Page 10 of Plus-Size Bratva Bride

The flash of chips and the cacophony of slot machines faded into the background for all I could focus on was the red-faced man at the craps table, yelling obscenities at the dealer.

I frowned on noticing other patrons grab their chips and inch away from the table. This was bad for business.

I quickly strode over, first to check in on the dealer. “All okay, Mark?” I asked, worried for my colleague.

Mark nodded but I noticed the sweat on his forehead. “Yes, Ms. Burrows. Sir, there has been a problem. He lost all his chips and believes the table is rigged. He wants to play more, but he’s out of cash.”

I turned to the red-faced man, trying to maintain a professional demeanor despite the anger I felt toward him for causing such trouble on our premises.

He stepped closer, his hands fisting into balls. “Chips. You ought to give me more chips.”

His bloodshot eyes and the stench of whiskey on his breath told me everything I needed to know about why he was causing a scene.

"Sir, I understand you're upset, but I'm afraid I can't allow you to continue playing here at this time," I said, keeping my voice steady and professional. I smoothed down my pencil skirt, a habit when I was trying to maintain composure. I could already predict his next move. Every bet was his decision, but he’d take no responsibility. He’d call us thieves, accuse us of being greedy pigs.

To prevent that argument, I counter-argued in advance. "Perhaps we could get you a complimentary room for the night to rest?"

"Like hell, you will!" he roared, slamming his meaty fist on the blackjack table. The dealer flinched, and I instinctively stepped between them. "I'm not going anywhere until I win back what's mine!"

I took a deep breath to force my heart to slow. I'd dealt with difficult patrons before, but something about this man set me on edge. Still, I had a job to do. The Vadims trusted me to handle these situations, so that’s exactly what I would do.

"I'm sorry, but that's not possible," I replied, injecting a hint of steel into my tone. "You've exceeded your credit limit, and your behavior is disturbing other guests. Now, if you’d rather not stay the night, I'd be happy to escort you to the front desk where we can arrange transportation for you."

The man's face contorted with rage. "You think you can tell me what to do, you fat bitch?" he snarled, lurching forward.

I stood my ground, even as my stomach churned at his words.Don't let him see he's gotten to you, Pippa,I thought.You're better than this overgrown man-child.

"Sir, I'm going to have to insist you leave the premises immediately," I said, my voice sharp as a razor. "Security will be here any moment, and I'd hate for this to escalate further."

He leaned in close, his alcohol-laden breath hot on my face. "I'd like to see them try," he growled.

My heart pounded in my chest, but I refused to back down. I'd faced worse than this drunken bully, and I'd be damned if I let him intimidate me in my own casino. I raisedmy hand just slightly to my waist, subtly prepared to signal for security when a deep, commanding voice cut through the din.

"Is there a problem here?"

I didn't need to turn around to know who it was. Abe Ustinov's presence filled the boundaries of my consciousness, radiating authority. From the corner of my eye, I saw him step forward, his broad shoulders blocking my view of the aggressive player.

"This doesn't concern you," the drunk spat, but I noticed a flicker of uncertainty in his eyes.

Abe chuckled, the sound low and dangerous. "When you threaten my staff, it becomes my concern." He moved closer, towering over the man. "Now, you have two choices. Leave quietly, or I'll personally escort you out. And trust me, you won't enjoy that option because itcertainlywon’t end on a polite goodbye."

And then Abe put his hand inside his coat, as though motioning at a weapon.

I watched, torn between relief and irritation, as the player's bravado crumbled under Abe's intense gaze. Without another word, he turned and stumbled toward the exit.

Abe's eyes met mine, a smug smile playing on his lips. "Problem solved."

I clenched my jaw, fighting the urge to snap at him. "I had it under control," I said, my voice tight.

"Of course you did, Sweetheart," he replied, his tone patronizing. "But why handle it alone when I'm here to help?"

My cheeks burned with a mixture of anger and embarrassment. "I don't need your help, Abe. Not when it comes to my job!"

He raised an eyebrow, clearly amused by my frustration. "No need to thank me. Just doing my part to keep things running smoothly."

I bit back a scathing retort, aware of the curious glances from nearby patrons. As much as I wanted to tell Abe exactly where he could shove his help, I knew this wasn't the time or place. Instead, I forced a smile and said through gritted teeth. "If you'll excuse me, I have work to do."

I turned away, yet couldn't shake the conflicting emotions overpowering me. Part of me was grateful for Abe's intervention—the situation could have turned ugly fast. But a larger part bristled at his overbearing approach, at how easily he'd swooped in and taken control. It made me feel small, incompetent, and worst of all, it reminded me of the power imbalance between us.

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