We should be on the highway in no time.”

“Has Pasha contacted you?”

I don’t know why I ask. Correction: I don’t know why I allow the small flicker of hope in my heart to ask.

Ivan meets my gaze in the rearview mirror. Then he slowly shakes his head. “I’m sorry.”

I nod and choke back a few tears that threaten to ruin what little makeup I put on for my arrival at Mel’s.

It’s like that on the hour, every hour, for the duration of the drive across state lines. I don’t even have to voice the question; our eyes meet when we stop for a stretch break and Ivan knows what I’m too afraid to ask.

And each time, he gives me the same little shake of his head.

By the time we’re only an hour away from Melanie’s house, I’m unable to hold back the tears.

It’s over.

We’re over.

Pasha should be home by now. Someone should have stopped by the penthouse and notified him of my absence.

If he cared, my phone would be blowing up with calls and texts from him.

But it’s been silent. Not a word from him.

Or from Mak, or Sofi, or Asya. Do they know? Are they done with me, too?

I try to avoid looking at Ivan, but I catch a glimpse of his face in that rearview mirror. I’m sobbing uncontrollably, trying my damned hardest to wipe away the tears that refuse to stop flowing.

He looks worried. Worried and frustrated. He keeps glancing at his phone, which hasn’t pinged for at least three hours.

When we’re half an hour away from our destination, Ivan pops an earpiece into his ear and taps the button. He mutters something in Russian. I’m at the point where sobbing almost hurts my head, so I try to calm myself with deep, hiccupping breaths.

Then Ivan freezes and glances at me in the mirror.

Something idiotic flickers to life inside me. “Pasha? Is it him?”

He shakes his head and returns to whatever conversation he’s having. It’s serious, and he grips the steering wheel tighter.

They’re telling him to get rid of me. I just know it.

Maybe not right now, but soon. He’ll drive me to some secluded spot and tell me to kick rocks. The Chekhovs are done with me. They never want to see me again.

Why should they? I’m only worth the weight of my unborn child.

Oh, God. Please don’t let them take my baby from me…

The horrifying thought sends me into a longer, deeper spiral of sobs and tears.

I’m barely aware of the car pulling into a driveway and coming to a stop. Somewhere in the distance, a familiar voice shouts my name.

The passenger door is yanked open, and I’m wrapped up in Melanie’s arms.

“I’ve got you,” she whispers into my hair. She reaches up to wipe the tears from my face. “You’re home, Daph. You’re safe. We’ve got you.”

I hear Jameson talking with Ivan, but I have no idea what about. I don’t care. I’m too tired, too worn, too drained.

“My hotel is only three blocks away,” Ivan says to me before I’m escorted inside. “Call me if you need anything. Your family has my number, too.”

Both Jameson and Melanie agree. They seem suspicious, but they have the good manners to thank him for getting me here safe and sound.

I’m only visiting. This is only temporary.

But when Ivan drives away, my heart sinks with the fear that the last lifeline to my hopes and dreams—to Pasha—is officially severed.