The Pakhan's Stolen Bride

I read every contract before I sign.<BR>Then someone poisoned a Pakhan.<BR>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.<BR>>He marries me in a snowstorm. Hands me a name and a locked door.<BR>>"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.<BR>>Lev catches me in his study at three in the morning with his late father's file in my lap.<BR>>He sits down across from me. He pours two glasses. He says one word: <BR>"Counselor."

He told me this was a paper marriage.<BR>>Someone in this fortress killed his father.<BR>>And I have to choose: <BR>Sign my name out of existence to survive.<BR>Or rewrite the contract - and bring his whole empire down with us.

Reader's Note: 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.