EBOOK
About
I own a motorcycle shop in South Boston. I owe the Bratva nothing.
Then my mother married into them, and my new stepfather decided my shop was his dowry. I said no in a room full of men with gold teeth.
Kirill Sokolov, Bratva captain, forty-one, remembered me at twelve holding his leathers at the docks, and made me a counter-offer: marry him on paper, six months, and the transfer dies. No touching. In writing. I signed.
Now I live above my shop with a man twice my age who takes his coffee black, irons his own shirts, and watches me rebuild engines like it's a sermon. His ex-wife laughs at our contract. His lieutenant calls me a liability. Someone sets my shop on fire with me inside it.
I came out carrying the man who lit the match, and Kirill stopped pretending the contract meant anything.
The Bratva She Wed is a steamy age gap mafia romance with a biker backdrop, a competent heroine, and a slow burn that finally catches.
Then my mother married into them, and my new stepfather decided my shop was his dowry. I said no in a room full of men with gold teeth.
Kirill Sokolov, Bratva captain, forty-one, remembered me at twelve holding his leathers at the docks, and made me a counter-offer: marry him on paper, six months, and the transfer dies. No touching. In writing. I signed.
Now I live above my shop with a man twice my age who takes his coffee black, irons his own shirts, and watches me rebuild engines like it's a sermon. His ex-wife laughs at our contract. His lieutenant calls me a liability. Someone sets my shop on fire with me inside it.
I came out carrying the man who lit the match, and Kirill stopped pretending the contract meant anything.
The Bratva She Wed is a steamy age gap mafia romance with a biker backdrop, a competent heroine, and a slow burn that finally catches.