Sinful Blaze (Chekhov Bratva Book 1)
Chapter 49

All in all, it’s a pretty wonderful day.

Until I start sorting through the mail that arrived at my office late in the afternoon and see a letter addressed to “Daphne Hamish.”

My stomach drops.

I recognize that handwriting.

Mom even wrote my name large enough that it takes up half the envelope. As if I need a giant sign to remind me of my birth name.

As if I could ever forget.

Can’t they just let this go? What is so hard about cutting their losses? I don’t realize I’m this close to bursting into tears until Melanie answers her phone.

“Hey, Daph! What’s up?”

Shit. I’m crying. There’s no “close to”; I’m legit sobbing.

“Daph…? You okay?”

“Why won’t they leave me alone?” I slap the table with the unopened letter. “Why is this so… so… so fucking hard for them to just leave me the hell alone?”

Honestly, that question applies to so many more people than just my parents. Conrad, Brittany, The Tweedles… why can’t they just take the very obvious hint and leave me alone?

Mel’s voice drops from worry to understanding. “The ‘rents still using your old name?”

“I hate it. I know I switched it to help them out, but now, I just… I hate it! I hate that stupid name and I hate the stupid people attached to it! I mean… Fuck, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”

“Nah, I get it. Believe you me, I had a very similar meltdown after they sent me a sympathy card addressed to ‘Melanie Hamish.’ For my wedding.”

“They didn’t even go to your wedding.”

“Nope, they did not. Not even for the cake.”

“I remember.” I sniff and feel a smile tug at my mouth. “Been craving tiramisu ever since.”

“You can have it at your wedding! Speaking of, how’s that tall drink of water you’re shacking up with?”

“Mel!” Now, I’m laughing. This is exactly why I called her. My little sister knows how to shift my mood on a dime. “He’s fine. He’s… he’s good. We’re good.”

“Does he know about your double life?”

I roll my eyes. “This is not a ‘double life.’ This is me trying to live my best life while shedding an old one I never asked for. I’m not outright lying to him.”

“But…?”

“But… he doesn’t know about the name change.”

Mel grows silent. Then: “Are you worried he’ll connect the dots?”

I hear the shame in her voice. I know what she’s asking. What she’s afraid I’ll say. “I’m not worried about him connecting me to you. I want him to know. Maybe it’s time I give him hell for what he did to my baby sister.”

It’s her turn to sniff through a laugh. “Thanks. Really, I’m not mad about it. I just don’t want to ruin things for you.”

“If he can’t handle the fact that you’re my sister, he doesn’t deserve me.”

I’m honestly kind of surprised to hear myself sound so resolute. Pasha can be overbearing and overprotective and just a force to be reckoned with.

But choosing between him and Melanie? Easy. Not even his magical dick can sway me from my loyalty to my sister.

“I love you, Daph. And if I’m hearing things right, so does he. You need to tell him.”

There’s too much in that statement to unwrap at the same time. I’m going to tackle the easiest part and completely ignore the terrifying one. “What am I supposed to tell him? ‘Hey, babe, I’m not who you think I am’?”

“Well, who does he think you are?”

I pause. “I… I don’t know. Ugh, you’re right. This is stupid.”

“Not stupid. Just complicated. And terrifying. But you should tell him.”

“I know.” I sigh. If I value what I have with Pasha—which I do—I need to tell him about my name change. And why.

At some point, I need to tell him how we’ve been connected long before that night at the auction.

I just don’t know how he’ll take it. None of my mental scenarios go well when I try to imagine the possibilities.

I pick up the letter and carry it to the stove. “By the way, your niece is dancing now.”

Mel squeals with glee and I can hear Jameson shout from the distance, asking what happened. “My widdle baby bean! Oh my gosh, I need to drive her to ballet class. Like, every session. I shall buy all the tutus.”

“First of all, she’s bigger than a bean now.” I laugh as I turn the gas light on. “Second of all, it’s going to be several years before she’s old enough for ballet. What if she decides she’s into something else? Like… skateboarding?”

“Auntie Mel will dress her up in all the baby tutus and pink slippers. Uncle Jamie will teach her how to skateboard. No one said she can’t do both.”

I love my sister. I love my brother-in-law, too.

I also love how beautiful the flames look as they climb up the letter in my hand.

“I’d point out that Pasha might have something to say about that, but I have a gut feeling that he’s going to want to teach her things even more dangerous.”

Like how to smash your enemies’ hands to rubble, perhaps.

My emotional rollercoaster has officially coasted to a stop. Mel continues to gush over her unborn niece, Jameson calls out his input from whichever room he happens to be in, and by the time Pasha comes home, all my stress is as gone as the ashes of that stupid letter.