Three years. Four months. One yellow legal pad of careful Russian-old-woman widowed kitchen entries. And one careful diplomatic Sarantos middle-brother on her doorstep with a white peony from his godfather's courtyard.
Mrs. Natalya Yurievna Volkov-Tarasov is twenty-eight and a war widow. Her husband Mikhail died at Bakhmut in January 2023. She has lived above Mrs. Patricia Caruso's Italian-American bookshop in Boston's South End ever since — alone, on her own decision, on her own widowed kitchen calendar. She has not been touched. She has not been wanted. She has not, until now, been asked.
Lev Sarantos is thirty. The careful diplomatic middle brother of the Sarantos Bratva. His older brother Dante is the Pakhan-of-Boston's heir-apparent. Lev's job, on his godfather's confidential kitchen retainer since the sixth of February, is to bring Natalya into the family — properly, slowly, on her own decision. He has waited seven years for this. And he is, on a Wednesday afternoon in May, walking up her bookshop stair with one careful Sarantos courtyard peony and the patience of every Sarantos middle brother in this city since 1894.
She is not ready. Then she is.
Two Pakhans. Nine weeks of chess negotiation. One marriage contract. One careful Russian-Greek-American 1972 wedding band that belonged to the heroine's late mother-in-law-to-be. One Italian-American widow downstairs who knows everything. And one war-widow's slow, dignified, properly-blessed return to herself — on her own decision, in her own kitchen, with the Tarasov signet still on her right hand and Eleni's Sarantos band, finally, on her left.
"Lev. June. Wednesday. Mine."
A slow-burn Bratva second-chance widow's romance. 172,000 words. Boston setting. Dual POV. Explicit. HEA guaranteed. No cliffhanger. Standalone within The Sarantos Bratva series.
Mrs. Natalya Yurievna Volkov-Tarasov is twenty-eight and a war widow. Her husband Mikhail died at Bakhmut in January 2023. She has lived above Mrs. Patricia Caruso's Italian-American bookshop in Boston's South End ever since — alone, on her own decision, on her own widowed kitchen calendar. She has not been touched. She has not been wanted. She has not, until now, been asked.
Lev Sarantos is thirty. The careful diplomatic middle brother of the Sarantos Bratva. His older brother Dante is the Pakhan-of-Boston's heir-apparent. Lev's job, on his godfather's confidential kitchen retainer since the sixth of February, is to bring Natalya into the family — properly, slowly, on her own decision. He has waited seven years for this. And he is, on a Wednesday afternoon in May, walking up her bookshop stair with one careful Sarantos courtyard peony and the patience of every Sarantos middle brother in this city since 1894.
She is not ready. Then she is.
Two Pakhans. Nine weeks of chess negotiation. One marriage contract. One careful Russian-Greek-American 1972 wedding band that belonged to the heroine's late mother-in-law-to-be. One Italian-American widow downstairs who knows everything. And one war-widow's slow, dignified, properly-blessed return to herself — on her own decision, in her own kitchen, with the Tarasov signet still on her right hand and Eleni's Sarantos band, finally, on her left.
"Lev. June. Wednesday. Mine."
A slow-burn Bratva second-chance widow's romance. 172,000 words. Boston setting. Dual POV. Explicit. HEA guaranteed. No cliffhanger. Standalone within The Sarantos Bratva series.
Used availability for Cora J Riley's The Pakhan's Shadow