Page 65 of Plus-Size Curves for the Bratva

As Denis drifts off to sleep, exhausted from the therapy, I find myself lost in thought. This marriage had all the odds stacked against it. And yet… I can't deny the connection growing between us. It's as if the universe has thrown us together, two mismatched puzzle pieces that somehow fit perfectly.

I watch the rise and fall of Denis's chest, marveling at how peaceful he looks in sleep. I imagine what would have happened had he not made it, and suddenly, I understand. I clench my fists. I would have done anything to get him back.

Something tells me that had I been in his shoes that day in the store, I might have picked up a gun to defend him, too. Our methods of protecting might be different, I might not bash someone’s skull in, but I’d take their life if it came to protecting Denis.

And in this moment, I understand exactly why he did what he did.

I settle back in my chair, a small smile playing on my lips. This may not be the fairy tale I dreamed of as a girl, but maybe, just maybe, it could be something even better. Something real, something hard-won. And as I watch over my sleeping husband, I know I'm ready to fight for it—for us—with everything I have.

***

Two weeks later, when Denis feels better and can get out of bed, he calls for a meeting. We’re in the living room when the doorbell rings.

Denis and I exchange looks and I stand to get it. At the door, I’m met with the grim faces of our families. My brothers file in, followed by Denis's.

“Glad you’re feeling better, Brother,” says Abram, shaking Denis’s hand.

"It's time," Abram announces gruffly. "We need to discuss what happened."

I feel my heart pounding in my chest. From how our brothers look, it’s not good news. Denis reaches out and takes my hand in his. He nods at me, his jaw set with determination as if to saywhatever it is, we’ll handle it, together. "Let's hear it," he says, turning back to my brother.

Abram paces, his fists clenched. "The fire wasn't an accident. We found traces of accelerant."

I feel my stomach drop, a chill creeping up my spine. "Who would do this?" I ask, my voice barely above a whisper.

Denis's hand finds mine, squeezing gently. "The Sidrovs, of course," he growls. "For taking out their head.”

"But to attack so boldly?" I question, my mind racing. "That's practically a declaration of war."

"Exactly," Dima nods, his eyes glinting dangerously. "And we need to decide how to respond. But however we do, we must teach them a lesson that puts an end to this madness."

“We need to take them out,” says Fedor through gritted teeth. “For what they did to you.” His eyes fall on me, and then Denis as he says, “And you,”

“And for all those people they abused,” I add and lift my chin high. “None of them deserved it, to be kept as slaves, treated worse than animals.”

“Well said, Sister,” Mark gives me a proud smile.

As the discussion heats up, with talks of retaliation and strengthened security, none of the suggestions seem enough. This is my family now—all of them. And I'll be damned if I let anyone threaten what's mine.

I take a deep breath, my heart pounding as I realize what I need to do. "I have an idea," I say, my voice steadier than I feel. The room falls silent, all eyes turning to me. I lift my chin, meeting their gazes. "We could use me as bait to lure the Sidorovs out."

The reaction is immediate. My brothers start talking at once, their voices rising in protest.

"Absolutely not!" Abram thunders, his face reddening.

My brother-in-law Nikolai shakes his head vehemently. "It's too dangerous, Natalia. You're not trained for this."

I feel a flash of frustration. "I'm not a child," I argue, my stubborn streak flaring. "I know the risks, but think about it. They won't expect me to be involved. I could—”

"No," Vladimir cuts me off, his tone brooking no argument. "We'll find another way."

I open my mouth to protest again, but before I can, Denis's deep voice cuts through the chaos. "Let her speak," he says, his gray eyes locked on mine. The room falls silent once more.

Denis moves away from me, giving me the floor, but his gaze never wavers. "Natalia isn't just some innocent bystander anymore," he continues, his words measured but intense. "She's my wife, a Zolotov now, and she's proven herself more than capable. Besides, they came for her. She has as much of a right to revenge as we all do."

I feel a warmth spread through my chest at his words, at the faith I see in his eyes.

"But she's not trained—” Fedor begins, but Denis cuts him off.

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