The Bratva came in the night and set the place on fire.
I thought it was my chance to finally escape this awful mob-owned club.
Goodness gracious, was I wrong.
Because the man pounding at the door is not a knight in shining armor, here to liberate this damsel in distress from her nightmare.
More like the polar freaking opposite.
Bastien Nikolaev, the new don of Miami’s Nikolaev Bratva, is moody, broody, with a bad attitude-y.
And now, he’s decided that I belong to him.
I’d call it the worst night of my life, but I’d be lying.
All the worst nights are yet to come.
