Sacrificed To The Bratva King - An Age Gap, Bratva Romance (Savage King) #986551

My husband murdered a man and let the Bratva believe it was me.
I’m a trauma nurse. I know what blood does when it dries — whose it is, how it got there, what really happened in a room before the lying starts. So when they threw me down in front of the pakhan and swore I’d killed his brother, I understood two things at once: that I was innocent — and that the truth might not be enough to keep me breathing until morning.
Konstantin Morozov is nearly twenty years older than me, silver and scarred and colder than the Brooklyn winter outside. Every soul on Brighton Beach calls him Frost. He put his brother in the ground with my name on the report, and now he owns the air in my lungs — a houseful of armed men waiting on his word.
He should have killed me that first night.
Instead, he watched me. Instead, he listened.
Because I didn’t put that blood on my hands — and I’m the only one left alive who can prove who did. The man who married me for a reason I never saw coming. The woman I trusted with everything. The frame they built so carefully I almost lay down in it myself.
I have six days. A mother in a care home who looks at me like a stranger. And a lethal, frostbitten man who is starting to look at me like I’m the last honest thing left in his world — which frightens me far more than the gun ever did.
They handed me to the monster to die.
Not one of them stopped to wonder what he would become once he learned I’d been telling the truth all along.