Page 18 of Plus-Size Curves for the Bratva

The reality of who he truly is crashes over me like a tidal wave. The man before me—bloodied, dangerous, a killer—how can he be the same person who made me feel so cherished, so seen?

Denis is still talking to Abram, something about how he made sure they left no trace. Something abouta body being thrown in the Hudson.

My instincts scream at me to run, to get as far away from this man as possible.

I turn on my heel, moving with a speed I didn't know I possessed. My heart pounds a frantic rhythm as I flee the office, my footsteps echoing in the quiet corridors. Tears blur my vision, but I blink them away furiously.

"How could I have been so blind?" I whisper to myself, the words catching in my throat. The memory of his thoughtful gestures, the workroom he created just for me, clashes violently with the reality of what I've just learned.

The image of Denis bloodied and disheveled flashes through my mind. I shudder, entering my room and shutting my door behind me, before falling into my bed.

He’s not who I thought he was. He’s just like my brothers. Dangerous, a murderer.

And yet, I remember the gentleness in his eyes when he looks at me. The way his large hand feels when it rests on the small of my back, protective and warm.

Stop it, Natalia,I scold myself.You can't justify this. He’s the same as all the men in your life. He’s only better at pretending to be someone else. At masking it.

Chapter 8 - Denis

I sit in the shadows of my office, the dim light casting long shadows across my desk. My eyes are fixed on the spot where Natalia stood, her horrified expression seared into my memory. She heard everything Abram had to say.

"Fuck," I mutter, running a hand through my hair. The duality of my existence weighs heavily on me. On one side, there's the violence, the power, the responsibilities that come with being the Bratva. On the other, there's Natalia—all softness and light, with her infectious laugh and mischievous brown eyes.

I can still see her face, the way it crumpled when she overheard Abram's congratulations, the way she backed away from me as if I were a monster.

Maybe I am.

My fist clenches on the desk. "I never wanted her to see that side of me," I growl to the empty room. But isn't that who I am? Isn’t it a part of her world, too?

I stand abruptly, heading to her room. I knock. Once, twice, no response.

"She's avoiding me," I realize. I can see the lights are on from under her door.

I try one more time. “Natalia? Are you hungry?”

No reply.

Perhaps, for now, she needs some time to process what she heard. With a heavy heart, I walk away to eat a lonesome dinner by myself. I hardly get a few bites in, though. I’ve lost my appetite because she’s not sitting opposite me. I've grown accustomed to her presence, her playful banter, and the way she lights up a room with her smile.

My jaw clenches as frustration builds. I don't understand. Doesn't she know I would never hurt her? That everything I do, I do to keep her safe?

That night, I toss and turn in bed. My mind plays like a seesaw, and not one side comes out as the victor. On one hand, I know how it all came across. I understand her fear.

But a small part of me defends myself. What I can’t fathom is her inability to understand that my actions are vital for keeping my family safe. For keeping her safe.

Haven’t her brothers done the same? Hasn’t she seen what happens if we don’t act fast and swiftly? How a small battle can turn into a furious war that can get us all killed if we leave a single stone unturned?

This violence I unleash is to protect my family. Why can’t she see that?

A plan begins to form in my mind. I'll show her the other side of my world—not just the violence, but the protection, the loyalty, and the opportunities I can provide to many in need. I'll prove to her that there's more to me than the monster she glimpsed.

***

I watch Natalia walk into the drawing room.

“Good morning,” I say, gently.

Even from here, I can see the tension in her shoulders, the way her eyes dart nervously toward me. She gives me a brief nod, no words, and walks past to her workroom. Her curvy figure disappears from view, and I feel a pang of longing. I miss her warmth, her laughter, the way she'd very occasionally, playfully swat at my arm when I teased her.

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