Page 191 of Sinful Blaze

“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.

---