The Debt of Blood
My father sold me to the Bratva. I thought the don would break me. He made me his queen instead.
Irina Petrov has spent her life kneading dough in her father's failing bakery. Then he gambles away everything to the Volkov Bratva, and the pakhan comes to collect. Forty-seven-year-old Dimitri Volkov doesn't want the bakery. He wants me. I'm twenty-two. He's old enough to be my father - the same father who signed away my life.
Dimitri says the marriage will last one year. He says I'll be free after that. But the way he looks at me across the dinner table, the way he teaches me to shoot, the way he holds me when I cry - none of it feels temporary.
Then I find the ledger. My father helped murder Dimitri's first wife. And the man I'm falling for will kill him for it.
I have to choose: my blood or my husband. I choose the Bratva.
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Irina Petrov has spent her life kneading dough in her father's failing bakery. Then he gambles away everything to the Volkov Bratva, and the pakhan comes to collect. Forty-seven-year-old Dimitri Volkov doesn't want the bakery. He wants me. I'm twenty-two. He's old enough to be my father - the same father who signed away my life.
Dimitri says the marriage will last one year. He says I'll be free after that. But the way he looks at me across the dinner table, the way he teaches me to shoot, the way he holds me when I cry - none of it feels temporary.
Then I find the ledger. My father helped murder Dimitri's first wife. And the man I'm falling for will kill him for it.
I have to choose: my blood or my husband. I choose the Bratva.
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