Page 14

The soft lights flicker above me, casting a kaleidoscope of colors onto the polished marble floor as I walk through the bar, warmly greeting guests I recognize. The gentlemen's club is alive tonight; its energy pulsates through me.

I might even have a drink.

I reach the bar and find Tony, one of my trusted bartenders, meticulously arranging bottles as the symphony of laughter and clinking glasses fills the air.

“Hey Tony,” I lean over, gaining his attention.

“Sup, Boss?” he asks, turning to face me with a grin.

“Is Lara’s new software helping out?”

“Boss, your wife’s changed my life. She’s knocked off an hour from reconciling sales figures, and she was right about predicting what sells using barcodes.”

I let myself smile. She’s not here tonight, but I can’t wait to get home and tell her what I learned. I knew she’d be a worthy addition.

“So we should implement her suggestions globally?” I reconfirm with pride.

“Without a doubt,” he says. Just then, his face grows serious, fixed at a sight behind me. "Your wife's brothers just walked in," he says without moving his lips.

I turn around, immediately spotting the formidable figures of Abram, Vladimir, Denis, and Mark by the entrance. Even in the midst of the club's beyond-powerful clientele, their presence is unmistakable.

After all, the entire world knows a Zolotov when they see one. And here, we have four. Each man exudes an air of authority and power that naturally commands attention.

"Great," I mutter under my breath, forcing a tight-lipped smile, wondering what they’re doing here. As much as I love Lara, dealing with her four older brothers is not a proposition I look forward to. They have always been protective of their sister, and now they view me as the one who stole her away.

But for her sake, I am determined to make an effort to build bridges.

"Hello, gentlemen!" I walk over to them and greet them warmly. “Meeting someone?” I ask, aware that they tend to frequent the joints overlooked by Nikolai usually. It's not every day they grace the club with their presence, and I can only imagine what brought them here tonight.

"Good evening, Dima," Abram says, his deep voice cutting through the din of the room. He's the eldest and the most level-headed of the bunch, but I know better than to let my guard down around him. Especially after observing how upset he was when I brought Lara, his sister, to the alliance meetings at the start. “We were in the neighborhood and thought we'd come by and see how our new brother-in-law is doing."

Sure. They were just in the neighborhood . How many times have I heard that line before? Mostly from women far too interested in me, whose names I can hardly remember.

"You're more than welcome here anytime," I say politely. "Can I get you anything to drink?"

"Maybe later," Denis chimes in, his eyes scanning the room with obvious interest. He's the diplomat of the group, always trying to keep the peace between his hot-headed siblings and anyone who dares cross them. "We were thinking of playing some cards. Would you have time to join us?"

I look at my watch, noting that I do have some things to look into. But nothing that can’t wait until tomorrow, considering how late it is anyway.

Besides, what other choice do I have?

"Sure," I agree, knowing that refusing their invitation would only lead to more tension. As we make our way to a secluded corner table, I can't help but feel a knot forming in the pit of my stomach.

This could be an opportunity to win them over or a night where it all finally goes to shit. But regardless of what they have planned, I will not let them undermine her decision to marry me.

The scent of cigars and the sound of clinking glasses fills the air as we settle down. The dim, moody lighting casts shadows across their faces, making it difficult for me to read their expressions. I can't shake the feeling that tonight's random game of cards is merely a cover for something far more intentional.

"Alright, gentlemen," I say after ordering a bottle of scotch for the table, "what are we playing?"

"Texas hold 'em," Vladimir announces, shuffling the deck with practiced ease. He's got the reputation to be the most aggressive and ambitious of the siblings, his temper and fondness for hedonistic pleasures notorious in equal measure within our circles. "You're familiar with the rules, I assume?"

"Of course," I reply, leaning back in my chair. As the cards are dealt, I take a moment to observe each brother. Their eyes are sharp, focused—like predators sizing up their prey.

Little do they know that I’m sizing them up just the same.

"Raise," Mark says with a wry grin, tossing in a handful of chips. “Unless business isn’t going too well?” he gives me a sly grin. He's the youngest and the most unpredictable, his humor often accompanied by a cruel edge.

“Business is good so far, better than you’d think,” I say, pushing all my chips in. “All in.”

"Reckless, aren’t you, Dima?" he drawls, showing me a flush. "Is it that difficult being married to our sister that you’d chase any high for a chance at a win?"

He’s trash-talking me, thinking he won. Typical. Mark is young, and his inexperience shows, at least in poker with the big boys, if nothing else.

"Straight flush, Ace high," I answer, refusing to take the bait as I throw my cards down. I watch his grin turn to a frown as I pull the chips toward me.

“Good game,” Denis glances in my direction in acknowledgment. I bow my head in return before turning back to Mark.

"And since you’re keen to know, Lara and I are very happy together." I put in a blind raise as the next hand is dealt, my fingers tapping on the table in a steady rhythm, betraying none of the anxiety coursing through me.

"Is that so?" Vladimir smirks, raising an eyebrow. "Well, good for you. Lara deserves someone who can keep her happy."

"Indeed she does," I agree, meeting his intense gaze without flinching. My mind races, trying to decipher the hidden meaning behind his words.

"Did she even have a choice?" Mark asks with a casual shrug, his eyes locked on the cards in his hand. "Or did you just decide that she was going to be your wife because, like your brother, becoming family with the Zolotovs seemed to be the right choice? A good opportunity? After all, our sister could have had anyone in the world with the name she holds."

I feel my jaw clench at what he insinuates—that I’m not good enough for Lara—but I manage to keep my cool. "Lara is an intelligent woman," I say firmly. "She understands her own mind and made her decision. Besides, we Orlovs can stand on the might of our own name."

As the game continues, I maintain a calm exterior, even as the brothers' probing questions and thinly veiled threats keep coming. Every time my patience threatens to snap, I remind myself of Lara—her strength, her resilience, and the life we're building together. I don’t wish to uproot it.

"Of course, she's intelligent," Abram shoots Mark a warning glance. "But she's also very young. You must admit, Dima—there's quite an age gap between you two. How can you be sure she wasn't swayed into this decision without truly understanding what marriage means? She’s only 22, for god’s sake."

"Fold," Vladimir says, breaking the tense silence. His face remains impassive, but there's a hint of disapproval in his voice. "Dima, we’re upset because we've always been there for Lara. We never raised her to run off and get married."

“Exactly,” Mark also throws a handful of chips on the table in mild anger. “We were too busy with work, and maybe she felt lonely and fell for the first sign of attention she got. Confused it for love.”

"Call," Denis says quietly, his eyes darting between me and his siblings. He seems to be trying to diffuse the situation, but I can sense his own doubts lurking beneath the surface.

I ignore Denis’s attempt to continue the game, pushing aside my cards. I lean forward, glaring at Mark. “What exactly do you mean by that?” I ask, the fury barely contained in my words.

“What I mean is,” Mark leans forward too, his eyes red with near rage. “That my sister is stupid and naive. For all we know, she was coerced into this marriage.”

I clench my fists under the table. He—they—are not wrong here in one particular aspect. In some ways, one could say she was coerced. But the nature of that coercion is not what they think. I had nothing to gain from this marriage.

But the anger I feel is not for I’ve been offended. It’s for how they offend her.

I feel something snap inside me. My patience has worn thin, and I can't stand their opinion of Lara any longer. I slam my fist down onto the table, startling everyone in the room.

"Enough," I growl, glaring at each of them in turn. "Lara is a grown woman who made her choice, and I won't tolerate anyone questioning her decision. She’s got a good head on her shoulders. She loves me, and I love her, and we married one another. If you can't accept that, then maybe you should take a long look at yourselves."

Silence falls over the table, thick and suffocating. The brothers exchange uneasy glances, clearly taken aback by my sudden outburst. But I refuse to back down. If they want to challenge me, I'll give them a fight they won't forget.

"Besides," I add with a hint of venom in my voice, "if you truly cared about Lara's happiness, you wouldn't be here trying to undermine our marriage. If you truly knew your sister, you’d know well enough that her intelligence and common sense know no bounds. She’s not so naive and stupid as you believe to go and marry a man ill-intentioned toward her. By disrespecting our marriage, you disrespect her!"

I hear voices of protest from around the table, but I raise my hand, quietening them down. My hand trembles with anger as I look each of them in the eyes, my voice firm and unyielding. "You're all banned from this club until you learn to respect Lara and our marriage," I declare, my chest heaving with barely contained fury.

The brothers stare at me, a mixture of shock and disbelief etched on their faces. They clearly didn't expect me to stand up to them like this.

“You can’t be serious!” Mark exclaims.

"Listen," I say finally, my voice calmer but still laced with authority. "I understand that you want to protect your sister, but you need to trust her judgment, too. If you can't do that, then at least have the decency to respect our marriage or stay out of our lives."

Their reactions are varied, with Abram nodding solemnly, Vladimir clenching his fists in silent rage, Denis attempting to maintain a neutral expression, and Mark rolling his eyes in exasperation.

Abram's expression softens and Denis and he exchange glances.

Vladimir, however, bristles at my words, his face turning red with anger. "You can't ban us from coming here!" he snaps, slamming his fists on the table. "We're family!"

"Family?" I scoff, narrowing my eyes at him. "Some family, coming in here and calling my wife stupid and naive."

Denis, ever the diplomat, tries to smooth things over. "Let's not escalate the situation further," he pleads, raising his hands in a placating gesture. "We're all here because we care about Lara. We just want what's best for her."

Mark snorts, a sarcastic smirk playing on his lips. "Yeah, well, some of us have a funny way of showing it," he retorts, shooting a pointed glance at Abram.

Abram shoots Mark a deathly glare. “I think our host has made it clear he wants us to leave,” he says, with unquestionable authority.

Even though every bone in my body is telling me to refuse it, I extend my hand to each brother for Lara’s sake.

To my surprise, none reject my gesture of goodbye.

“Once everyone cools down, we can talk again. If necessary,” Denis tries placating.

I nod, and the four brothers walk out of the bar. I know this is far from over, but for now, I've made my point. And I'll be damned if I let anyone—family or not—undermine Lara’s choices.

I sit at the table for a few more minutes, finishing my drink to help me calm down. Once done, I realize just how exhausted I am and decide to call it a night. I need to go back home and crawl into bed with Lara.

I stand and turn toward the bustling floor of the gentlemen's club for one last look when my ears catch an abrupt change in the atmosphere. The music seems to fade into the background, replaced by the sound of angry shouts and the crash of glass.

"Get your hands off me!" a woman screams from near the entrance.

My heart rate spikes as adrenaline courses through my veins. My protective instincts kick in, and I instantly recognize that this can soon turn into a very, very dangerous situation. Without a second thought, I sprint toward the chaos, determined to keep my patrons safe and, preferably, not involve the cops.

I step out and see a group of men harassing some of our female entertainers, who are just leaving from the first shift before the other crew takes over for the night.

"Who are these guys?" I ask one of the bouncers as I push my way through the crowd. He shakes his head, unable to provide any useful information.

"Unknown, Boss. They just stormed in."

"Let's get them out," I reply, gritting my teeth.

As I reach the entrance, I see four unfamiliar men causing havoc, their faces twisted with perversion as they harass two of our girls.

“Come on darling; you shake your ass in there for all these richie riches. Can’t do the same for us?” one of them tries to hold Anastasia by her waist.

“Yeah, just tell us how much?” another asks Rita, holding her wrist.

Their aggressive behavior is disturbing the peace and putting my employees in danger. I won't stand for it.

I don't waste a second. With one swift motion, I grab the hand of the man holding Anastasia and twist it behind his back, making him cry out in pain. "Let her go," I growl, my voice low and menacing. My gaze sweeps over the other three men, daring them to make a move.

One of the men smirks, stepping forward until he's only inches away from my face. "Or what?"

"Or you'll be sorry," I warn, steeling myself for a fight.

"Is that a threat?" he sneers.

"No, it's a promise."

With that, I throw a punch at the man's jaw, and he stumbles backward. His buddies quickly join the fray, but I'm ready for them. My body moves on instinct, honed by years of training and experience in handling situations like this.

"Boss, we've got your back!" a bouncer calls out, rushing to my aid.

"Take the girls to safety first!" I order before returning my focus to the attackers.

I hear him barking orders at someone to get the girls away while a few of the other bodyguards join in. While distracted, one of the men slams a glass bottle on my head. I duck, twisting his hand, but not before it breaks, and the shards go into my forehead.

Blood trickles down my forehead, blurring my vision as he punches me in the eye.

I land a high kick to his neck and slam a fist to his chest; the echo of bone against bone rings in my ears, and the man crumples to the floor, unconscious. The other men are quickly subdued by my staff, their faces terrified. It's clear they underestimated us.

"Get them out of here," I command, my chest heaving as the adrenaline begins to wear off. "And make sure they never come back. If they do, make sure they lose a limb."

"Understood, Boss."

As the remaining bouncers escort the troublemakers from the club, I take a moment to check in on the girls. Once certain they’re alright, I call them for one of our valet-driven escort cars. “They’ll get you home,” I tell Rita and Anastasia, who give me relieved nods. “And from tomorrow,” I inform my head of security, Riza. “All girls will be escorted to their transportation. I never want what happened tonight to happen here again. This is their workplace. They deserve to feel safe.”

“Understood, Boss,” Riza says.

After handing over the instructions, I survey the damage. Broken glass and overturned furniture litter the entrance, but thankfully, it appears that no one was seriously hurt.

"Lara," I murmur, suddenly relieved she wasn’t here tonight. She could have gotten hurt. The thought terrifies me.

"Boss, you did good," one of the waitresses says, touching my arm gently.

"Thanks," I reply, forcing a smile.