I buried my husband on a Tuesday. His killer drove me home.I didn’t cry at the funeral. You can’t mourn a man who spent three years teaching you to flinch.
But the stranger by the cemetery gates watched me like he knew.
Same jaw. Same eyes. A crueler mouth.
He led me into the dark of the family mausoleum and told me my husband had a twin.
A brother erased from every story I’d ever been told.
Then he told me he’d killed him.
I should have run. Instead, I said the two words I’d been swallowing for three years.
I’m glad.His name is Roman Volkonsky. Bratva. Ten years in exile, learning to end men without leaving a trace.
And he has an offer: ninety days under his protection, help him find what my husband died hiding, and I walk away free.
Ninety days. Just business.
Except Roman knows my perfume. My favorite restaurant. Things a stranger shouldn’t.
He’s been watching me longer than I’ve known his name.
And the Bratva has its own plans for widows.
I made a deal with the man who killed my husband.
I’m starting to think he made one with me a long time ago.
A steamy, full-length standalone packed with Bratva danger, fake marriage, forced proximity, surprise twins, obsessive devotion, and a guaranteed HEA. 
