Filthy Bratva

FILTHY BRATVA A DARK MAFIA ROMANCE BELLA KING AFTER MIDNIGHT Copyright © 2023 by Bella King All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. CONTENTS Blurb Chapter 1 Oakley Chapter 2 Savva Chapter 3 Oakley Chapter 4 Oakley Chapter 5 Savva Chapter 6 Oakley Chapter 7 Savva Chapter 8 Oakley Chapter 9 Savva Chapter 10 Oakley Chapter 11 Savva Chapter 12 Oakley Chapter 13 Oakley Chapter 14 Oakley Chapter 15 Savva Chapter 16 Oakley Chapter 17 Savva Chapter 18 Oakley Chapter 19 Savva Chapter 20 Oakley Chapter 21 Oakley Chapter 22 Savva Chapter 23 Oakley Chapter 24 Savva Chapter 25 Oakley Chapter 26 Savva Chapter 27 Oakley Chapter 28 Savva Chapter 29 Oakley Chapter 30 Savva Chapter 31 Oakley Chapter 32 Oakley Chapter 33 Savva Chapter 34 Oakley Epilogue Preview of Knocked Up with Twins BLURB Savva is a filthy bratva beast, As cruel as he is charming, As brutal as he is gorgeous. When I took over my late father’s biker bar, I also took over the payments he was making to Savva, the leader of a powerful mafia family operating on the edge of Las Vegas. But Savva couldn’t be satisfied with money alone. He wanted more. He spilled into my life like a dark, inescapable shadow, stealing my dignity and drowning me in his sin. But his twisted promises and dark desires aren’t enough to convince me to fall for him. Neither are his whiskey kisses and his iron abs. But there is something else, something that I’ve been hiding from him. Something that could finally push me over the edge and into his eternal possession. I’m pregnant, and the baby is his. 1 Oakley I’m tempted to stick my head out the window and slam it as hard as I can, just so that I don’t have to answer any more questions. Twenty-one years, a bachelor’s degree in psychology, and I’m still stuck in the one place I never wanted to be, answering questions I’ve answered a million times before. “Oakley, you’re still down here? I thought you’d at least come up for breakfast,” my mom says, coming down the stairs and swinging into my bedroom without knocking. I finish typing my job history into an application to be a school counselor before I look up at her. “I’m applying for jobs. You have to keep sending applications until you get something. It’s not as easy as it used to be.” She gives me a doubtful look, her hands clasped behind her back. “You know, if you got out of your room occasionally and went down to some of the places you’re applying to, I’m sure they’d take you into consideration.” I struggle not to roll my eyes. “Mom, that’s not the way it works now. Some of these places are private offices. You can’t just walk in there and hand in your resume. You have to apply online.” She sighs. “You could try. There’s no harm in that.” I purse my lips, attempting a smile that probably looks more like I bit into a lemon. “I’ll come up for a coffee or something in a minute. I’m just wrapping up this last application. It’s easier to get through them in the morning.” She gives me a pitying look. “You could always go back to school. I hear computer science pays well.” Now I know she’s just trying to annoy me. I’m not going back to school for another four years to get a degree in something that doesn’t even interest me. I’m not going to sell my soul for money. Besides, I have enough student debt to pay already. “I’ll be upstairs in a minute,” I grumble, opening another tab on my browser and turning away from her. “Oh, I was going to give you this,” she says, holding out a thick white envelope. “It came in the mail this morning, and it has your name on it. Maybe it’s a job offer,” she says, her eyes lighting up. I frown, getting up from my chair to take it. “Could be,” I mutter, turning over the envelope. It’s from the state of Nevada, and it’s addressed to me. I don’t remember applying for a job in Nevada, much less a government job, but any work is better than nothing. It might just keep me from slamming my head in the window. “Let me know what it says. I have eggs on the stove,” my mom says, dipping out of my room. Finally. I wasn’t going to open it in here with her staring at me like that, and if it was a job offer, I wouldn’t want to hear her opinion on it. I already know that she thinks psychology isn’t a real science, and there’s no job a person could get as a psychologist except for an underpaid position as a social worker. I hope that’s not what this letter is about, but I’d take a job as one of those people that flips signs on the side of the road in a chicken suit at this point. Anything to get me out of the house and put some money in my pocket would satisfy me. I shut my bedroom door and walk over to my bed, holding the white envelope in my hand so hard that it bends. My sweat has already soaked through the paper, and my fingers stick when I try to let go of it. “Come on, Oakley, don’t make this into some big drama,” I say to myself. I take a deep breath and tear down the side of the envelope, going slowly so that I don’t damage any of the papers inside. It feels like there are quite a few crammed in there. It can’t just be junk mail. I pull out