31. Daphne
31
Karma is a bitch.
Karma, in my experience, is also a hot-tempered, overprotective Bratva boss named Pasha Chekhov.
“They’re still alive?!”
“Because I want them alive!” I press my hands to his chest in an attempt to calm him down. A feeble attempt, but worth a try. “Pasha. Baby. Look at me.”
He does. He’s still pissed all to hell, having just been filled in on the details when he arrived to pick me up from work. I didn’t call or text him earlier because I wanted to make sure I got everything ironed out with Sofi and Aubrey first.
I did this because I trust him.
I trust him—and I want him to see that he can trust me to make the right decisions, too.
“They fucked you over, Daphne.” He’s seething. It’s hot. “They fucked you over, sold you out, and didn’t give a damn about who did what to you. Why should I give a damn about their lives? Huh? Explain that to me!”
Thank God the gallery is closed. His furious voice booms through the main hall and reverberates through the open rafters.
Again—it’s hot.
Fuck. I might have issues.
“I will, my love. If you’ll give me just, like, maybe two seconds?”
Pasha sucks in another angry breath. But he holds it and waits for me to explain.
“Sofi gave the order to take care of them. I’m the one who told her not to. Because?—”
“Daphne, I love you, and I love your soft heart. This time, it’s too soft?—”
“Two seconds!”
Another breath. Another fuming pause.
But he stays quiet.
“Thank you.” I smile up at him. “I told her not to for many reasons. One, the feds are up your ass and are just waiting for a reason to pounce. I think my terrible former bosses suddenly going missing is what they call ‘probable cause’?”
He’s still glaring. But his jaw unclenches.
“Two, it’s messy. Feds or no feds, it’s just a messy, ugly way to take care of civilians whose ultimate crime is just being… well, fucking stupid.”
A teensy-tiny spark of humor glints in his eye.
“But ultimately, my love? My darling? My sexy, dangerous, hot-as-hell husband?” I entwine my arms around his neck and press myself into him. He’s not going to admit it out loud, but he’s enjoying this as much as I am. I can feel the evidence pressing into my stomach. “Death is too quick for them. It’s too… too easy. How can I make them suffer if they get a swift exit from the show?”
His brow pops up.
He was not expecting that.
Neither was I. At first. Initially, I balked at the idea of anyone being killed over my sake. Or at all.
But the more I thought about it—and I had a whole afternoon brooding in my new leather throne of an office chair over it—the more I felt this sense of… justice. Vengeance. Something darker bubbling up inside me that beamed at the prospect of truly making my enemies suffer their own consequences.
“So, I spoke with Aubrey, and we came up with a plan.”
“A plan.”
“Yes. A plan.” Deep breath. “I don’t want them dead, Pasha. I want them destroyed.”
His hands slip around my waist. There’s no hiding the low, sexy growl that just rumbled in his throat. “Go on.”
“First, they tapped into a private system they have no legal rights to. Sofiya is having her tech team sweep for evidence and gathering everything. Logs, timestamps, the works. That’s a lawsuit all on its own, pending criminal charges.”
He’s interested. Curious, even.
“Hazel is pulling together witness statements and testimonies, camera feeds, any and all records verifying their complicity in sexual harassment and assault against me. Conrad’s the one who did all of that, but he was aided and abetted by their feeding him the information to find me, so… that’s another criminal charge, if not hefty civil lawsuit.”
A smirk tugs at his lips. “You sound like there’s more.”
“Oh, there is. On top of their support of a sexual predator, they’re guilty of grossly inappropriate workplace conduct. Hazel’s already been in touch with the state workforce development office to verify the best next steps and proper channels. Timeclock theft, rights violations, harassment… I could keep going, but you get the idea. We also have testimony from a few artists who witnessed said conduct and they’re more than happy to cooperate.”
Pasha’s walking me backward until I feel the wall pressing to me. “Keep going.”
Oh, he is turned on.
“I… uh…” Focus, woman! Show him the badass boss you are! It’s just a little hard to lock in on relating my plans when he’s working his thigh between my legs.
And nuzzling my neck.
And lightly kissing the tattoo of his name still healing over.
“Basically, by the time I’m done with them, they’ll have nothing. They’ll be nothing. The only things they’ll own are the clothes on their back. The only income they’ll have is whatever they panhandle on the street corner. If they’re not in prison, that is.”
“Do you want them to go to prison?” He follows the question with a scrape of his teeth over my earlobe.
I shiver. Try to think it over so I can give him an honest answer.
“Maybe. I mean, there’s no telling what will happen, right? Who knows who they’ll piss off in there?”
He chuckles. It’s dark and full of promise that something absolutely will happen to them on the inside.
“But…”
Pasha pulls back to look at me. “But?”
“I just think… maybe it’s better if they’re not in prison.”
He frowns.
“Well, just because… it’s harder to make them see who did it to them when their view is blocked by steel bars, you know?”
My next breath is stolen by his hungry kiss. His tongue sweeps over mine and tangles with me the same way his fingers tangle in my hair.
He might actually take me right here. In the lobby.
I might actually let him.
“Has anyone ever told you how fucking sexy you are?” Pasha nips my bottom lip before devouring me again. “A goddamn queen. My queen.”
“You’re the first to see me this way.” I cup his face in my hands. “Truly. I’m not… I’ve never been like this before. I’ve never had the courage. You gave me the courage.”
“I’m about to give you something else once you show me where your new office is.”
He’s dead serious.
And I want him to be.
I own the place. I should get to ride my husband in my office whenever the hell I want.
Taty babbles and blows bubbles in my face, but I don’t care. I love my baby, and I love nuzzling my baby. Drool and all.
“Dammit.” Pasha grumbles under his breath, switching to Russian for the juicier words. Whatever he’s reading on his phone screen is not good news.
“Everything okay?”
“It will be.” He sighs and shoves his phone back into his pocket. “Sorry, moya zhena. I have to go to the range and fix this shitshow with a client.”
I lay Taty back down in the kitchen bassinet. “I hope it’s nothing serious.”
Which is code for, What is the likelihood you’ll get shot?
He offers me a lopsided smile. “Depends on how serious you consider customer service to be. It’s just some client complaining about a wrong shipment. Wants to speak to the manager, that whole bit.”
“Better arrive armed, then. I’ve been in some of those lines. People get intense.”
My little joke does what I need it to do: ease the tension by making him chuckle. He’s been so attentive to us since the birth and wedding, delegating Bratva business to Sofi and their men, that this is the first significant call in to work we’ve had as a married couple.
Pasha pulls me close and kisses my brow. “I’ll be back before you know it. Maybe with some of that ice cream you’ve been talking about.”
“The triple chocolate volcano overload custard?” I grab a dish towel and whip it at his ass. “Get going! Go do your boss thing! Mama needs her chocolate!”
He laughs, and kisses Taty’s cheek before ducking out.
It’s harder than I would’ve expected to hear that front door shut behind him. I’ve never really processed the reality that any one of these departures could be his last…
Until now.
No. He’s too good, too strong, too clever for that. He wouldn’t be the man in charge if he wasn’t the best.
And now, to keep repeating that in my mind for the rest of the evening…
“Alright, Tatty-Matty-Patty, what should we make for dinner?” As if on cue, I hear rustling coming from Pasha’s office and feel myself smile. “And am I cooking for three?”
Lev’s voice calls back, “I’ll never turn down your food, Mrs. Chekhov!”
“For the last time, it’s Daphne!”
“As you wish, Mrs. Chekhov!”
I keep telling him, and my other guards, to just treat me like a normal human being—but they insist on acting like I’m some matriarch or queen or I don’t know. Someone they’re not allowed to be informal with.
I also have a suspicion that Pasha prefers to hear my new married name just to stroke his ego.
“How does pad thai sound?” I tickle Taty’s tummy on my way to the fridge. “I grabbed a few of those kits from the store. I’m not quite at ‘from scratch’ level yet, but these look amazing.”
I’ve got the packs on the counter and I’m reading the cooking instructions when I hear the doorbell ring. Being an apartment building, whoever it is must be waiting downstairs in the lobby.
“Lev?” I call out to him to ask if he’d grab that for me. “Could you?—”
“Package,” he confirms with a small wave of his phone as he walks by the kitchen entryway. “I’ll be right back.”
“Thanks. I’m making pad thai, by the way.”
He gives me a funny look. “I don’t know if I’ve ever had that before.”
“Prepare to have your tastebuds rocked.”
He chuckles and continues to leave for package retrieval when I remember something important.
“Hey, Lev? If it’s from my parents, please just toss it. Or give whatever it is to someone who could use it. I don’t want whatever they’re trying to send.”
“You got it. And lock the door behind me, yeah? Just in case.”
I frown. “Do you think they’d try to get up here?”
Lev shakes his head again, this time dead serious. “There’s no telling what crazy people will do. Better to be safe than sorry.”
I wipe my hands on the dish towel and follow him to the door. He has a point.
With Lev gone and the door locked, I return to my pseudo-cooking in the kitchen. It seems easy enough. Just add some sesame oil to a pan, add the noodles and sauce, let it cook for four minutes…
Someone knocks at the door.
Strange. Lev hasn’t been gone long enough to go all the way down, sign for a package, figure out what it is, and get back up here to the penthouse.
But he’s also not the only guard on duty. Viktor and Dominik have been rotating shifts outside to keep an eye on the feds and their movements.
Shit. I forgot about them. I need to see if they’re going to eat with us, too. I go to open the door.
“Hey, I was just gonna ask?—”
Fear grips my throat. Chokes the breath from me.
Because standing there in the doorway, grinning ear to ear, is the last person I want to see.
“Hey, baby.” Conrad tilts his head to one side. “We need to talk.”