Claimed by the Bratva Blade

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My one-night-stand distraction just turned out to be the Bratva enforcer sent to kill me — my forbidden protector, my captor, and the dangerously morally grey man I can’t stop kissing. I’m a journalist who exposes men like him. He’s the alpha who caged me in his loft and declared me his.

One night. No names. Worst decision I’ve ever made — and the only one I’d make again.

My car explodes one hour after I expose the Chicago Bratva. The enforcer corners me in a stairwell — fist in my hair, knife to my spine.

He was supposed to erase me. Instead, he slaughtered a rival hit squad and locked me in his loft with one possessive claim: You’re mine.

Filipp Morikov wears violence like cologne. His control shatters when I push back. He shields my body during every attack. His obsession with keeping me alive terrifies me more than the men hunting me.

Captive in his dark world — forbidden to leave, desperate to stay.

I’ve already made my choice. I just have to survive long enough to say yes.

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