A FAKE BRIDE FOR THE MAFIA DON.
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“You are mine now, solnishko,” he murmurs, the Russian word rolling off his tongue like silk and smoke.
“Every breath you take belongs to me, every look, and every word. I don’t share what is mine. I don’t negotiate it either.”
I try to breathe, but his hand stays where it is, on my thigh heat searing through my body.
“You will learn soon enough,” he continues, voice low and deliberate, “that in...
“Every breath you take belongs to me, every look, and every word. I don’t share what is mine. I don’t negotiate it either.”
I try to breathe, but his hand stays where it is, on my thigh heat searing through my body.
“You will learn soon enough,” he continues, voice low and deliberate, “that in...

















































