Page 23 of Arranged to Marry the Bratva

The heavy oak doors of the gentlemen's club creak open, and I step into a lush world of crimson and gold. My gaze darts around the entryway, taking in the plush velvet sofas, marble floors, and ornate chandeliers casting a warm glow over everything.

Nikolai's hand settles on my lower back, guiding me forward and describing the place in detail, unlike the last time. "This is the reception area. We have private lounges, a cigar bar, card rooms, and other amenities for our patrons."

I nod, cataloging the layout and flow of the space. The club is deceptively large, with winding corridors leading to more lounges and entertainment options. I had no idea, since we never explored past the main bar and his office in the past.

As Nikolai introduces me to the staff, I ask questions about their roles and responsibilities. The managers seem surprised by my interest but answer readily enough. By the time Nikolai shows me the door to the common office, I have a decent grasp of what the club offers.

“I have some routine rounds to make,” he tells me. “Would you be okay on your own? I know you handle CSR budgets, and I think Aran here in accounting,” he playfully pats a young twenty-something-year-old’s back, “could use your help.”

“Yes, please,” groans poor Aran, already looking out of his element.

“Sure,” I smile at Nikolai sweetly. To my surprise, he leans over and gently kisses me on my cheek. As he does, I freeze. He does, too, realizing how strange this is.

“Sorry,” he whispers in my ear and then diverts his gaze, turning his back to me and walking off. For some reason, I’m sorry to see him leave.

Before long, I find myself immersed in the club's operations—reviewing financial statements, managing guest lists, and learning about the various revenue streams that keep this place running like a well-oiled machine. I'm surprised at how quickly I adapt to the rhythm of the business, and it isn't long before I'm able to contribute valuable input to the accounting team.

"Anoushka, can you confirm the numbers for last night's earnings?" Aran asks me, handing over a thick stack of papers.

"Of course," I say confidently, scanning the documents before giving them the approval they need. My newfound confidence surprises even me.

From the corner of my eye, I catch a glimpse of Nikolai speaking with a group of guests through the floor-to-ceiling glass windows overlooking the main club below. He moves between guests with a charming smile, laughing and clapping backs. But there's an edge to his cordiality, a subtle hardening of his gaze, that hints at the ruthlessness required to maintain control.

And damn, does he look good in control.

I wonder what it would take to make him lose it.

A heat spreads down my neck, and I avert my gaze, remembering where I am, focusing on how these thoughts planted in my head might just lead to trouble.

We’re married, and I can’t go falling for my husband. Said no one ever, but I.

"Everything seems to be in order," I announce, finishing my review of the documents. "You can submit these to Nikolai." The accountant gives me a grateful nod before focusing back on his work.

I take a moment to observe Nikolai from the window, watching as he expertly navigates the room. He smiles at a woman who flutters her eyelashes at him but moves back when she attempts to touch his arm.

Watching him work the room, I find myself impressed by his mastery of the delicate balance between charisma, intimidation, and boundaries. Nikolai is in his element here, and it shows in the way he carries himself. The usual tension in his shoulders has eased, and a boyish enthusiasm colors his features.

It's strange to think this is the man who has inspired fear and hatred in my family for so long. To me, he has only shown loyalty and care. I wonder which side of him is the truth and which is the mask he wears for the public.

***

After another hour of crunching some numbers, I feel the itch of boredom creeping up on me and decide to leave the confines of the office and explore the establishment further. The alluring hum of music and conversation draws me out into the dimly lit corridors.

The club is a maze of luxurious rooms, each one seemingly more opulent than the last. I peek through the open doors, carrying forward, not intruding where I might not be wanted. Even though I am exploring, I don’t want to be a hindrance to the operations here.

Just as I round a corner, I accidentally bump into someone. I immediately step back, embarrassment flooding my face. "I-I'm so sorry," I stammer, looking up at the man I've collided with.

He's tall and imposing, his eyes roaming over me with a predatory glint. A wicked grin spreads across his face, making my stomach churn with unease. "Well, well," he drawls, taking a step closer. "Aren't you a delightful little surprise?"

"Excuse me," I say politely, trying to sidestep him. But he moves in sync with me, blocking my path. My heart races as I realize I've never faced this type of situation before—alone and vulnerable. Especially in a place like this.

The alarm bells begin to ring in my head.

"Aren't you a pretty little thing?" he rasps, gripping my arm, his breath reeking of alcohol. His gaze rakes over me in a way that makes my stomach churn. "How much for an hour with you, sweetheart?"

"Y-you're mistaken," I insist, my voice loud and clear as I pull back from his grip. "I'm not… I don't work here."

"Of course you do," he chuckles darkly, reaching out to stroke a strand of hair from my face.

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