My Husband's Pakhan

I've been married to Jason for twelve years. For ten of them, every time I asked for a baby, he said "not yet."

Then a leak from upstairs floods his closet. I dry off his laptop, it's still logged in, and I read everything.

He spends every Thursday night in suite 906 of a Brighton Beach hotel with another woman.

He's also been stealing from the Russian mob for three years. Over $1.7 million, all of it in a secret spreadsheet he wrote in Russian. He's always joked that my Russian is only good enough to order dinner.

I'm a court interpreter. I read Russian for a living.

The money belongs to Matvei Arkhipov, the pakhan, the boss of the Brighton Beach Bratva. He's forty-four and gray at the temples, and he never has to raise his voice.

So I move out, hire a lawyer and walk into his office with a flash drive. My offer: proof of every dollar my husband stole, in exchange for my husband's ruin.

He takes the deal on one condition. I don't file for divorce until he says so. A man who's been served runs, and Matvei wants Jason right where he is.

Fine. I've seen how he looks at me, so I add a condition of my own: he doesn't touch me until I say so.

The first time a man reaches for a gun in front of me, Matvei is walking me to my car. Ten seconds later the man is on his knees with his elbow bent the wrong way, and Matvei hasn't said a word to him.

I made the rule. Now I'm the one who wants to break it.

My Husband's Pakhan is a complete standalone dark mafia romance. Explicit heat, no cheating between the leads, and a guaranteed HEA.