Kings Of The Bratva
Knowing Papa, I’d be surprised if my groom was a prospect, but the deep, old voice from the foyer suggested otherwise.
A whirlwind swept my thoughts to Nikolai. Not that I liked him—he was forty-two, almost twice my age. Yet, with dark gelled hair and toned muscles beneath his suit, he didn’t look his age.
My God, what was I thinking?
The voices drew closer, spiders creeping up my spine. My jaw dropped as Mario Luigi, Papa’s underboss, entered.
Older than Papa by six years, he even had a son ten years my senior. Maybe I’d marry the son, not him.
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