Page 29 of Plus-Size Curves for the Bratva

I hesitate, memories of Denis's heated glances and that one,mind-shattering kiss flashing through my mind. "Oh, you know," I say lightly, "just the usual schmoozing and champagne."

Sofia narrows her eyes, clearly not buying it. "Spill, little sister. What aren't you telling me?"

I bite my lip, debating how much to reveal. Sofia has always been the tougher one, the sister who seemed to adapt effortlessly to this world. Taking a deep breath, I decide to be honest.

"Sofia, how do you… handle all of this?" I gesture vaguely around us. "The Bratva life, the secrets, being married to Vladimir… all of it?"

Sofia's playful expression softens. She reaches out, taking my hand. "Oh, Natalia. It's not easy, is it?"

I shake my head, feeling tears prick in my eyes.

"Look," Sofia says, her voice gentle but firm. "We were born into this world. It's in our blood, whether we like it or not. I handle it because I have to. Because there's no way I'm leaving our family to face the dangers alone."

"But the violence, the illegal activities…" I trail off, thinking of Denis rushing off to 'handle a problem.'

Sofia's grip on my hand tightens. "I know it seems black and white, but it's not. There are far worse Bratva groups out there, Natalia. Groups that would do unspeakable things if left unchecked. In a way, it's up to families like ours to keep them in line."

I blink, surprised by this perspective. "You really believe that?"

"I do," Sofia nods. "It doesn't make everything right, but it helps me sleep at night. Like this one time, we learned of a group that was involved in supplying weapons to terrorists who planned to blow up a mall. If Vladimir hadn’t stepped in then…”

The more I listen to my brave, incredible sister show me our world in a fresh light, the more I find my walls weaken.

As Sofia leaves that evening after an early dinner, her words echo in my mind. I find myself pacing, glancing at the clock every few minutes. Denis still hasn't returned. Despite everything, worry gnaws at my stomach. What if something happened to him? What if he's hurt?

I collapse onto the bed, burying my face in my hands. How did I go from seeing Denis as the enemy to… this? Whatever this feeling is, it terrifies me. Because deep down, I know Sofia's right. This world, for better or worse, is a part of me, too. I was born in it, and I can’t just abandon the people who put their lives at stake to keep me safe. Including Denis.

Chapter 12 - Denis

I stumble through the front door, my body a lead weight near-dragging me to the floor. The world tilts and sways, fever burning through my veins. One thought pierces the fog clouding my mind: Natalia.

Leaning heavily against the wall, I close my eyes and try to steady my ragged breathing. The cool surface is a balm against my flushed skin. I should go to her. No, I can't let her see me like this. It will only make her afraid of me. She’ll put those walls back straight up and I can’t afford to let that happen after how I left her, breathless and panting for more.

She was the only reason I tried to put an end to this mess as fast as I could. I fought harder than I should have, only to come back to her. It’s been two nights away now, and I fear she might have questions I don’t want to answer.

The battle rages in my head as I picture her face in front of mine, her gentle hands reaching out…

I shake my head, immediately regretting the motion as pain lances through my skull. "Dammit," I mutter, running a hand over my face. My fingers come away sticky with blood. Great.

The logical part of my brain screams at me to retreat to my room, to hide the violence I’ve wrought. I should wash up, change my clothes, and get some rest. But god, how I wish I could seek the comfort of her arms instead. When did I become so pathetically obsessed?

I push off the wall, swaying slightly. "Get it together, Zolotov," I growl to myself. A few deep breaths, and I manage to take a shaky step forward. Then another.

My body screams in protest, but I grit my teeth against the pain. I've endured far worse. This is nothing. Just a few cuts and bruises.

And a raging fucking fever—one I wish Natalia could help me through. It terrifies me how much I crave her gentle touch, her soothing presence.

I pause near a shelf, leaning against the wall as another wave of dizziness washes over me. I can’t make it to my room. I need a couch, now.

As I round the corner into the living room, my breath catches in my throat. There she is, curves accentuated by the oversized sweater she wears, bathed in the soft glow of a single lamp. Her eyes, wide with concern, lock onto mine. She gasps and rises with fear-filled eyes, her book falling to the ground.

"Denis?" Her voice is barely above a whisper, but it fills the room.

I try to straighten, to project an air of nonchalance, but my body betrays me. A wince escapes before I can stop it. "It's nothing, Nat. Just a long night."

"Don't you dare lie to me, Denis Zolotov," she says, her tone brooking no argument. “It’s been two nights since you left.”

“You’ve been counting?” I ask with a pained smile as she approaches me with hurried steps, and I find myself rooted to the spot.

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