Sinful Blaze (Chekhov Bratva Book 1)
Chapter 66

Dominik glances at me in the rearview mirror for the fifth time since we pulled out of the garage. “You sure you wanna do this?”

“Yes. No. I mean…” I sigh and slump in my seat. “I have to do this. I have no choice.”

“You could always just call them. Text. Keep that safe distance.”

I appreciate his attempts to help. I really do. I know I look like a stressed-out mess of a woman, and battling these pregnancy hormones doesn’t help.

But I mean it when I say it—I have to do this.

I have to confront my parents and cut the cords once and for all.

Pasha is going to be gone for the weekend on some last-minute trip that came up. He seemed weirdly uncertain about it when he told me. But he did bring me cannolis for breakfast. So I forgave him mid-bite and told him to have a safe flight.

I don’t know when or how the idea to confront my parents while he’s gone came up. Maybe it was that I needed to replace something to do that wasn’t nesting-related. An excuse to get out of the house.

But whatever the cause, here I am, nervously fiddling with my phone while Dominik does his best to reassure me.

“Are you sure you want me to wait before I contact Ms. Chekhov?”

I nod. “I know they worry, but Sofi and Mak need to stay out of this. I can handle it.”

“As you wish, ma’am.”

When we arrive at the restaurant, Dominik hops out of the car to hold my door open for me. I have to admit, I do need the extra help. Baby Chekhov is making sitting down and standing up increasingly difficult.

But instead of driving away to park, Dominik tosses his keys to the valet and offers me his arm. “I’ll be nearby if you need me.”

“Dom…”

“With respect, Ms. Covington—and believe me, I have a shit ton of respect for you—you’ll be able to handle The Boss no matter what happens in there. But me? He’ll have my nuts in a blender if I let anything happen to you.”

I have to stifle my laugh to keep from making a scene. “Fair.”

We reach the glass double doors, but Dominik pauses.

“Everything okay?” I ask.

He turns to look at me. “I didn’t have the greatest parents growing up, either. Dad was a drunk, and my mother… she let him walk all over us.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“It’s in the past. I’m just mentioning it now because it might be good for you to know you’re not alone. Physically or emotionally.”

Warmth touches my heart, and I smile at him. “Thanks, Dom. I really appreciate you.”

He shrugs it off with a tiny smile. “Yeah, well… anyway. You go in there, and you remind them who you are now.”

At that, I scoff. “I’m still figuring that out.”

And once I cut them off forever, I’ll be picking up the pieces of my identity for… ever, probably.

“Bullshit.” He smirks at my shocked face. “You’re Pasha Chekhov’s woman. If he’s the king of the underworld, you’re his queen. Don’t let them forget it.” He nudges me forward as he pulls a door open. “Don’t you forget it, either.”

It’s impossible to not hold my head up high after that pep talk. True to his word, Dominik takes a spot in a far corner of the restaurant bar to give me space to handle my business.

If only my parents could give me space, too. They descend on me like vultures the second we make eye contact across the room.

Dammit. I was hoping they’d be late. Stuck in traffic, emergency colonoscopy. Something to give me a bit more time to prepare for the ugliness to come.

“Is this really the best you can do?” Stewart curls his nose with disdain at our surroundings. “Really, Daphne. We raised you to have better tastes than this.”

I gesture to the table they just rudely vacated. “If you don’t like what’s on the menu, you’re welcome to take us somewhere else. But you’re paying.”

That shuts him up. He hasn’t been forthcoming about their financial situation, but I can tell by the wear in his suit that a lot of corners need to be cut if they’re going to maintain some semblance of their former life.

“If your sense of style was as sharp as your tongue, we’d all be in a much better situation.” Ophelia plucks at my dress until I smack her hands away.

“Mom. Dad. Please.” I take a deep breath. Do not lose your shit in public. Do not lose your shit in public. “Let’s just sit down and order an appetizer. If you want drinks, that’s fine by me. Get whatever you want.”

Ophelia sniffles and snaps her napkin into place on her lap. “What we want, dear Daphne, is an apology for your abhorrent behavior the other day.”

“My abhorrent…?” Again, I suck in a deep breath. Stress is not good for the baby. “Fine. I’m sorry.”

“For…?”

I grab a menu and slap it open. “Do you guys want cheese curds? I could go for some cheese curds.”

Ophelia opens her mouth to say what I know for a fact is an insult regarding my baby weight. I brace myself… but before she launches her venom, she suddenly shuts her mouth again.

I replace out why a second later…

When Conrad slides into the seat next to me.

“Sorry I’m late,” he says to my parents. His stupid, cheeky, lopsided smile widens when he sees me. “I got stuck in traffic.”

“Oh, don’t worry about a thing!” Ophelia reaches across the table to squeeze his hand. His left hand, specifically. His right one stays tucked beneath the table. “We’re so happy you could make it.”

I stare daggers at her. “What. The actual. Fuck?!”

“Language!” Stewart snaps.

“No. No. I’m going to say what I want to say, how I want to say it. I invited you to lunch. You had no right inviting anyone else.”

Conrad chuckles and pats my thigh. “Somebody’s hangry.”

Everyone joins in on his stupid joke.

Meanwhile, I’m fucking fuming.

“Get your hand off me,” I grind out through gritted teeth. I can’t even look at him, I’m so pissed.

Instead of doing what I ask, Conrad just smiles and gives my knee a squeeze.

“I said, get the fuck off me.” I’m trying to keep my voice low so we don’t draw attention, but he’s making it damn near impossible.

Stewart frowns at me. “Come now, Daphne. There’s no excuse for being rude. It’s certainly no way to treat your fiancé.”

My…

My what?!

“Oh! Speaking of…” Ophelia claps her hands together excitedly. “I have great news! I spoke with the president of the Rochester Club and he said they’d be open to hosting your ceremony on their grounds next spring! I already paid the reservation fee, so all you have to do is⁠—”

“Excuse me?!”

Now, we’re drawing attention. But I don’t care. I’m so beyond caring at this point.

“Have you lost your goddamn minds?” I look between my parents. “Are you high? Seriously, I’m asking as a literal health question.”

“I’ve had about enough of your insolence, young lady!”

“And I told you we’re done! Conrad and I are not getting married!”

Stewart leans forward and drops his voice to a low hiss. “You will do as I damn well tell you! We’ve worked too hard for too long, cleaning up after your mess! You will sit there and act the part or God help me…”

My jaw is practically on the floor in disbelief. “You’re serious? You’re actually serious?” I place a hand on my giant baby belly. “Do you not see this? I’m pregnant.”

“A small technicality.” Ophelia waves it off like my unborn child is no more an obstacle to her plans than a fly. “I had a very good talk with Mrs. Ewing—your mother seems to be doing very well, by the way, Conrad.”

Conrad still has that stupid grin on his face. “She is! She was so happy to have tea with you. I’m supposed to let you know she and the other ladies have a brunch scheduled for next Sunday…”

His voice drifts off into nothingness in my ears. I’m too focused on getting myself out of here. I reach down and pry his hand off my leg, but he slaps it back down and squeezes harder.

His eyes slide to mine. His smile never flickers, but a shadow of warning passes through.

I stop fighting him. Not because I’ve given up, but because I’m genuinely worried he might do something crazy.

“You’ll need to start packing up your things, Daphne. We have movers on standby to help⁠—”

“I’m not going anywhere.” I cut off my father. “I’m very happy where I am, and who I’m with. Pasha is an excellent boyfriend and father; we’ve already made plans for the future that do not concern you.”

At this, Conrad’s grip on my thigh tightens painfully. If he doesn’t ease up, he’s going to leave bruises.

Something clicks in my brain.

He doesn’t get to mark me. I don’t belong to him. I don’t even want him near me.

Just then, I happen to catch Dominik’s reflection in one of the mirrors. He’s watching intently, quite literally on the edge of his seat waiting for my signal to jump in and save me.

Our eyes meet. And when he gives me that look, that silent reminder of our talk before we came in here, my idea solidifies into action.

Don’t let them forget who you are.

Fine. They’ll never forget this.

“FUUUUCCCKKKK!!!!”

Conrad’s scream brings a smile to my face. More than a smile—I feel a burst of laughter bubble up inside my chest that I have to swallow back down.

I yank the fork out of the back of his hand. He can’t cradle it with his ruined hand because that one is all but useless, so he swipes at me with his newly injured one. Poor guy is losing extremities like crazy.

I grab his arm, slam it down on the table, and stab his hand again.

Then I grab the nearest steak knife and hold it to his throat.

Servers who were rushing to help him stop dead in their tracks. Dominik watches like a hawk, but doesn’t move to intervene.

Yet.

“I am going to make this exceptionally clear,” I announce. I want the whole room to hear it so that when the police arrive, there’s no misunderstanding. “When I say, ‘Don’t touch me,’ I mean it. When I say we’re over, I mean it. When I tell you to get the fuck away from me, I really, really mean it. The next time you try to harass me, the next time you try to assault me, I won’t stop with your hand. Understood?”

Conrad sobs. He’s shaking with pain and fear.

“I said, Do you understand?” I yell in his face, emphasizing every syllable.

“Yes! Yes! I’m sorry! Fuck!”

I nod to Dominik. I think, by the way my parents stare at him, they know exactly who he is and what he’s capable of.

I lower the knife and set it back on the table. Conrad’s hand is bleeding—so, ever the civilized woman, I grab a cloth napkin and press it to his wounds.

Dominik helps me to my feet. I’m ready to leave—but first, one more thing.

“We’re done.” I level my glare at Ophelia and Stewart Hamish. “As of this moment, we will no longer be engaging in any form of contact unless it’s through my lawyers.”

“Your—”

I hold a hand up. “Enough. I don’t want to hear it. It is clear to me that not only do you not care about anyone but yourself, you don’t care about my safety or well-being. I cannot and will not allow you to endanger my child as well.”

There is so much more I want to say, but this is not the time or place to say it. I probably will never have the chance, but that’s fine. This will suffice.

“You know I have to report this to The Boss,” Dominik mutters to me once we’re out of the restaurant.

I nod and slide into the backseat. “Fine by me. I just wanna go home.”