Page 38 of Paid for By the Bratva

“Not a golf club,” he laughs. “I run a chain of gentleman’s clubs owned by Nikolai. Interested in joining me?”

“La Fantasia?” I gasp, recognizing the notorious chain my brothers frequent.

“La Fantasia is famous, but Nikolai manages that. I’m referring to Travantina,” he clarifies.

“How many do you own?” I lean in, intrigued.

“Over two hundred fifty worldwide,” he replies, deadpan.

“Two hundred and fifty clubs?” I gasp.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” he grins, standing up.

I want to decline, not wanting him to mistake my agreement for forgiveness. Yet, a part of me is drawn to the idea.

Knowing Dima, he’s probably taking me out like he used to when we first got married. He remembers how much I used to enjoy exploring the party scene in Philadelphia, and this could be his way of showing me he cares about what I want.

How can I take away his right to want to make amends?

Besides, this might be just what I need to distract myself from…everything else. This could be the perfect opportunity for me to clear my head and move past the idea of being claimed by him. Keeping busy stops my mind from working in overdrive.

"Okay," I say hesitantly at last, curious but also wary of what he has in mind.

"Great," he responds with a small smile. "Finish your breakfast, and we'll get going."

***

The heavy door to the gentleman's club swings open, and I step inside the expensive-looking property, expecting a lively atmosphere full of music, laughter, and drinks being passed around. Instead, the room is dimly lit and almost eerily quiet—a far cry from the vibrant scene I had pictured in my head.

"Is it always like this during the day?" I ask Dima, who walks beside me.

"Most of our clients come here at night," he explains, guiding me through the empty space filled with velvet couches. "It's when the real action happens. La Fantasia though, is quite bustling in the day since members tend to hold meetings, clandestine lunches with their mistresses and the sorts."

In the corner, I notice a stage with state-of-the-art brass instruments. On the other end, a floor to roof bar display made entirely of crystal. It’s gorgeous, and I can imagine it being exquisite at night.

But if the place is empty at this hour, I can't help but wonder why he brought me here now, instead of waiting untillater when the club would be in full swing. What exactly does he have in store for me?

I thought we were here to let loose.

"Come on," Dima says, taking my hand and leading me toward a door marked 'Private’. "I want to show you something."

Curiosity piqued, I follow him into a small office filled with neatly organized papers and filing cabinets.

"This is where I handle the club's operations and finances," he informs me, gesturing to the various documents spread across his desk. "I'm not just some nepotistic posting for the Orlovs—I'm responsible for making sure everything runs smoothly here and at the fifty other chains we have for Travantina across the world."

As he speaks, I find myself becoming increasingly impressed by the level of dedication and knowledge he displays. He goes into every detail, hiding nothing from the operations to the finances. He speaks to me like he wants to impress me, and that observation is accurate when he turns to me and asks what I think.

"Wow," I murmur, looking over the detailed ledgers and spreadsheets. "I had no idea you were so involved in the business. I thought you’d have others to overlook different departments."

"Most people don't," he admits with a slight grin. "But it's something I take pride in. I overlook those meant to overlook, if that makes sense. Anything that goes wrong would be my responsibility now, won’t it?”

I look up in surprise at how serious he looks. In this instant, something becomes glaringly obvious. Dima holds himself responsible for the smallest of small and the biggest ofbig. He’s the kind of man who won’t shy from it, and I realize now why he is the way he is at home.

Memories rush by of all the sweet things he did for me after we got married, to ensure I’m as happy as can be. He’s the kind of man who views me as his responsibility, and in all honesty, he never failed me.

My anger subsides just a little. It’s a tough thing for a man to be perfect. And while Dima is far from it, in some ways, he’s too perfect.

He’s a paradox, as is our relationship.

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