Page 35 of Plus-Size Curves for the Bratva

Her eyes flash with that fierce determination I've come to both admire and dread. "I'm not asking for permission, Denis. I'm telling you I'm helping."

We stare each other down, neither willing to back down. Finally, I relent. "Fine. But you stay by my side at all times, understood?"

She grins triumphantly. "Perfectly."

***

The warehouse is a hive of frantic activity as we arrive. The air thrums with tension, thick enough to cut with a knife.

"Boss, we've got a problem," Yuri comes over, looking distressed. "Customs is doing an unexpected sweep. We need to move everything. Now."

"Fuck," I curse under my breath. Turning to Natalia, I see the question in her eyes. "We need to clear this place. Fast."

She nods, standing straighter now. "What do you need me to do?"

For the next few hours, we work in a blur of coordinated chaos. Natalia proves herself invaluable, her quick thinking and attention to detail catching errors that could have cost us dearly. I find myself constantly aware of her presence, my body attuned to her every movement.

As the night settles in we finally secure the last of the shipment. Exhaustion weighs heavily on me, my muscles aching from the night's exertion. I look over at Natalia, expecting to see the same weariness reflected on her face. Instead, her eyes are bright, a small smile playing on her lips as she chatters excitedly with some of my men.

She doesn’t even realize how damn helpful she was today, does she?

"Ready to go home?" I ask, unable to keep the fondness from my voice.

She turns to me, her smile widening. "Absolutely! Though I feel like I could go for hours more. Wasn't that exciting?"

I can't help but chuckle at her enthusiasm. Even after a grueling night, she's still full of energy. It's both endearing and slightly maddening.

"Come on now, Firecracker, " I say, gently guiding her toward the car. "Let's get you home before you decide to take on another operation."

***

The dim glow of the dashboard is hypnotic as I struggle to keep my eyes focused on the road. My eyelids feel like lead weights, threatening to close with each blink. I grip the steering wheel tighter, willing myself to stay alert.

Besides me, Natalia listens to the soft music that’s on, happily looking out of the window.

I drive in quiet, trying desperately to stay focused, but within minutes, I begin to feel dull. My eyes close, darkness takes over and then, I hear a long, loud honk. I jerk awake with a curse just as a car suddenly swerves into our lane. My heart leaps into my throat as I turn the wheel, narrowly avoiding a collision. Tires screech against asphalt as I fight to regain control, finally managing to pull onto the shoulder.

For a moment, all I can hear is the pounding of my own heartbeat and our ragged breathing. My hands tremble on the wheel, adrenaline coursing through my veins.

"Fuck," I mutter, running a shaky hand through my hair. "That was too close."

I pull up to the side of the car, furious for what I was almost responsible for. I could havekilledher.

I turn to Natalia, my heart still racing. "Are you alright?" My voice comes out rougher than intended, concern overriding everything else. She nods, but I can see the tension in her shoulders, the slight tremble of her lip. Without thinking, I reach out, cupping her face in my hands.

Once I see she’s got no injuries on her face, my hands move in frenzied motions across her body—scanning her arms, my hands graze her breasts, reach for her legs, check her neck. “Are you hurt? Are you in pain?”

Natalia's eyes lock with mine, her breath quivering. "I'm okay, Denis. Just… a little shaken."

I notice her slight shiver and frown. "You're trembling. Are you cold?" But as I study her more closely, I realize it's not just fear causing her reaction. Her pupils are dilated, and her breathing is quick and shallow. A familiar heat coils in my gut as recognition dawns.

My hands, I realize, are still one on her thigh and another at her waist.

"Natalia," I murmur, my voice dropping an octave. The air between us shifts, charged with sudden tension.

She leans into my touch, her lips parting slightly. "Denis," she whispers, and the sound of my name on her lips sends a jolt through me.

I'm acutely aware of every point of contact between us—my hand on her waist, her hips pressed against the center console. The desire to pull her closer, to claim those tempting lips, is overwhelming.

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