Page 4 of The Bratva's Plus-Size Bride

“In need of a private show, Benedikt?” she asked, eyelashes heavy with the usual lust in her eyes.

Sighing, I shook my head and stood, brushing her off. “Nah, not tonight. I’m heading out.”

A brief flicker of disappointment moved across her face then, only for her to shrug with nonchalance. “Your loss.”

Given who frequented the place, I knew I’d never find a suitable wife in one of our clubs. While more dignified than many others in the city, it still wasn’t an ideal place to find loyalty amongst the lust and unbridled desires.

Not caring, I left the reserved section and started making my way through the club, suddenly aggravated by the loud music and flashing lights when my phone vibrated in my pocket. Fishing it out, I scanned the screen with a slight furrow of my brow.

It was a text from one of our bouncers citing someone was hoping to speak with one of us. Somewhat annoyed by the idea, I knew I was the last one at the club, and I would have to be the one to see them.

Letting out a scoff, I shoved my phone back in my pocket and made my way through the crowd until I reached the front, forgetting all about my escapades for the night as my interest faded with the bleak reality of likely never finding someone suitable.

But the moment I spotted a woman standing somewhat stiffly off to the side and dressed in attire that was far too neat and suitable for an office to be seen in any club, my brows lifted, and I found myself pausing to fully take her in.

There was no doubting her beauty as it struck me at once. She looked young yet sharp, with black hair reaching just beneath her chin that perfectly complemented her striking green eyes. Those full, healthy cheeks were lightly dusted with a faint blush, and everything about her seemed so perfectly feminine.

Even more intriguing, she had a small nose piercing that seemed to contrast the formality of her business casual attire. It caught my attention immediately, along with the black pencil skirt that hugged her full, plump curves and the professional blouse that offered a glimpse of her cleavage.

While I had no idea who she was or what she wanted, I found myself more intrigued than I could’ve anticipated.

Given her attire and the focus on her face, veiled by her slight discomfort of being in the club, I knew she had to be the one asking for me. Interest piqued, I didn’t mind the thought one bit. I admired a keen and ambitious working woman, after all.

Closing the space between us, I met her gaze with a cool air about me, offering her a nod of acknowledgment. “How can I help you?”

The woman brightened at my addressing her, followed by a flash of discomposure that amused me before she straightened herself out and cleared her throat. “I’m Gemma Tyler, and I’m a journalist for a local paper.”

I cocked a brow at that, realizing how fitting the profession seemed given her appearance and the unshakeable determination of a story-chaser in her eyes. “A journalist, hm?” I held a hand out for her with a slight grin, laced with a veiled tease. “I’m Benedikt Levov, but you can call me Ben. What can I do for you then, Miss Tyler?”

Blinking through the barely visible fluster, she pulled a curt smile and shook my hand. Gemma swallowed hard as she gestured with a folio she held once our connected hands released that brief contact. “I’ve written an article concerning your family, and I was hoping to get a word from you before it goes live. Do you have a moment?”

Interest completely captured then, noting how press could be a matter of making or breaking business and our reputation, I gave her a simple nod. “Sure. We’ll go somewhere quieter,” I suggested, gesturing for her to follow. “Come along, then.”

With another pressed smile, Gemma did exactly that, weaving through the crowd of aimless dancers, looking straight ahead when I glanced back at her to make sure she was still there. I couldn’t help but chuckle at how out of place she seemed, yet the very idea was endearing, somehow. I enjoyed watching the way her full hips and her voluptuous body moved with her every step as my imagination played with that idea.

Eventually, we slipped into a private room—one used for business whenever necessary. I pointed vaguely at the chair across from mine as I took my seat. “Go ahead. Make yourself at home.”

The eager journalist took her seat as she opened the folio and pulled out a printed copy of the apparent article before she slid it over to me. “Given the subject matter, I figured I’d give you and your family a chance to say your piece. To go over it before it’s released to the public.”

I gave her an absent nod as I picked it up. Scanning line by line, it didn’t take long for me to realize exactly why this meeting was important.

Clearer than anything else, her intel was damning. Cut and dry, it was the last thing my family needed to get out. Recent murders and disappearances were mentioned, all gone unchecked or not investigated as thoroughly as the public would appreciate. Our name, linked as an alleged cause, should not under any circumstances be anywhere near her story or its damaging claims.

While she was exactly correct, linking us to other names once buried or forgotten about—Carter, Ricci, Gusev, Capris, and even De Luca—there was no chance in hell I could allow her to follow through with it.

We had recently launched our newest cover-up, luxury Levov vodka, and for it to be both successful in concealing our true business in the city and supplementing our wealth to boot, there was no room for distrust among our patrons. If her article were to be published, public opinion of us would be swayed with a hard pivot. I couldn’t risk it.

Ari and Andrei would have my head if I let her slip between my fingers.

After a considerable stretch of silence, I let out a decided breath and placed the printout back onto the table, tapping it absently a few times for good measure. “Gemma, you said?”

With a blink back at me, the young woman nodded simply, awaiting my verdict and reception with anticipation in her seat.

“I’m going to lay it all out as frankly as I can, Gemma,” I began, maintaining that unwavering gaze with her. With a sigh, I pointed to the paper. “This article cannot, under any circumstances, come out. I cannot and will not allow the Levov name to be connected to that story. That being said, I’m going to present you with a choice.”

I watched as dread and unfettered shock flashed on Gemma’s features, surely not expecting that shift in tone from me.

Even if she resembled a terrified rabbit then, bracing herself for my next words, I couldn’t deny how everything about her pulled me in. How her striking beauty managed to have some sway in my decision.

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