Page 57 of Plus-Size Curves for the Bratva

Without warning, Sidorov charges. I sidestep, using his momentum to slam him into a nearby shelf. Books and trinkets rain down around us.

I manage to get Sidorov in a chokehold, but the other man’s voice cuts through the chaos. "Let him go, or the girl gets it."

My heart freezes. I release Sidorov, turning to see the man holding a knife to Natalia's throat. Her eyes meet mine, filled with a mixture of fear and… is that trust?

"It's okay," I say softly, trying to convey all my feelings in those two words. "I won't let them hurt you."

As I speak, I notice Sidorov moving in my peripheral vision. Time seems to slow as I make a split-second decision.

I drop low, sweeping Sidorov's legs out from under him. In the same fluid motion, I lunge toward the other man, praying I'm fast enough to reach Natalia before his blade does.

The world blurs into a frenzy of violence. My foot connects with the other man’s jaw, the satisfying crunch of bone reverberating through the room. The knife clatters to the floor as he stumbles back. I don't give him a chance to recover.

"You should've never touched her," I growl, my voice barely recognizable.

I unleash a barrage of punches, each impact sending shockwaves of pain through my hands. But I can't stop. The store becomes a whirlwind of destruction as I throw him against a display, shattering glass and splintering wood. I grab the knife off the floor and slice open his throat, the blood flowing down his neck as he chokes.

Sidorov tries to intervene, but I'm beyond reason now. I grab a nearby lamp, swinging it with all my might. It connects with his temple, and he crumples to the ground.

"Denis, please!" Natalia's voice breaks through the haze, but it's too late.

I'm straddling Sidorov now, my fists a relentless hammer against his increasingly unrecognizable face. Blood splatters, mixing with the broken merchandise on the floor. I don't know how long I keep pummeling, but eventually, my arms grow heavy, and the rage slowly ebbs.

Panting heavily, I stand up, surveying the carnage around me. The once-quaint store looks like a war zone.

My hands shake as I run them through my hair, streaking it with blood—theirs and mine. The quiet after the storm is deafening, broken only by my ragged breathing and Natalia's soft whimpers.

Natalia. My heart clenches as I turn to face her. The sight of her trembling form, still bound, snaps me back to reality. I move toward her, my steps careful, trying not to startle her further.

"Natalia," I say softly, kneeling beside her. "I'm going to untie you now, okay?"

She doesn't respond, just stares at me with those big brown eyes, brimming with tears. My bloodied fingers fumble with the ropes around her feet. I try to keep my voice steady, gentle.

"You're safe now, Sweetheart. I won't let anyone hurt you."

As I work on the knots, my mind races. How can I explain this? How can I make her understand that this violence, this darkness inside me, it's all to protect her?

"I'm sorry you had to see that," I murmur, finally freeing her hands. "I never wanted you to—"

I don't get to finish. The moment her wrists are free, Natalia jerks away from me, nearly toppling the shelf behind in her haste. She scrambles to the side and then back, pressing against the far wall, as far from me as she can get.

"Stay away from me!" she cries, her voice cracking. "Don't touch me!"

The fear in her voice cuts deeper than any knife. I raise my hands, trying to appear non-threatening, but it's useless. How can I not seem threatening when I'm covered in blood, surrounded by destruction of my own making?

"Natalia, please," I plead, taking a step toward her. "I know you're scared, but I swear I would never hurt you. Everything I do, it's to keep you safe."

She shakes her head violently, her dark blonde hair whipping around her face. "Safe? You call this safe?" Her eyes dart around the room, taking in the carnage. "You're a monster, Denis!”

Her words hit me like a physical blow. I want to argue, to explain that the real monsters were the ones who dared to threaten her, but I can see the truth in her eyes. To her, in this moment, I am the nightmare.

My heart pounds so hard, it’s a miracle it doesn’t give way. The chasm between us feels insurmountable. I need to fix this, but how?

I step closer, but she whimpers and her eyes dart around the store. “Call my sister. Call Sofia. I want her to come pick me up right now!” she screams, tears pouring down her face.

Her words hurt worse than any wound I’ve ever had. “Natalia,” I say, softly. “Please. Let’s just go home and try to—”

“Sofia! Call Sofia!” she sobs, hysterical now.

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