Minutes after being served divorce papers, I receive a phone call that warps my mind.

If it isn't bad enough my soon-to-be ex filed for divorce on our fourteenth wedding anniversary, he also used my company card to spoil his mistress with a honeymoon suite and a thousand-dollar floral arrangement.

I've not been handed a single flower since we wed, so when the hotel clerk requests to see my card before processing the payment, I accept the opportunity unknowingly granted to me.

With the tiny teddy I had hoped would milk my husband of one measly orga$m covered by a thin coat, and my cell phone recording, I burst into the honeymoon suite, gung-ho for the evidence that will offer me the ultimate revenge.

There isn't a single person in the entire suite.

A god, though. There's one of them.

He glares at me like I was caught cheating, and the heat of his stare makes me wish that were true.

I'd sign on the dotted line without protest just for the chance of spending an hour with the dark and brooding stranger who doesn't look at me like I should cover my curves with an outfit "more appropriate for my body type."

Nero loves the way I fill in the racy little number, and he's more than happy to spend a few hours ensuring my husband knows exactly what he let go, and to help me repair my shattered wings.

*

Nero is a standalone bratva (Russian Mafia) romance about two people who wanted revenge, but instead, found each other.