Page 2 of The Bratva's Plus-Size Bride

Long. Stressful. No wonder Luka looks so damn old.

His reply comes quickly.Don’t let him hear you say that. Where you headed?

Dunno. Somewhere I can find a MILF to take my worries away.

We pull up in front of my building, and the SUV rolls to a stop. Viktor’s message comes in just as I’m climbing out.

Or two.

He knows me well. Why have one when you can have two? It’s how I feel about most things in life, and it’s why I can already see my future businesses spreading out across the world. It won’t be long before my name is the first one people think of when they hear Milov.

I take the elevator up to the penthouse and step into the entryway, stripping off my jacket and tie the moment I walk in the door. A few hours later, I’m showered and dressed—bomber jacket, gray cashmere shirt, black cargos, and Vans. I flip through my contacts and consider inviting some of the other guys, maybe Roman or Arseny, but ultimately decide against it. Tonight, I’ll fly solo. It's a risk—being in this family means having a permanent target on your back; there’s strength in numbers, but I’m willing to roll the dice.

Back into the car, and we head downtown to one of our clubs where there's already a line forming down the block to get in. But I don’t have to wait. I feel their eyes on me as I walk past them all, catching lingering, heated looks from the women and envious ones from the men. Maybe I should've brought some security, but I’ve got my pistol in a concealed holster at my hip, and that feels like all I need tonight.

The music is thumping and the lights are dim. It’s packed, bodies writhing on the dance floor and booths overflowing, but with just one look from me, a bouncer clears out the prime spot in the back. I take my seat, and a minute later, there’s a Manhattan in front of me, made exactly how I like it. One sip, and I start to feel the tension in my shoulders unwind.

Two minutes later, there are three women standing in front of my table in barely-there clothing, and while I don’t hate the view, they’re too young for what I want tonight. I cock an eyebrow at them, and they giggle nervously.

One of them leans in and bats her fake eyelashes at me. “Do you want some company?”

I take pity on them and pat the seat beside me. Like me, they’re opportunistic. They see a wealthy man sitting alone and think they've got a chance. Even though I've got no intention of taking them home, I don’t hate the companionship and their chatter is pleasant background noise while I scan the dance floor for what I actually want this evening. They order champagne, of course, and I upgrade them to a better bottle. Appearances matter, and they’re at my table.

Soon enough, they’re tipsy and laughing, spilling champagne and draping themselves all over me. One of them, I think her name is Clarissa, rests her head on my shoulder. My eyes, however, are on the dancers. There’s one I'm considering—seems about my age, early thirties, and fit as hell. Great dancer. Confident. But something holds me back.

I’m finishing my third drink and starting to feel pleasantly buzzed when my eyes catch on someone new. She’s not what I was looking for, not at all, but my gaze is glued to her as she makes her way to the bar. I can tell she’s young, maybe early twenties, with the sort of fresh-faced innocence that makes my mind run through every filthy thing I could teach her in a matter of seconds.

Clarissa is saying something, trying to pull my attention back to the lithe little blonde half-sprawled on my lap, but I shake my head, ignoring her. The woman reaches the bar and leans against it, sticking her round ass out as she does so. Her curves are oversized, every inch of her soft enough to dig my fingers into. She looks slightly out of her element here and I like that, the doe-eyed look bringing out something feral in me.

She’s no MILF, but she's what I want, and my body isn't accepting any substitutions. I wait for her drink to arrive, some sort of martini, and watch her turn and lean her back against the bar as she takes the first sip. From this angle, I can see her perfect rack, shown off by her low-cut shirt, and my mouth goes dry. Way more than a handful.

I don’t care that I’m practically stalking her while she settles in, shaking out her long brown hair before heading to the dance floor, drink in hand. I’m too busy imagining wrapping my fist in that hair and making her back arch. She dances alone, but I know it won't be long before someone starts sniffing around. For a moment, her eyes land on mine, and she catches me staring. Her cheeks turn pink and she looks away, down at her drink, her body swaying to the music.

Did I just make her blush with a look? God, she’s going to be fun. Some dickhead moves up on her, and my fingers tighten around my glass. He’s not good enough for her—scrawny little prick—and I twist myself out from under the three women around me.

"Excuse me, girls,” I say, setting my glass down before I shatter it.

They protest and pout, but I’m immune to their charms. Some other man is going to hit the jackpot over here tonight, but I’ve got my mind set on a different prize. Leaving them behind, I stalk over to where my woman is dancing with some other man. He catches sight of me before she does, and for one fleeting moment draws himself up like he's going to put up a fight for her. Then the look in my eye sends him scurrying like a dog with its tail tucked and she’s all alone. Mine.

Her doe eyes are honey brown and skate over my body, moving up until they meet mine. I don’t say anything, just catchher waist with my arm and pull her close until we're dancing against each other. She's warm and eager against me, none of that few inches of space between us shit like she was doing with that other guy. No, she’s all over me, and I can feel how soft she is now, how perfectly she fits against me.

I’m guessing she’s not much of a drinker because that blush of hers has become a permanent streak of pink across her cheeks now that her glass is empty, and I like that, too. A lightweight. Not much of a party girl.

She wraps her arms around my neck, and I smell the perfume on her wrist, sweet like cotton candy, just like the rest of her. We're both still fully clothed, yet she's driving me wild. I don't even know her name, but I’m certain I’m taking her home tonight.

Chapter 2 - Ella

Don’t give yourself a hangover before your big day.It’s my one rule for tonight, the night before I start my new job, and I’m off to a rocky start. This martini isstrong. I’m already buzzing as I step onto the dance floor, and I know I need to be careful to walk the line between letting loose and having regrets in the morning. This is too big an opportunity to waste, and I took a major chance leaving my last job. It was a good job, but this one offers way more money and way better, well, everything—benefits, title, it has it all. Really, I shouldn't have gone out at all, but sitting alone in my apartment, freaking out about tomorrow wasn’t helping the situation.

I went all out for the occasion, taking the time to do my hair and makeup, but I never intended to attract any attention. Usually, I fly pretty under the radar in that aspect. Men tend to go for the skinny girls, and well… I’m not one of them. I know I’m curvy. The outfit I’m wearing tonight embraces that—a low-cut top, tight-fitting jeans, and strappy heels. It feels nice to be looked at sometimes, even if that attention doesn’t often lead to dates.

In fact, I’ve got a little paperback tucked into my purse because I thought I’d be sitting at the bar alone, enjoying a drink in between dances. But that’s not what’s happening. Instead, I’m approached almost the minute I start dancing by not one but two guys. Something must be in the air tonight.

“What’s your name?” The man I’m dancing with leans down so I can hear him over the music, speaking close to my ear.

He smells like expensive cologne and looks like trouble. He’s tall, way taller than I am, and totally jacked. Just looking at him makes my body heat.

I shake my head and flash him a sly smile. “I won’t tell.”

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