Page 16 of Plus-Size Curves for the Bratva

Just as Natalia parts her lips and lets out a tiny exhale, the shrill ring of my phone cuts through the air like a knife. I curse under my breath, frustration surging through me. Of all the times for an interruption…

I reluctantly tear my gaze away from Natalia, fishing the phone from my pocket. The caller ID makes me grimace. It's the second-in-command to my lead associate. This isn't a call I can ignore, no matter how much I want to.

"I'm sorry," I tell Natalia, genuine regret coloring my voice. "I have to take this."

She nods, a mix of relief and disappointment flickering across her face. "Of course," she says softly, taking a step back.

I answer the call, turning slightly away from Natalia but unable to fully tear my attention from her. "Zolotov," I bark into the phone, stepping away.

"Boss, we've got a situation at the docks," his gruff voice comes through. "The Colombians are trying to short us on the shipment."

I pinch the bridge of my nose, feeling a headache forming. "Tell Yuri to hold them there. I'm on my way." I end the call, taking one last look at Natalia. All I see is concern in her eyes.

"Be careful," she says softly, a hint of worry in her voice that both warms and unsettles me.

I nod, allowing myself one last lingering look at her. "I will," I assure her, before making my way out of the room.

Chapter 7 - Natalia

I push open the door to my workroom and gasp, my eyes widening. "Oh my god," I breathe, taking in the transformation before me.

The room is bigger—so much more than I thought possible. My eyes travel to the back and I notice a wall missing.

Of course. I remember Denis telling me once that there was a false compartment in the store. He’s pulled it down, giving me access to a larger space.

The once cramped room has been expanded into a light-filled oasis. Sunlight streams through new skylights, illuminating gleaming wood floors and crisp white walls. Where there was once clutter, there are now sleek storage solutions and ample workspace.

My feet carry me into the room of their own accord as I spin slowly, trying to take it all in. "I can't believe this," I murmur, running my fingers reverently over the smooth surface of a massive new sewing table.

The rich scent of fresh wood and paint tickles my nose as I explore further. Excitement bubbles up inside me, and I can't contain a delighted squeal as I discover shelf after shelf stocked with every type of fabric, notion, and supply I could possibly need.

"How did he know?" I wonder aloud, marveling at the thoughtful details. There's even a cozy reading nook tucked in the corner, complete with a plush armchair that looks perfect for curling up with my sketchbook.

I twirl again, my curvy figure swaying as joy overtakes me. A giddy laugh escapes my lips. "This is amazing!" I exclaim to the empty room, picturing all the creations I'll be able to bring to life in this space.

My fingers trace the spines of neatly organized fashion books, then dance across rows of colorful thread spools.It's like he read my mind,I think to myself, shaking my head in disbelief.

The possibilities seem endless, limited only by my imagination. For the first time in ages, I feel a spark of true creative excitement.

I quickly pull out my sketchbook and settle down in my new nook. But as I draw and find myself calming down, the initial euphoria begins to settle, and a knot forms instead. This generous gesture from Denis is… unexpected. I sink into the plush armchair, my brow furrowing as I wrestle with conflicting emotions.

"It's so thoughtful," I murmur, running my hand along the soft fabric. "But why? What does he want from me?"

My mind drifts to Denis's intense gray eyes, flecked with green, always watching me. There's kindness there in how he’s nice to me, and caters to all my needs in a quiet manner, from a respectable distance. Take this workroom, for example. He could have brought me in here himself, made it a whole show and tell. But, he did what he had to behind the scenes and let me discover it in my own time.

Yet, I’m also aware of how he’s always watching from a distance. Sometimes, he walks in here, watches me work undisturbed, and leaves. The door to his office remains open, and when I cross it, his eyes always find mine. He’s changed his mealtimes around, to ensure I have the company he thinks I need.

His quiet presence brings with it something… unspeakable. Something that makes my pulse quicken in ways I'm not entirely comfortable admitting.

I shake my head, trying to stop the anxiety coursing through me. I chuckle softly, picturing Denis meticulously planning this renovation. In my mind's eye, I see him with a tape measure, his tall, muscled frame bent over blueprints, that serious expression etched on his face.No, that's not quite right,I imagine him muttering, adjusting some minuscule detail to ensure perfection.

The mental image is so absurd—the powerful, enigmatic Denis fussing over fabric swatches—that I can't help but giggle. But even as laughter bubbles up, that nagging worry persists.

"He's being so nice," I muse aloud, twirling a strand of my dark blonde hair. "But what if it's just to… to keep me compliant? To make me forget that this isn't really my choice?"

I shake my head, trying to dispel the doubts. "No, Natalia," I scold myself. "Don't be ungrateful. Just enjoy this beautiful gift."

But as I gaze around the room once more, I can't shake the feeling that with every kindness, the invisible bonds tying me to Denis only grow stronger.

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