Chicago Bratva Series by Renee Rose – Read Books Online Free Ebooks good best novels to read

Chicago Bratva Series by Renee Rose – Read Books Online Free Ebooks good best novels to read http://www.ilovenovels.com Sun, 29 Jan 2023 00:20:50 +0000 en-US hourly 1 https://wordpress.org/?v=7.0 http://www.ilovenovels.com/wp-content/uploads/2020/09/favicon.png Chicago Bratva Series by Renee Rose – Read Books Online Free Ebooks good best novels to read http://www.ilovenovels.com 32 32 The Gatekeeper (Chicago Bratva #9) Read Online Renee Rose http://www.ilovenovels.com/the-gatekeeper-chicago-bratva-9-read-online-renee-rose Sun, 29 Jan 2023 00:17:32 +0000 http://www.booksnovels.com/the-gatekeeper-chicago-bratva-9-read-online-renee-rose Genre: Contemporary, Crime, Erotic, Mafia, Romance Authors: Renee Rose Series: Chicago Bratva Series by Renee Rose
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Total pages in book: 59
Estimated words: 57155 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 286(@200wpm)___ 229(@250wpm)___ 191(@300wpm)

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She’s my captive.
My prisoner.
I will make her talk.

The bratva put a gun in my hand at age thirteen. Gave me freedom, a sense of belonging, and the family I never had.

There’s no way I’m going to let this slip of a woman harm my boss.
No matter how beautiful she is.
How beguiling.
How painfully fragile.

Hurting a woman, however, is not possible.
So I’ll find other ways to torture her. Other, far more pleasing ways.
And in the end, my little prisoner will reveal all her secrets.
In the end: she will be mine.

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

Prologue

Kira, 13 years old

A splintering pounding sounds on our front door.

I’m in my nightshirt, brushing my teeth for bed.

My father has been missing for two days. It’s not unusual. He has his addictions: alcohol. Gambling. Low-level grifting.

But unlike our mother, he’s a decent parent. When he’s home, he laughs and jokes with us. He may break every promise he makes, but at least he gives us attention.

Our mom is shut up in her room, as always at this time of night. She’s a living ghost. She’s emotionally checked out from living with our dad, I guess. She works to pay the rent and put groceries in the refrigerator but, otherwise, barely functions.

I run out to the living room.

“Kira, come here!” My sister, Anya, who is seventeen and more of a mother to me than our own, grabs a butcher knife from the kitchen.

The door bursts open, and our dingy apartment floods with tattooed men.

Bratva. The Russian mafiya. I’ve heard my dad speak of them, but I’ve never seen them before. Still, there’s no doubt in my mind that’s who these men are.

I fly to my sister’s side, behind the protection of her butcher knife. Our mother doesn’t even come out of her room.

“Grigor. Where is he?” one of them demands. They’re looking for our father. I know he does business with the bratva. I’m not sure what kind. Maybe that’s where he gambles.

“Wh–why? What has he done?” I ask.

“He owes us, and we’ve come to collect.”

“Well, he’s not here,” Anya says.

One of them advances. His upper lip curls. I don’t like the way he’s looking at my bare legs. At my sister’s breasts. “Where?”

“We don’t know!” Anya spits. “He’s been gone for two days.”

“Take the older one,” a man says quietly. He must be the leader because the men surge forward to obey.

One of them puts a gun to my forehead, but he speaks to my sister. “Come nicely or your little sister’s brains will cover the floor.”

Anya, shocked into submission, lets another man take the knife from her hand and grasp her firmly by the upper arm.

“You can’t take her!” I’m not begging, I’m shouting. As if I have any power to persuade them.

“Shut her up,” the leader says, and the man with the gun slams the side of it against my head. Everything goes black.

When I wake, Anya is gone.

Maykl, 13 years old

I stand, pistol shaking in my sweaty hand. My breath rasps in and out in harsh measures. I used this pistol four days ago to kill my own father. It was kill or be killed, but I’m still sick over it. I’m still in shock. I’ve barely slept in the nights since.

I’m grateful the bratva took care of everything. Got rid of the body. Gave me a place to stay. Put money in my pocket. It was Peter, one of the lower leaders, who gave me the gun in the first place.

“For protection,” he said when they were at my father’s auto shop, and he saw the bruises on my face.

Now, though–what he’s asking of me is too much.

“This is how you prove your loyalty, Maykl. Do you want to join the brotherhood?”

I stare down at the beaten man at my feet. Sweat beads along his greasy blond hairline. His light blue eyes bulge with terror. Breath rasps in and out at a rapid rate. “Nyet…nyet,” he pleads.

I do want to join the brotherhood. Rather desperately. I assumed I was already in. I won't survive without them. I’ll go to prison for killing my father.

“Take my daughter again! Use her,” the man pleads.

“We already tired of her,” Peter says.

“The younger one, then.”

“It’s easy,” Peter murmurs behind me. “Just pull the trigger. This guy would sell his own daughters. He is scum.”

I stop thinking. I have no other choice. I squeeze the trigger…

And miss.

“Again, Maykl.” Peter’s patient. “Right between the eyes. You can do it.”

The second time, I don’t miss. Clean shot in the head.

He dies immediately.

Grigor Koslov. I memorize his name as the ink is pressed into my skin to memorialize the crime.

My first murder on behalf of the bratva.

First of far too many.

Chapter One

Sixteen Years Later

Kira

I stand in the Cook County morgue and stare down at the wasted body of my sister. A wave of nausea rolls through me, even though I prepared myself for this sight. She’s skin and bones, reduced to a skeleton long before the final overdose took her. Her arms are covered in needle tracks.

This is the conclusion to yet another life ruined by the bratva. The second family member I’ve lost at their hands.

I barely slept on the plane from Russia, but seeing Anya’s horrific form instantly clears the fog from my brain and brings on an urgent sense of purpose: I need to find my nephew. I came to bring him home with me. It’s what I should have done years ago.

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The Player (Chicago Bratva #8) Read Online Renee Rose http://www.ilovenovels.com/the-player-chicago-bratva-8-read-online-renee-rose Tue, 07 Jun 2022 11:09:50 +0000 http://www.booksnovels.com/the-player-chicago-bratva-8-read-online-renee-rose Genre: Contemporary, Erotic, Mafia, Romance Authors: Renee Rose Series: Chicago Bratva Series by Renee Rose
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Total pages in book: 65
Estimated words: 63758 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 319(@200wpm)___ 255(@250wpm)___ 213(@300wpm)

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Read Online Books/Novels:	The Player (Chicago Bratva #8)
Author/Writer of Book/Novel:	Renee Rose
Language:	English
ISBN/ ASIN:	B09XF5GZQ4
Book Information:
Players will play. Flynn Taylor, rock ‘n roll heartthrob, plays fast and loose. He’s with different girls every night. Yes, girls plural. On the brink of becoming not just a Chicago sensation, but an American icon, he’s everything I should avoid. Then again, maybe it doesn’t matter. I’m so damaged, I’m not even capable of a relationship. He might be the perfect antidote. The temptation I need to lure me back to the side of the living. He could help me get over my trauma. Attempt physical intimacy. If it goes wrong–no harm, no foul, right? If only I can keep my overprotective bratva brother from threatening to kill him if he even touches me…
Books in Series:	Chicago Bratva Series by Renee Rose
Books by Author:	Renee Rose

PROLOGUE

Nadia

The sound of metallic parts clash in my ears. Cigar smoke fills my nostrils. I hear girls screaming and pleading nearby.

Nadia, look at me. Look here. He slaps my face hard enough to make my head spin. Open your pretty little Russian mouth, whore.

“Nyet…nyet!”

I jerk awake at the sound of my own voice pleading into the darkness.

I try to move, but I can’t–my wrists are immobilized–chained to the bed.

No, wait. They’re not. I sit up and rub them to be sure. I’m free. It was just a dream.

Another flashback.

The lamp beside my bed glows because I can’t fall asleep in the dark. Worse, if I wake in darkness, I scream until I’m hoarse.

I blink, looking for the cots. For the other girls chained to them, but I’m in my own bed. My own bedroom. Not in the basement of Leon Poval’s sofa factory but in our luxury apartment in Chicago. In the bratva building they call the Kremlin.

My brother Adrian and his girlfriend Kat are in the next bedroom. I probably woke them with my cries.

“I’m all right,” I call out in Russian, in case they’re bracing for my screams.

I climb out of bed and walk to my sewing table to pick up my sketchbook.

Three years ago, when I was a different person altogether, I dreamed of designing wedding gowns. I worked as a seamstress doing alterations in a high-end bridal shop and went to school to study fashion design.

Now, I barely leave the apartment. Agoraphobia keeps me trapped here with my sketchpad full of designs and a sewing machine I never use.

I flip it open to the last drawing I made. Four musicians on a stage. Each wearing punked-out versions of a business suit in black pinstripes and red accents. The jackets have one or both sleeves roughly removed, without a neat hem. One has a lapel missing from the left.

The female lead singer is in tiny shorts with fishnets underneath and a pleated red skirt just on the sides of the shorts. Her red tie is wrapped close around her neck like one of the collars Kat likes to wear.

Then there’s her brother, Flynn–the lead guitar player. Tall and dashing. I have him in the jacket missing both sleeves, showing off his shoulders. A red t-shirt underneath–no tie. Black pants with skinny legs. I haven’t sketched his face, but my mind conjures it from memory.

Pirate smile. Eyes that crinkle at the edges. A warmth and ease that extends beyond his lanky form.

He’s the one thing that lures me out of this building. Away from the security I derive from living in the fortress of the Russian mafiya.

I know his friendliness toward me is just that–a casual amicability he extends to everyone in his sphere. I know he takes a different girl home every week–sometimes two. At the same time.

Flynn is a player. Not the guy for me, and yet I’m drawn to him.

He gives me a reason to try to conquer my PTSD and panic disorder. A reason to leave my room.

I fully expect he’ll wreck my heart–that probably can’t be helped. But heartache has to be better than the torment of solitude. Or worse–being afraid to feel anything at all.

1

Flynn

Nadia is having a panic attack.

I'm in the alley behind Rue's Lounge sharing a blunt with my buddies in the band when the stunning young Russian comes flying out the emergency exit door gasping for breath.

She veers quickly around the corner like she doesn't want to be seen.

“I'll see you guys inside.” I push off the wall and pass the blunt back to Ty, our drummer. I don’t call attention to Nadia, the girl who lives in my sister’s building. I'm sure she wants privacy while she tries to get control.

I'm all too familiar with what a panic attack looks like. My mom suffers from anxiety and depression, and I've spent my entire life helping her navigate it. Lightening her moods. Working to make her smile.

I stroll around the corner like I'm still just out for a smoke and find Nadia with her back against the bricks and tears streaming down her face. I don’t know her that well. Not well enough to presume she wants to talk to me right now. Or that I’m any comfort to her.

But I’m incapable of walking away. Not before trying.

Her eyes widen when she sees me, and she gasps harder to catch her breath, doubling over at the waist, her hands resting on her ripped jeans.

I lean my back against the brick wall beside her, so we're side by side. No direct eye contact. No threatening interaction required.

After a moment, she lifts her torso, but she’s still unable to breathe. Her face is red and tears leak from the outer corners of her eyes. I can't think of any words to say, so I just take her hand and thread my fingers through hers.

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The Cleaner (Chicago Bratva #7) Read Online Renee Rose http://www.ilovenovels.com/the-cleaner-chicago-bratva-7-read-online-renee-rose Sun, 01 May 2022 12:46:09 +0000 http://www.booksnovels.com/the-cleaner-chicago-bratva-7-read-online-renee-rose Genre: Alpha Male, Contemporary, Crime, Insta-Love, Mafia, Romance Authors: Renee Rose Series: Chicago Bratva Series by Renee Rose
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Total pages in book: 64
Estimated words: 62543 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 313(@200wpm)___ 250(@250wpm)___ 208(@300wpm)

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Read Online Books/Novels:	The Cleaner (Chicago Bratva #7)
Author/Writer of Book/Novel:	Renee Rose
Language:	English
ISBN/ ASIN:	B09MT9KLR3
Book Information:
I’VE CAPTURED THE CRIME LORD’S DAUGHTER She will pay the price for her father’s sin. I’ll use my beautiful prisoner to get him. To make him suffer. Make him believe I'm hurting her the way he harmed my sister. And when I’m done tormenting him, I will offer a trade: her life for his. I owe him a slow, painful death. Revenge is my due. But Kateryna is strong in ways I didn’t expect. Broken before I ever got to her, she's a willing participant for my torment. She turns the tables on me, seducing me with her laughter. Her wild, crazy appetite for pain and pleasure. Now I must choose: Keep her and forgo my revenge or destroy my enemy and the woman I’ve come to love.
Books in Series:	Chicago Bratva Series by Renee Rose
Books by Author:	Renee Rose

1

Adrian

Come on out, dietka. I’m waiting.

I prop a shoulder against a brick wall, watching the entrance to the flat across the street where my mark, Kateryna Poval, lives. The incessant Liverpool rain has paused for the moment, but fog nestles close to the sidewalks, occasionally obscuring my view.

A girl who fits her description emerges from the flat, but it can’t be her. This one appears too young. Her long dark hair is in two braids, and she’s wearing a school uniform: knee-high socks with a short, pleated skirt and white blouse…

Huh. Hold up. Maybe she’s not as young as I thought.

The blouse is tied up under her breasts to bare her flat belly, and the throat is open way too low for a school uniform, giving view to a rather impressive rack. And she’s not wearing a jacket or necktie. Plus the skirt is far too short.

Besides, it’s ten at night.

So that’s not a student in a uniform, it’s my mark in some kind of costume. She has a tiny backpack strapped to her back to complete the schoolgirl look although it’s more purse-sized than anything that would hold books or folders.

Why isn’t she wearing a fucking jacket? It’s not frigid like Chicago or Russia, but England is still cold in January, for Christ’s sake. I don’t know why I give a fuck, but it bothers me.

I stay in the shadows, following the young woman on the opposite side of the street.

It was nearly impossible to get any photos of Kateryna–she has zero social media presence, which is unheard of for a young woman of twenty–but our hacker got into her secondary school records to retrieve an older photo.

Leon Poval’s daughter went to a private prep school where she was enrolled under the last name Kovalenko, but she completed her secondary studies two years ago. Now she attends a small art school here, which seems strange. Surely, they have those back in Ukraine. Maybe Poval thinks she’s safer hidden here.

I don’t give a fuck, so long as she has a pulse and can be used as leverage against him.

I trail her to the bus stop where she perches on the backrest of a cement bench, her feet–which are in platform heels–on the seat. She flicks one of her dark braids off her shoulder and blows a bubble with her gum. I can’t quite figure out if she really is an insolent overgrown teen or if she has some kind of school-girl fetish. I think there’s a Japanese fashion trend that is sexy school uniforms–maybe that’s her jam. Or could she be a stripper? I seem to recall Pavel telling me the school-girl thing was a popular stripper outfit. Or was it in the BDSM dungeons he went to? Fuck if I know. I don’t go out much. Not with my sister’s fragile state.

I pull out my phone and study the photo Dima sent me, comparing it to the young woman at the bus stop.

The girl in the photo is a perfect match. She’s a few years younger in the picture, wearing a more conservative uniform with the jacket and necktie, and she appears as innocent and young as this version seems saucy.

The bus approaches, and I cross the street, hanging back until she boards, then climbing on and sliding into a seat in the front. I pull the knit cap I’m wearing down low over my forehead. She’s behind me, but I can watch her reflection in the windshield.

She wears a slender gold hoop nose ring, and she puts earbuds in her ears and scrolls through something on her phone. She hasn’t noticed me, which is good because I don’t plan on grabbing her tonight.

The cargo ship I’ve arranged to transport her to the U.S. won’t dock for a few days. I’m just keeping an eye on her for now. It’s probably not my smartest move, since I have no practice in subtlety when it comes to stalking. I don’t want to alert her to my presence. But I also don’t want to lose her. I’ve been looking for her father for over a year now. Ever since he gave me the slip after I burned down his sex slave den masquerading as a sofa factory.

When Dima, my bratva brother and Russia’s finest hacker, told me he discovered Poval had a daughter, I had to seize my chance.

I won’t hurt her. Not like Poval hurt Nadia.

But I sure as hell will make him think I have. I want him to suffer, believing I’m going to enact every last indignity and trauma he inflicted on my sister.

The bus stops a few times, and Kateryna hops off. I wait a few beats until the doors close then surge toward the front door, making the bus driver curse and throw the door open again.

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The Bookie (Chicago Bratva #6) Read Online Renee Rose http://www.ilovenovels.com/the-bookie-chicago-bratva-6-read-online-renee-rose Thu, 09 Dec 2021 07:26:52 +0000 http://www.booksnovels.com/the-bookie-chicago-bratva-6-read-online-renee-rose Genre: Alpha Male, Contemporary, Mafia, Romance, Suspense Authors: Renee Rose Series: Chicago Bratva Series by Renee Rose
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Total pages in book: 67
Estimated words: 65593 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 328(@200wpm)___ 262(@250wpm)___ 219(@300wpm)

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Read Online Books/Novels:	The Bookie (Chicago Bratva #6)
Author/Writer of Book/Novel:	Renee Rose
Language:	English
ISBN/ ASIN:	B09G2L22MZ
Book Information:
I BARGAINED WITH THE BRATVA-- MY BROTHER’S LIFE FOR MY OWN. They offered me a deal: thirty nights for my brother's life. Thirty nights...with him. Nikolai Novikov. The charming but dangerous loanshark. He’s deceptively smooth. Sinfully handsome. Addictive, even. But it's only an illusion. I vow to give him nothing more than I promised, Yet he sees right through me. When it comes to my heart, all bets are off... And winner takes all.
Books in Series:	Chicago Bratva Series by Renee Rose
Books by Author:	Renee Rose

1

Nikolai

There’s just no pleasure in delivering a good beat-down anymore.

As bookie for the Chicago bratva, it’s part of the job, but my heart isn’t into it. Not with this kid.

I bury my fist in Zane’s soft belly and watch as he doubles over, wheezing. We’re in his dorm room at Northwestern. I told his roommate to take a hike unless he wanted me to beat his face in too.

“I’m sorry. I’ll get your money. I promise,” he gasps.

“Nah. We’re past your promises,” I tell him. “This time, I’m here to collect.” It’s not like he hasn’t been warned. The truth is, I probably have gone way too easy on him because I like Zane.

He’s smart. Was a decent addition to my poker table before he got into blow and started acting like a douche.

Oleg, our bratva cell’s enforcer, hauls him back to his feet and holds him up for me to punch again. I tip my head at Adrian, one of our soldiers, to have him deliver the blow.

I don’t get off on violence. Not the way Pavel, the most sadistic in our bratva cell, does. But he moved to Los Angeles to be with his actress girlfriend, who gets off on his sadistic ways. And Oleg, our huge, silent enforcer, is also in love, which has softened him.

The guy was probably always a teddy bear under the huge fearsome exterior, but he pulls punches more often now. Case in point—he’s doing the holding up instead of the punching. Considering one aptly delivered blow from Oleg’s giant fists could end a guy, it doesn’t make sense.

“I’ve given you slack while you get the money together, but you missed last week’s payment. Didn’t answer my texts. So here is what’s going to happen.”

Adrian punches his jaw then delivers a left uppercut to the ribs. Our new cleaner shows promise. Adrian’s new to this country and has known great hardship. He still rides the sharp edge of violence. The rest of us have grown softer living large in America.

“You’re going to give me the keys to your Mustang and sign over the title.”

Zane gapes at me, eyes bugging out. Blood runs from both his nostrils and his lip. “You can’t...I…” I raise my brows, and he finishes with a simple “fuck.”

Adrian hits him again.

“I’m not completely heartless. I’ll deduct the full resale value from what you owe the bratva. It’s a 2018?”

Adrian hits him before he can answer, and Zane drops to his knees. “No more,” he wheezes.

“Get me the title.”

“Here are the keys.” He shoves his hand in his pocket and pulls them out. “The title is at my sister’s place. I’ll bring it to you Friday.”

I take the keys. “Nah. We’ll go get it now—together. I wouldn’t mind meeting Big Sister. What’s her name again? Chelle?”

Zane’s eyes go wild, not missing my intended implication. “Leave my sister out of this. I’ll get you the title right now. Just give me a lift over there.”

“Let’s go.” I spread my hands.

Oleg hauls Zane to his feet, but he stumbles on his way to the door, like he can’t remember how to walk. We flank him as we head down the hall, taking the stairs instead of the elevator.

I’d scoped the location of the Mustang when we arrived, so I go straight to it now and get behind the wheel. Adrian shoves Zane toward the back seat and takes the front passenger side.

Oleg leaves to drive the SUV we came in.

Zane lunges between the seats and points to the glove box. “There are napkins in there,” he grunts. “Unless you want me to bleed all over your new car.”

“Someone else’s new car,” I say mildly, lifting my chin at the glove box to let Adrian know it’s okay to get them. “You think I want to drive your old set of wheels?”

Adrian’s lip curls when he hands the napkins back, and Zane flinches at the hardness he catches in our soldier’s face.

I drive to Zane’s sister’s place without directions. I’ve already done my homework. My brother Dima, our bratva cell’s hacker, researches all our players. When Zane got in the hole with us, Dima went deeper. I have everything I need on Zane to wring him dry.

I know he and his sister had an upper middle-class upbringing. Their father was a stock broker who shot himself three years ago. They inherited little because it turned out the guy had a gambling problem. I guess the apple didn’t fall far from the tree in Zane’s case.

The one thing the dad hadn’t touched was his kid’s college fund, so Zane was still riding his privilege there. The sister is five years older and works for the top publicity firm in town.

I pull up in front of a brownstone building in a transitional neighborhood of Chicago. It is one of those up-and-coming hipster areas where old buildings are being gentrified, but there are still good deals to be found.

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The Hacker (Chicago Bratva #5) Read Online Renee Rose http://www.ilovenovels.com/the-hacker-chicago-bratva-5-read-online-renee-rose Wed, 29 Sep 2021 10:33:00 +0000 http://www.booksnovels.com/the-hacker-chicago-bratva-5-read-online-renee-rose Genre: Crime, Mafia, Romance, Suspense Authors: Renee Rose Series: Chicago Bratva Series by Renee Rose
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Total pages in book: 67
Estimated words: 64993 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 325(@200wpm)___ 260(@250wpm)___ 217(@300wpm)

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Read Online Books/Novels:	The Hacker (Chicago Bratva #5)
Author/Writer of Book/Novel:	Renee Rose
Language:	English
ISBN/ ASIN:	B09BBPTQ96
Book Information:
SHE BETRAYED MY FAMILY--I WILL MAKE HER PAY. The sweet redhead in our building isn’t as innocent as we thought. She brought a Fed into our circle. Got my twin brother shot. Now she will pay. I’m putting her in charge of nursing him back to health. If he dies, she dies. That’s what I told her, anyway. Of course I wouldn’t actually harm her. Our beautiful neighbor is already under my skin. But that won’t stop me from punishing her then touching her in all the ways I vowed I wouldn’t. She’s ruined my peace. Become a distraction I can’t afford. I want to keep her under my control... I need to keep her out of my heart.
Books in Series:	Chicago Bratva Series by Renee Rose
Books by Author:	Renee Rose

Prologue

St. Petersburg 2011

Dima

I slam the brakes on the Lada too hard, sending the car I share with my twin brother into a full spin on the icy highway. For one glorious moment, I think I’ve done it.

I’ve ended things. I won’t have to sell my soul to the bratva to repay the loan I took for her treatment.

I’m going to join her. I promised there’d be no one else for me. I swore it there in the hospital, the night before she took her last breath. When she took off the ring I gave her and put it on my pinkie finger.

You are always mine, and I am always yours. Even in death.

Wait for me. I’ll be there soon.

Right before I went home and beat my bedroom wall until it crumbled.

Nikolai’s frantic yells fill my ears as our car smashes into a guardrail, crushing my side of the car in. Metal screams, glass shatters. We teeter on the side of a bridge over a frozen river. This is it. Time to die. The pain will end now.

I don’t know if I believe in an afterlife, but I do know I don’t want to live without her.

Nikolai unbuckles his seat belt and throws his door open, yanking me by the shirt to haul me out on his side.

“Nyet.” I don’t move. The moment he gets out, the car will fall to the river below. I don’t know if the ice will break beneath the weight. Maybe the impact alone will kill me. I can only hope.

Nikolai keeps hold of my shirt with one hand. With the other, he punches me in the face.

Pain explodes in my nose and behind my eyes. My vision goes black, blood pours into my mouth.

Nikolai uses my disorientation to yank me from behind the wheel. “Get the hell out,” he growls in Russian.

My vision still hasn’t returned. My legs scramble—fuck. I think they’re helping me climb out.

I throw out a hand to grab for the door handle. The steering wheel. Something to keep me in the car when it slides off the bridge, but my twin is too fast. He throws his weight backward and falls down to the ground outside his door, pulling me on top of him.

Metal groans. The car teeters and then slides away from us. For a moment, it feels as if the bridge itself is falling, as the world swoops around me. And then it crashes to the river below.

Nikolai punches me in the face again. And again. “You don’t get to die today, asshole.” Another punch. “And you don’t get to fucking bring me with you.”

I groan, choking on blood.

I didn’t mean to kill Nikolai. I am a bastard for not even separating myself from him.

I hadn’t planned on dying tonight—not consciously, anyway. But I should have given his presence in the car more thought before I executed that non-plan.

That’s the thing with twins. Nikolai feels like an extension of myself. The silent presence who shared my pain through the months of Alyona’s chemo and radiation. Who did my homework for me and swapped classes to pretend to be me and take my tests when I stopped caring about school.

He was the guy who found out about the bratva loan when it seemed like a new expensive treatment option might help.

We don’t talk about it. We don’t need to. He’s been with me through the whole fucking thing. From falling in love with the most beautiful girl in the city to putting her in the ground.

I groan and curl up on my side in the snow, turning it crimson with the blood from my nose and the split in my lip.

“Get up.”

I don’t move.

Over the howling wind, I fail to notice the arrival of another car. A door being thrown open.

“Get in,” an authoritative voice commands.

Nikolai tries to haul me up. I don’t move.

“Get them in the car.”

Two pairs of gleaming black boots stomp around me, and I’m hauled to my feet and shoved in the back of a limo.

That was the night we first met Igor Antonov.

The night the bratva found us and took their due, not in the form of a beat-down or threats, but full ownership of our lives. Because Igor recognized the value of young men with a deathwish. His army was made up of them.

So our mother did lose both her sons that night. She believed we were lost to the icy river, not to the brotherhood that required we disavow all ties to her.

1

Dima

There you are, beautiful.

Hacking and cyberstalking isn’t just a job, it’s a way of life. Sitting behind my screen in the penthouse I share with my bratva brothers, I rule the cyberworld. Right now, I’m watching the live security cam feed on our building to glimpse the slender female figure enter the front door and walk to the elevator.

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The Soldier (Chicago Bratva #4) Read Online Renee Rose http://www.ilovenovels.com/the-soldier-chicago-bratva-4-read-online-renee-rose Sat, 19 Jun 2021 15:08:39 +0000 http://www.booksnovels.com/the-soldier-chicago-bratva-4-read-online-renee-rose Genre: Alpha Male, BDSM, Crime, Dark, Erotic, Mafia, Romance, Suspense Authors: Renee Rose Series: Chicago Bratva Series by Renee Rose
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Total pages in book: 59
Estimated words: 57031 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 285(@200wpm)___ 228(@250wpm)___ 190(@300wpm)

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Read Online Books/Novels:	The Soldier (Chicago Bratva #4)
Author/Writer of Book/Novel:	Renee Rose
Language:	English
ISBN/ ASIN:	B095CNVJY6
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I SHOULD GIVE HER UP — SET HER FREE. The Russian army made me a killer, but the brotherhood made me what I am. Ruthless. Deadly. Irredeemable. Which is why Kayla should stay away. The innocent young actress has a bright future ahead of her, so long as someone doesn’t break her first. Someone like me. Every weekend, she gives herself to me fully. Without question. Without hesitation. She’s mine to command. In return, I give her what she craves — pain and pleasure. But it’s a fantasy that can’t ever become reality. We’re playing with fire, but I can’t seem to let her go…
Books in Series:	Chicago Bratva Series by Renee Rose
Books by Author:	Renee Rose

1

Pavel

I wrap my tattooed fingers under the deadbeat’s jaw and trace a knife blade across his throat. “Don’t make bets you can’t cover,” I tell him. I sharpened the blade before we came, so just the tickle of it cuts his skin and sends a trickle of blood down his fat neck. Enough to scare him if he’s squeamish. We’re not here to maim the guy, just to make him piss his pants.

Nikolai, our bookie, stands close, arms folded over his chest in clear condemnation. Beside him, Oleg, the enormous, silent enforcer, cracks his tattooed knuckles.

He already worked the asshole over pretty well. The guy will be bruised and swollen for a couple weeks, for sure. That’s what happens when you fuck with the Chicago Bratva.

“Please. I’ll get you the money. I swear.” He’s blubbering now. It didn’t take long to break him, but it was still more time than I wanted to waste here.

Not that my job is a waste of my time. I’m damn lucky to be part of Ravil’s bratva cell.

It’s just that I have someone else to torture after this. Someone far more delectable and willing. But unfortunately, she lives in a different city, which means I have a flight to catch.

I meet Nikolai’s eye, and he shrugs, leaving the call up to me.

I clean the blade of my knife on the mudak’s shirt. “You have two weeks. Pay up or we take everything you love. Understand?”

“I understand,” he moans. “I’ll get you the money. I promise.”

“You had the money,” I remind him. “And instead of bringing it to us, you used it to place a new bet with the Tacones.”

The guy hangs his head. “I know,” he moans.

“So I’m telling you—we get paid first.”

“I will—I will pay you first. I promise.”

“Don’t think you’re welcome at my table again,” Nikolai says. He takes it personally when players choose to sit with the Italians instead of us. The Tacones aren’t our enemies; we have a tacit agreement to stick to our own specialties when it comes to organized crime in this city. Which means our poker games shouldn’t overlap.

I lift my chin at Oleg, who takes one last swing at the guy’s face for good measure, and then I cut the ropes tying him to the chair. He starts to scramble up, but I point the blade of my knife at his left eyeball, and he freezes.

“Sit. Count to four hundred. Then you leave.”

“Four hundred. Got it. Four hundred,” the guy babbles.

I pick up my jacket and pull it on as we leave the abandoned warehouse we chose for our little torture session. Pea gravel crunches underfoot as we walk to Oleg’s SUV.

“Not up to your usual quality,” Nikolai remarks as we walk. “You losing your taste for torture?”

“No.” I don’t tell him my tastes have just changed. I’ve found a far healthier outlet for my sadistic urges. I don’t tell him, but he probably already knows. I live with these guys full time. It’s pretty hard to keep secrets although we just found out Oleg kept a huge one about his past from us.

“Seriously, dude. I almost stepped in to throw a couple punches myself.” Nikolai’s still giving me shit.

I glance at Oleg, because the guy communicates more these days, and he shrugs and makes his fist nod, sign language for yes.

“Da poshel ty.” I tell them to go to hell.

We climb into Oleg’s vehicle, and he starts it up to drive us back.

“Ravil’s going to replace you if you don’t start pulling your weight.” Nikolai says it lightly, but a prickle on the back of my neck tells me to pay attention. I’m not sure if he’s just trying to get a rise out of me or if he means it. Ravil is our pakhan, the boss of the Chicago bratva. The idea that he might be dissatisfied with my service puts me on edge. I’m lucky as hell to have this position, and I’m ambitious. I definitely hope to solidify my place for as long as I’m here. That way, hopefully, when I go back to Moscow, I’ll have improved my position in the organization there.

“What the fuck are you talking about?” I snap.

Nikolai twists from the front seat to look at me. “He made a comment this morning about you leaving for the weekend again. Something about you not clearing it with him.”

Blyad’. I hadn’t cleared it with him. But I thought everyone knew I was going to L.A. for the weekend. I’ve gone every weekend since Valentine’s, when Ravil sent me to a BDSM club on business, and I ended up claiming my little slave.

Still, assuming everyone knew I was going isn’t the same thing as asking permission from the boss. I should’ve thought to ask for his leave, but we’re not exactly timeclock employees. Our job descriptions are pretty loose. Basically, I do whatever the fuck Ravil tells me to do—legal or not.

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >59

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The Enforcer (Chicago Bratva #3) Read Online Renee Rose http://www.ilovenovels.com/the-enforcer-chicago-bratva-3-read-online-renee-rose Sat, 03 Apr 2021 19:56:43 +0000 http://www.booksnovels.com/the-enforcer-chicago-bratva-3-read-online-renee-rose Genre: BDSM, Dark, Erotic, Mafia, Romance Authors: Renee Rose Series: Chicago Bratva Series by Renee Rose
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Total pages in book: 63
Estimated words: 60404 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 302(@200wpm)___ 242(@250wpm)___ 201(@300wpm)

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Read Online Books/Novels:	The Enforcer (Chicago Bratva #3)
Author/Writer of Book/Novel:	Renee Rose
Language:	English
ISBN/ ASIN:	9798729931477
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She’s my weakness, my obsession. And now my prisoner. I spent twelve long years in a Siberian prison. Since my release, nothing's held my interest. Nothing except her. Week after week, I watch her band perform. I can't get her out of my mind. When my past catches up to me, she becomes a target. The only way to save her is to lock her away. Hold her prisoner until things blow over. She’ll never forgive me now, but I can’t explain. I can’t talk.
Books in Series:	Chicago Bratva Series by Renee Rose
Books by Author:	Renee Rose

Chapter 1

Oleg

Closing time at Rue’s Lounge is the worst part of every week. I drain the last of my beer and set the bottle down, reluctantly rising from the table I staked out early in the night. Story, my American songbird, and her bandmates gather around the bar, still pumped with energy from another epic performance.

I hesitate, but there’s no excuse to remain. Not when Rue, the mohawked owner, has already turned on the overhead fluorescents to drive the last patrons out. Not when she’s specifically pointed at me and jerked her head toward the door.

I have no reason to stay. I’m not hanging around working up the nerve to ask Story out.

That would be impossible without a tongue.

I won’t invent some other way to connect with her, either. I’m not the guy for her. I know that.

And I don’t stay to clock more hours staring at her. Well, maybe some of that. It’s pretty fucking hard to look away when she’s in a room. The honey-voiced lead-singer and guitarist is magnetic. Mesmerizing. Gloriously talented and punk-beautiful.

No, I stay because I’m incapable of leaving. I can’t quit the premises until I’m absolutely sure Story will get home safe.

I watch her down her third margarita in a few swift gulps and then laugh at something one of her friends says. Her Debbie Harry bob is a pale pink this week—she added a tint of champagne to her usual platinum, which makes her pale skin glow. She’s so beautiful it hurts.

I force myself to walk out.

I know the bar’s familiar to her, and she has lots of friends there. She also has her bandmates, which include her brother. They should all look after her. But there’s alcohol involved. Possibly drugs. And I know I’m not the only mudak harboring wicked thoughts about what they’d like to do with the enigmatic singer of the Storytellers.

The band members sometimes stay and drink after Rue’s closes, which is legal since they’re on the bar’s payroll. Those nights, I sit in my Yukon Denali and wait until I see Story get safely in the band’s van or leave with someone she knows.

Tonight, they all head out with their groupies after me. I won’t have to wait long.

Soon she’ll be safely out of my sight. I can go to the penthouse and start the countdown until she plays next week over again.

I walk to my vehicle and lean my forearm on the hood, waiting to make sure she gets out of here safely.

Story weaves as she clops through the parking lot in her Doc Martens, the alcohol obviously hitting her. Her fishnets sport a tear up one thigh that makes me want to finish the job. Rip them open and lick my way to the apex of those shapely legs. Only I don’t have a tongue to lick with.

Blyad'. I haven’t been with a woman more than twice since it was taken from me. I don’t know how I’d make love to Story without the goddamn tip of my tongue.

Her brother—the ladies man of the band—has a hot girl tucked under each arm, and he walks behind his weaving sister toward their van. His van—I think. At least, he usually drives it.

She has a tiny Smart Car she shows up in now and then.

Flynn says something to Story and veers away from the van, taking his two dates with him.

“What? Wait—Flynn—you can’t!” Story hollers at his back.

He ignores her.

“I had too much to drink to drive home.”

Flynn isn’t even listening. He’s saying something to the girls, and they’re giggling in response.

The rest of their crew has scattered to other vehicles, leaving Story alone with the van.

Drunk.

Blyad'. I’m not the guy to go and tell her not to drive drunk. Again—I obviously don’t—can’t—tell anyone shit.

But I don’t like it.

“Flynn!” Story calls after her brother. “Can’t you drop me off first?”

“I’ve been drinking, too,” he says although I think he’s probably in far better shape than his sister.

I step away from my vehicle to show myself. I hold up my keys and point to the Denali. It’s about as close as I’ve come to communicating in a long fucking time. I usually don’t even try. That way people stop trying to connect with me. To include me. That way, I become invisible.

As much as a guy who’s six-foot-six and two hundred eighty pounds can be invisible.

Story sees me and hesitates. I can tell she read my offer. She’s considering it.

Part of me wants her to reject it. She shouldn’t get into cars with men she doesn’t really know. I mean, she knows me from a bar, but I could be any kind of creep.

But her shoulders sag in defeat. She holds her keys up and waves them at me. “Oleg—can you drive me home?” she slurs.

She wants me to drive her van.

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The Fixer (Chicago Bratva #2) Read Online Renee Rose http://www.ilovenovels.com/the-fixer-chicago-bratva-2-read-online-renee-rose Mon, 08 Feb 2021 19:09:08 +0000 http://www.booksnovels.com/the-fixer-chicago-bratva-2-read-online-renee-rose Genre: Alpha Male, Billionaire, Contemporary, Erotic, Mafia, Romance Authors: Renee Rose Series: Chicago Bratva Series by Renee Rose
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Total pages in book: 66
Estimated words: 64304 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 322(@200wpm)___ 257(@250wpm)___ 214(@300wpm)

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Read Online Books/Novels:	The Fixer (Chicago Bratva #2)
Author/Writer of Book/Novel:	Renee Rose
Language:	English
ISBN/ ASIN:	9798701404036
Book Information:
OWNED BY THE MAN I BETRAYED Eight years ago I uttered a lie that changed a man’s life. My father banished him from his bratva cell. From the country. Now he’s back to take my inheritance. My life. Not through murder, but marriage. And my own father arranged it. Maxim thinks he can make me submit to his will. He thinks he gets to call all the shots. I wanted him once and he refused me. I won’t fall for him again. And I don’t plan to cave. Not even when he makes me tremble with need…
Books in Series:	Chicago Bratva Series by Renee Rose
Books by Author:	Renee Rose

Chapter 1

Sasha

My father’s men say he only has days to live. Maybe only hours. We’re at his home in Moscow—a residence I’ve never been permitted to enter before.

A place I hated from the time I was a little girl.

It means little to me now. Ditto on his approaching death.

I can’t say I love the man. He was a terrible father and a worse partner to my mother. Partner, not husband—no, he couldn’t marry her.

It’s against the bratva code.

She was his kept mistress for thirty years until last week when he informed her she was now the mistress of Vladimir, his right-hand man. That’s right—he literally bestowed his mistress on another man. Like she was some whore he owned. No, worse than a whore—like she was his slave.

She had no choice in the matter.

Like I say, he’s not a nice man, my father.

“Come, Sasha, your father wants to see you,” my mother says in a hushed tone. My once beautiful mother suddenly appears old. She’s pale, her face drawn up and pinched in grief.

Despite it all, she still loves my father deeply.

I follow her into his room. He didn’t want to die in a hospital, so his large bedroom has been converted to one. Medical machines surround him; there are nurses on duty twenty-four/seven. The curtains are open, letting the summer sun in through the large windows.

“Sasha.”

I flinch. He’s still as formidable as ever, even thin and frail in his crimson striped robe. His face is a deathly grey pallor.

“Come.” He summons me to his side. I walk over reluctantly. I may be twenty-three, but something about the man makes me still feel like an errant child. He takes my hand, and I have to work not to shudder at the feel of his dry, bony fingers holding mine.

“Sasha, I will provide for you,” he says. Coughs.

I swallow.

Providing for us was the only good thing he did for me and my mother. I should be grateful. We’ve lived in luxury for our whole lives. I even got to attend the college of my choice in the United States—University of Southern California, where I studied acting. But of course, he summoned me back the moment I graduated.

And I came because he holds the purse-strings.

If he leaves me enough money in his will, I plan to go back to America to pursue my dreams.

“Your husband arrives today.”

I don’t even understand his words at first. I blink. Look over my shoulder at my mother. “Excuse me?” Surely I heard that wrong.

“The man who will marry you. To protect you and manage your financial interests.”

I draw my hand back. “I’m sorry, what?”

Anger flickers on my father’s face, and my body instantly responds with trembling. No matter how much I try not to care, I’m still the little girl just dying to please him, to win his love. To make him see me and give me attention this time.

Of course, I never show it. I’ve played the rebellious teenager with him for a long time now. I toss my hair for emphasis. “I am not marrying anybody.”

He points a finger at me. “You will do what I tell you to do and be grateful I have found a way to protect and provide for you from the grave.” A little spittle flies from his mouth.

My stomach churns. It’s too disturbing to see death hammering his body and not to be affected, but I don’t want to care. I want to just hate him through it all.

I do hate him.

“Who?” I demand. “Who am I to marry?”

A tap sounds on the door, and my father nods, like he’s satisfied. Vladimir enters. “Maxim has arrived.”

I lose my breath like I’ve been punched in the stomach.

Maxim.

Surely not? What kind of sick, twisted plan of my father’s is this?

Maxim, the charming, powerful former protege of my father? The one I had exiled with my lies?

Maxim comes in, and I back away from my father toward the shadowed corner where my mother stands, hovering, wringing her hands. “You knew about this,” I accuse.

Tears swim in her eyes. I’m glad because they help me swallow my own.

“Maxim.” My father holds out his hand to him.

Maxim glances in our direction, and I make a move to leave, but my mother grabs my arm and keeps me in place. Vladimir, who also stepped into the room, shifts in front of the door like he’s blocking it. Like he’s a prison guard.

Nothing shows on Maxim’s handsome face. Just the sight of him after six years makes my heart pound. He wears the same inscrutable mask I remember. Surely he hates me after what I did. He clasps my father’s hand, going down on one knee beside the bed. “Papa.”

Papa. That’s what they call my father because he’s their leader. In a way, I supposed he was like a father to Maxim, who I recall ran away from an orphanage at age fourteen. Probably a better father to him than he ever was to me, his real flesh and blood.

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The Director (Chicago Bratva #1) Read Online Renee Rose http://www.ilovenovels.com/the-director-chicago-bratva-1-read-online-renee-rose Sun, 01 Nov 2020 20:21:18 +0000 http://www.booksnovels.com/the-director-chicago-bratva-1-read-online-renee-rose Genre: Contemporary, Mafia, Romance, Suspense Authors: Renee Rose Series: Chicago Bratva Series by Renee Rose
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Total pages in book: 60
Estimated words: 57857 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 289(@200wpm)___ 231(@250wpm)___ 193(@300wpm)

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Read Online Books/Novels:	(Chicago Bratva #1) The Director
Author/Writer of Book/Novel:	Renee Rose
Language:	English
ISBN/ ASIN:	9798553492755
Book Information:
NO ONE TAKES WHAT’S MINE. The lovely attorney kept a secret from me. A baby she’s been carrying since Valentine’s night. The night we were thrown together by the roulette wheel. She never contacted me. Meant to keep me in the dark. She’s about to find out what happens when you cross a bratva boss. Punishment is in order. Sequestering until the birth. And I’ll use that time to win her surrender. Because I don’t just plan to keep the baby-- I plan to make his mother my bride. And it would be much better for both of us if she were willing.
Books in Series:	Chicago Bratva Series by Renee Rose
Books by Author:	Renee Rose

Chapter 1

Lucy

It might be time to stop wearing heels. Or choose the lower ones.

Fresh from another courtroom win, I step into the crowded elevator. I hide my wince, courtesy of swollen feet stuffed in my boss-bitch stilettos—the ones I use to assert my seniority, stature, and overall dominance in the courtroom and, more importantly, within my father’s firm.

I nearly wince again when I see Jeffrey’s on this ride.

He glances at my swollen belly then meets my gaze with a torment of conflict behind his grey eyes.

It’s not his.

We broke up six months before I had the very out-of-character sexcapade in DC that resulted in my changed state.

“Lucy,” he says. It’s a statement, not an opening. An acknowledgment of the eight years we wasted together.

I bite back a sigh. “Jeffrey.”

Thankfully, there are four other people in the elevator, so I snap into position beside him to stare at the doors as the elevator moves upward.

“How’s your dad?”

Oh, jeez. Were we really going to do this?

“Same.” I make the required glance his way.

“I’m sorry.”

“Yes. Well, it is what it is.”

I face unfriendly counsel daily—in my firm and opposite me in the courtroom. I can handle another elevator ride with my ex. But the mixture of pity and remorse in Jeffrey’s stare makes my Lafayette 148 New York blazer—the one with a straining button above my belly—suddenly unbearably tight and hot.

But, then, I imagine wearing any blazer in July while pregnant would be unbearable.

Still, I wish he’d work through his emotional crap and stop making my growing belly the source of some internal conflict. I assume he wonders what it would be like if it were his. Or maybe he feels guilty that I’m doing this baby thing on my own because he would never commit.

The fact is, I’ve gone on without him.

End of story.

The elevator stops on the floor of his architecture firm, but he hesitates, shifting his arm in front of the sensors, but not getting out. “We’re going to get drinks at The Rocket tonight if you want to join us,” he says then grimaces, probably realizing drinks are out for me considering the tiny life growing inside me.

“Another time,” I say in that disinterested tone of voice that’s supposed to convey never but falls a little short. I might have mixed feelings about Jeffrey, too.

Or maybe I’m just terrified I can’t do this alone.

I hold my head up, keeping my courtroom stance until the doors shut. Then it gets easier to maintain when the doors open on my floor, and I affect my confident stride to the shared secretary’s desk.

“First appointment?” I usually know my schedule without being told. I’m the type of person with the proverbial mind like a steel trap, but the hormones are messing with my memory, too. I feel muddled. Soft around the edges.

And I hate how vulnerable and out of control that makes me feel.

“The first appointment is with Adrian Turgenev, the young man charged with arson of the sofa factory on 11th,” Lacey, the secretary, tells me.

Right. Russian mafiya, or bratva, as they call it. The client was referred by Paolo Tacone, one of my Italian crime family clients.

Funny, are the Russians and Italians in bed together now? It doesn’t matter. It’s not my job to know the real details of their business.

It’s just my job to defend them with the facts collected by law enforcement.

I have to admit the slight foreboding tickling the back of my neck at getting involved with the Russians. Not because I take a moral high ground with the people I defend. You can’t be a defense attorney and ride that horse.

Only because of him.

Master R, the sexy Russian criminal I met in Washington, DC last Valentine’s day.

The unwitting sperm donor for my adventure into single parenting.

But he was in Washington, DC. Probably zero connection with the cell here in Chicago.

I unlock my office and go in then pull the file on Adrian Turgenev to review the notes the secretary made on the case. I sit behind my desk before I kick off the three-inch heels, which are digging into my swollen feet.

Lordy. Pregnancy is not for wimps. Especially not at age thirty-five.

“Lucy. Did I hear you’re taking on a new organized crime outfit?”

I try not to narrow my eyes at Dick Thompson, one of my dad’s partners in the firm. I’ve known him since I was a kid and have to work very hard to keep him from still treating me like one.

“You heard correctly.” I raise my brows to inquire about his point.

He shakes his head. “I don’t know if that’s a good idea. We spent many hours deliberating the wisdom of taking on the Tacones back in the day when your father represented Don Santo or whatever his name was. We can’t have this firm pulled down with a nasty reputation.”

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >60

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