The Pakhan's Stolen Bride (Bratva Vow #1)

I read every contract before I sign.

Then someone poisoned a Pakhan.

And my father gave me away in a wedding dress.

Lev Morozov is six-foot-something of gray-eyed Bratva silence.

Thirty-four. Pakhan of three boroughs. Watched his father die at the dinner table.

The city says my family did it.
I am the price of peace.

He marries me in a snowstorm. Hands me a name and a locked door.
He swears he will never touch me.

“You sleep in the east bedroom. You don’t ask questions you can’t unhear. You stay alive.”

I agree to every word.

Then I read the autopsy. It wasn’t my father’s poison. It wasn’t his method.
I know what a frame looks like.

Lev catches me in his study at three in the morning with his late father’s file in my lap.
He doesn’t ask what I’m doing.

He sits down across from me. He pours two glasses. He says one
“Counselor.”

He told me this was a paper marriage.
He didn’t tell me he’d start meaning the damn vows.

Someone in this fortress killed his father.
Someone is going to kill me for figuring it out.

And I have to
Sign my name out of existence to survive.

Or rewrite the contract — and bring his whole empire down with us.

Reader’s
Inside The Bratva Vow you’ll find a six-foot-four ice-cold Pakhan who has not slept on both sides of a bed since his father bled out in front of him — and breaks for the enemy’s daughter in a wedding dress.