Page 3 of Plus-Size Curves for the Bratva

"No," I cut him off, my voice sharp. "You don't get to decide this for me. I'm not a child anymore. I'm a grown woman, and I deserve to have a say in my own life!"

My chest heaves as I stare them down, daring them to argue. The room falls silent, thick with tension. I can see the struggle on their faces—the instinct to protect warring with their respect for me as an individual.

"You're right," Artyom says softly, surprising us all. "We should have talked to you first. We just… we worry, Nat."

I feel my anger deflate slightly, replaced by a twinge of guilt. "I know you do," I admit. "But this isn't the way.”

I watch as my brothers exchange glances, and Nikolai speaks next. “But there is no other way, Nat. We hear you, but you have to understand. This isn't just about what you want. It's about keeping you safe.”

“And alive,” Dima adds.

Despite my protests, I can see they're not backing down.

I feel the walls closing in, my dreams of a normal life slipping through my fingers like sand. "But—"

"No buts," Dima interrupts, his usual jovial tone replaced by seriousness. "We've made our decision. The Zolotovs are a good family. This marriage will give you protection and freedom."

I sink onto my bed, my curvy frame feeling suddenly heavy. "Some freedom," I mutter, twirling a strand of my dark blonde hair around my finger.

Fedor kneels in front of me, his brown eyes—so like mine—filled with sympathy. "We love you, little sister. This is for the best."

As they file out of my room, leaving me alone with my thoughts, I feel a storm of emotions brewing inside me. I flop back onto my bed, staring at the ceiling.

"For the best," I whisper to myself, the words tasting bitter on my tongue. “This can’t be happening.”

I grab my phone, my fingers hovering over my best friend's number. But what would I even say? 'Hey, guess what? My brothers just arranged my marriage to a complete stranger!'

Instead, I toss the phone across the bed and flop over to my stomach, burying my face in a throw pillow. "Ugh!"

My fierce side is itching for a fight, but who am I kidding? This is the Bratva world. My world, whether I like it or not.

"Maybe it won't be so bad," I try to convince myself, sitting up. "Maybe he's… nice? Funny? Doesn't snore?" Besides, my sister Sofia is married to a Zolotov. She’s the happiest I’ve ever seen her be, with Vladimir by her side. Perhaps I could find the same joy in my marriage.

But the knot in my stomach tells a different story. No matter how nice my future husband might be, I can’t just force myself to love him because we’ve had an arranged marriage. I’ve always dreamt of a lot more than justnice.I close my eyes, trying to imagine a future I never asked for. A stranger for a husband, a new family to navigate.

Guess what’s done is done. But since this is happening, I’m going to have to make sure it happens on my terms. Just because we’re getting married, doesn’t mean I’ll be the perfect, doting wife. I have no idea how the future will pan out, but whoever I am to marry will have toearnmy trust.

Chapter 2 - Denis

I pause outside the heavy mahogany doors of my brothers' study, my hand hovering over the ornate brass handle. The summons post dinner was unexpected, and a faint unease stirs in my gut. Something bad must have happened, for them to send for me at this hour. Taking a deep breath, I school my features into careful neutrality before pushing the door open. There’s no point panicking and adding fuel to the fire, given the situation is already tense.

"Denis," Abram greets me, his usually jovial face uncharacteristically somber. Vladimir nods silently from behind the massive desk, his piercing gaze fixed on me.

"Brothers," I reply, settling into the leather armchair across from them. "To what do I owe this… impromptu family meeting?"

The weight of their stares presses down on me as I wait for a response. Abram and Vladimir exchange a meaningful look before Abram stands and walks to the bar. I watch as he pours out three whiskeys, and brings the glasses over on a tray.

“How about a drink first?” he says, handing me a glass. Vladimir leans forward, glass outstretched, and we meet him halfway before taking a sip.

"We have news, Brother," he begins, his deep voice rumbling through the quiet room. "News that will shape the future of our family and our business."

I arch an eyebrow, curiosity piqued. "Go on."

Abram takes a breath. "We've arranged a marriage for you. To Natalia."

For a part of a second, I rack my brain, trying to think of who it is he speaks. And then, it comes to me. Natalia Orlov—the youngest sister of the clan. My mind races, processing the implications.

"I see," I manage, fighting to keep my voice even in the midst of this sudden news. “Sofia’s sister?”

---