Stolen Promises – Sokolov Bratva Read Online Flora Ferrari

Categories Genre: Alpha Male, Dark, Erotic, Insta-Love, Mafia Tags Authors:

Total pages in book: 60
Estimated words: 56572 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 283(@200wpm)___ 226(@250wpm)___ 189(@300wpm)

She’s my brother’s bride, but I saw her first.

The spare. The afterthought. That’s what my father thought of me. Now, I’m tasked with protecting my brother’s future bride, but the moment I lay eyes on her, I I might be the spare, but she should be my queen.I’m not supposed to want her. I shouldn’t even be thinking about her. A deal was made, and I was never considered.

The spare.

My blood burns for her, but she has her brother to protect. As his only family, she’ll do anything to keep him safe, even if it means marrying my brother.Even when I claim her in the most possessive, steamiest way, I’m still the spare.

Can our stolen moments and passionate kisses convince her that I can be her king? Or will I have to defy fate and seize what I want, no matter the cost?

*Stolen Promises is an insta-everything, romance with a HEA, no cheating, and no cliffhanger. Sokolov Bratva is an interconnected series that can be read as a standalone. I recommend reading the books in order.

*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************



Mila walks—almost runs—away from me. My heart is pounding so damn hard. It’s pounding from everything that’s happened between us and everything that can’t happen if we want to keep her brother and this city safe. Yet I can’t stop myself, even when we’re supposed to be arguing.

I quickly move ahead of her, then take her shoulders and kiss her passionately, hoping she can feel the possessiveness burning through me, the certainty that I’ll let nobody else have her, especially not my brother. She might be pledged to him, but she belongs to me.

The heat takes us over. Lifting her off her feet, I lay her down on a set of drawers and push my hips forward so she can feel my manhood brushing against her. The heat is even more urgent because I remember how incredible my curvy, young virgin feels, the perfect sound of her moaning when I bring her right to the edge.

Then I remember. Not here. Not now.

It takes everything I have to step away from her. It’s just a small step, less than a foot, but it’s so difficult with the taste of her lips on my mouth. “You’re right,” I tell her, even if it tears me up. She’s just told me we need to cool it off. It hurts like hell, but there’s the possible war, her dad, and her hostage brother. There’s so much against us and between us. “We shouldn’t … until I’ve kept my promise, which I will keep.”

“If you don’t—” she whispers, then cuts herself off.

I know where she was going. I know what she meant to say, and it almost turns me into an animal. It’s like she’s talking to the primal part of me, the voice that tells me to claim her over and over. I don’t give a damn whose fiancée she’s supposed to be.

“Say it,” I growl.

After a pause, she murmurs. “This is over.”

Yet I can tell she doesn’t mean it. Her voice falters as if the idea of us ending things hurts her as much as it hurts me. “Good,” I say.


“Now I have something to aim for.” I’m burning up thinking of all the ways this could go wrong. “Keep my promise, and I get the most beautiful, sexiest, kindest, bravest woman I’ve ever known. Break it and …”

I can’t make myself say it. It’s difficult enough to think about it. My woman has come into my life and changed everything. She changed me the first moment I saw her. We’ve both known it could blow up in our faces every second we’ve spent together. We’ve tried to ignore it, but the threat has always existed. Mila says it out loud.

“Everything turns to ash,” she whispers.



As Dad leans over his large desk, aiming his finger at me, I try to remind myself that we’ve had some good times before. There have been laughs in our lives, and a few notes of happiness have been tossed here and there like stray, forgotten lines of code—lines that don’t stop the program from functioning but don’t add to it either.

“You have to make him love you,” Dad says, glaring at me with that vicious curve to his lips. Dad has a medical condition that causes him to sweat a lot. I always do my best to try not to let that affect how I see him. I want to care about my dad, but the pain runs deep. “Do whatever it takes. Go to his room at night. Make him want you that way. We need Dimitri Sokolov to care about you, Mila. Can you do that?”

I grit my teeth, though I know Dad will have a nasty comment about that if I don’t quickly correct myself—an error. That’s how Dad sees me: an unruly mass of code he’s forced to correct and monitor continuously.