She survived the basement. She didn’t survive his silence.
Katya Sorokina spent twenty-one days in a basement in Red Hook. She counted every one. She put on red lipstick the day she got out and hasn’t taken it off since. She’s not broken — she’s rebuilt. Harder. Sharper. With fists that hit back and a mouth that doesn’t stop.
She doesn’t need a protector. She definitely doesn’t need Viktor Petrov.
Viktor is the Volkov Bratva’s Brigadier. Six-four. Silent. Communicates in grunts. Holds doors open like she’s visiting a museum. Calls her ‘the girl.’ Trains her every morning at 6am with a three-foot distance and treats her like she’s made of glass.
He has no idea what’s coming.
Because Viktor walked into a bar on a Tuesday. Had three tequilas. Saw a woman dancing on the bar top. Crossed the room. Touched her elbow. Said the worst pickup line in human history.
Then she turned around.
She was the girl. The one he’d been calling ‘the girl’ for six months. The one he trained. The one he checked on at 4:47am through a door with a lock that was never sticking.
Now Viktor’s having a hand crisis. A wall crisis. A clipboard crisis. And Katya is done waiting for the most emotionally constipated man in Brooklyn to figure out what the entire compound — including the cat — figured out in October.
But the basement isn’t done with Katya. The man with the calm voice and the billionaire’s smile is still out there. The man who called her product. Who said her name through a ceiling. Who’s coming for the woman who survived his machine — and the silent man who’d burn the world to keep her.
His Savage Silence is a full-length dark Bratva romance featuring an age-gap, grumpy-protector hero who can’t say three words but writes like a poet, a fierce heroine who wears red lipstick like war paint, a compound cook who’s been running the operation since October, and a slow burn that catches fire in a Bushwick bar. HEA guaranteed. The kitchen table is safe.
Katya Sorokina spent twenty-one days in a basement in Red Hook. She counted every one. She put on red lipstick the day she got out and hasn’t taken it off since. She’s not broken — she’s rebuilt. Harder. Sharper. With fists that hit back and a mouth that doesn’t stop.
She doesn’t need a protector. She definitely doesn’t need Viktor Petrov.
Viktor is the Volkov Bratva’s Brigadier. Six-four. Silent. Communicates in grunts. Holds doors open like she’s visiting a museum. Calls her ‘the girl.’ Trains her every morning at 6am with a three-foot distance and treats her like she’s made of glass.
He has no idea what’s coming.
Because Viktor walked into a bar on a Tuesday. Had three tequilas. Saw a woman dancing on the bar top. Crossed the room. Touched her elbow. Said the worst pickup line in human history.
Then she turned around.
She was the girl. The one he’d been calling ‘the girl’ for six months. The one he trained. The one he checked on at 4:47am through a door with a lock that was never sticking.
Now Viktor’s having a hand crisis. A wall crisis. A clipboard crisis. And Katya is done waiting for the most emotionally constipated man in Brooklyn to figure out what the entire compound — including the cat — figured out in October.
But the basement isn’t done with Katya. The man with the calm voice and the billionaire’s smile is still out there. The man who called her product. Who said her name through a ceiling. Who’s coming for the woman who survived his machine — and the silent man who’d burn the world to keep her.
His Savage Silence is a full-length dark Bratva romance featuring an age-gap, grumpy-protector hero who can’t say three words but writes like a poet, a fierce heroine who wears red lipstick like war paint, a compound cook who’s been running the operation since October, and a slow burn that catches fire in a Bushwick bar. HEA guaranteed. The kitchen table is safe.
Used availability for Cora J Riley's His Savage Silence