Page 155 of Sinful Blaze

“‘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.

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