Cora spent an entire morning barking orders at a man she took for hired help, never pausing as he lifted a table and followed every instruction without complaint.
Only when her assistant went pale and named him Mr. Zolotov did she understand she had been commanding the reclusive Bratva boss whose signature could save or sink her company.
He never corrected her in that ballroom; he let her keep directing him, then went home and put his own hands on her contract instead of leaving it to his lawyers.
Now his enemies have left the shadows, and everyone she loves is standing in the blast path of a war she never meant to enter.
She is falling for the dangerous age-gap Bratva daddy anyway, and she can no longer tell which threat cuts deeper: the men coming for him, or how badly she wants to stay.
