The Bratva’s Triplet Babies

On my first night dancing, I draw the winning diamond and land in the lap of Atlanta’s most dangerous Bratva king.

What should be the biggest payday of my life ends in gunfire.

Two days later, I’m his wife.

Artur Dymov calls it protection.

I call it an arranged marriage to a ruthless monster who takes “touch her and die” a little too literally.

The contract is simple:

One year.

Two million dollars.

No falling for my admittedly gorgeous husband.

Except the men behind the bullets are still out there, and wearing Artur’s ring gives them somewhere new to aim.

His solution: a safe house with one bedroom, one bed, and a glass shower he refuses to use modestly.

He’s arrogant, controlling, and filthy enough to make me forget why I’m supposed to hate him.

All it takes is one reckless night to turn our one-year arrangement into a lifetime.

Because I’m not pregnant with one of his babies.

Or two.

I’m carrying the Bratva king’s triplets.

And whoever wants Artur dead is getting closer.

My husband doesn’t share.

He doesn’t surrender.

And he plans to keep all four of us.

Forever.