Molotov Betrothal Series by Anna Zaires – Read Books Online Free Ebooks good best novels to read

Molotov Betrothal Series by Anna Zaires – Read Books Online Free Ebooks good best novels to read http://www.books2020.com Wed, 29 Oct 2025 22:17:03 +0000 en-US hourly 1 https://wordpress.org/?v=6.9.4 http://www.books2020.com/wp-content/uploads/2020/09/favicon.png Molotov Betrothal Series by Anna Zaires – Read Books Online Free Ebooks good best novels to read http://www.books2020.com 32 32 Chained Fate (Molotov Betrothal #3) Read Online Anna Zaires http://www.books2020.com/chained-fate-molotov-betrothal-3-read-online-anna-zaires Wed, 29 Oct 2025 22:17:03 +0000 http://www.books2020.com/chained-fate-molotov-betrothal-3-read-online-anna-zaires Genre: Alpha Male, Dark, Forbidden, Mafia Authors: Anna Zaires Series: Molotov Betrothal Series by Anna Zaires
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Total pages in book: 71
Estimated words: 66833 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 334(@200wpm)___ 267(@250wpm)___ 223(@300wpm)

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A final war. A fate uncertain. A bond forged in fire.

Alina
My marriage began as a cage. Now, it may be my only sanctuary.

To survive, I must rely on the very monster I once feared. With every tender touch, every protective command, the line between love and hate dissolves further.

He thinks he’s chained me to him. He doesn’t realize... I may be the one who refuses to let go.

Alexei
She is finally mine. My wife. My obsession.

But a shadow looms over us, a vicious twist of fate that threatens to tear her away. I would burn down the world for her, but this is a battle I cannot win with violence.

Her brothers think our vows are her prison. They are a promise. One I will defy heaven and hell to keep

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

Chapter 1

Alina

The pilot’s announcement that our plane is starting its descent into Geneva cuts through the heavy fog of sleep engulfing me. I try to open my eyes, but they feel swollen and gritty, my lids all but glued shut. I must’ve fallen asleep again while crying in Alexei’s embrace. I give up and keep my eyes closed. My head is throbbing anew, and my nausea is returning. I don’t know if the latter is from my early pregnancy or the tumor eating my brain, and I don’t particularly care. It’s also possible my stomach is revolting from the knowledge of what awaits me when we land.

Awake brain surgery.

Chemo.

Radiation.

Loss of our baby.

For some reason, the last one is the hardest to come to terms with. If I proceed with the surgery and the treatment, the tiny embryo inside me—which I’m convinced is a girl—won’t survive. But if I don’t, I won’t survive, and Alexei won’t allow that.

I want to cry all over again.

I’m also pathetically, embarrassingly grateful that he seems determined to see this through with me. I don’t know how long his resolve will last once he sees me truly sick, but a part of me wants to believe him, to trust him. Not that I have a choice. He refuses to let me go home to my brothers… and some perverse part of me is grateful for that too.

A warm, heavy hand lands on my bare arm and strokes it softly. I swallow the burning knot in my throat and force open my eyes to meet my new husband’s intense, dark gaze.

Alexei’s face is still drawn tight, still tired. I wonder if he’s gotten any sleep since we left the yacht. Somehow, I doubt it.

The urge to touch him, to soothe him, wells up again. It’s insidious, the way the cruel, sardonic curve of his mouth now seems to hold a promise of tenderness, how his hard, mercilessly sculpted features are becoming so achingly familiar to me. Despite everything, my skin tingles at his touch, my heartbeat picking up pace at his proximity, and I know that if he were to lean down and press his lips to mine, the scorching heat of our connection would burn away all reason, all reality.

But he won’t do that. Because we’re landing soon and going straight to the clinic, where the doctors will cut open my skull and excise as much of the tumor as they can.

The thought is like a wet rag slapped against my face.

I swallow against another surge of nausea and sit up. “Where are my clothes?”

I was in a dress before embarking on our submarine journey that somehow ended with us on this private jet, but right now, I’m wearing only his black T-shirt that’s hugely oversized on me.

“I undressed you so you’d be more comfortable sleeping,” Alexei says, standing up. He walks over to a small door I didn’t notice before and opens it, revealing a tiny closet that holds only the dress and the underwear I was wearing. His expression is apologetic as he turns to me. “I didn’t think to grab any clean clothes for either of us. Sorry about that.”

“It’s okay.” I’m guessing he had his hands full, figuring out how to get us here from the other side of the planet and all—though I do wish I had my makeup at the very least. I can feel how puffy my eyes are, and I’m sure I look terrible.

And the worst hasn’t even started.

Ugh. I wish I could turn off that voice in my head, the one that sounds suspiciously like my mom’s. Who cares what I look like when I’m fucking dying? I need to focus on what truly matters, not something as shallow as whether I’ll lose my hair all at once or in patches.

Alexei returns to the bed, carrying my underwear and the dress. Wordlessly, he hands them to me, and I flush, realizing he expects me to change right here, in front of him. It’s not an illogical expectation, given that he’s my husband whose seed is still crusted on my thighs. But my face burns regardless as I snatch the clothes from him and jump off the bed, ignoring the wave of nausea accompanying the sudden motion.

“I’ll be right back,” I mutter as I beeline for the bathroom.

I need a shower at the very least.

“You don’t have much time,” Alexei calls after me. “We’re landing in seventeen minutes.”

“Got it!” Swiftly, I strip off his shirt and hop in the small shower stall. There’s no time to wash and blow-dry my hair, so I put it up in a lopsided ballerina bun and focus on rinsing off all traces of our sexfest.

When I’m done, I dry myself, dress in the clothes I was wearing, and pull my hair into a more artful messy bun. As expected, my face is a disaster, all pale, blotchy skin and puffy eyes, but I doubt the doctors will care. And if Alexei doesn’t like what he sees… oh, well. The sooner he realizes he’s made a mistake sticking by me, the better.

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Advertisement Beautiful Chains (Molotov Betrothal #2) Read Online Anna Zaires http://www.books2020.com/beautiful-chains-molotov-betrothal-2-read-online-anna-zaires Thu, 07 Dec 2023 05:55:07 +0000 http://www.booksnovels.com/beautiful-chains-molotov-betrothal-2-read-online-anna-zaires Genre: Alpha Male, Contemporary, Dark, Mafia Authors: Anna Zaires Series: Molotov Betrothal Series by Anna Zaires
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Total pages in book: 60
Estimated words: 56201 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 281(@200wpm)___ 225(@250wpm)___ 187(@300wpm)

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Alina
Alexei Leonov. My stalker. My captor. And now, my husband. On a yacht in the middle of the Pacific, he is the source of and solace from my suffering. He will stop at nothing until I’m bound to him in every way. And marriage is only the beginning. Alexei
For eleven years, I’ve plotted and waited, consumed with fantasies of what it would be like once Alina Molotova was finally mine. Now that I have her, my obsession with her is only getting stronger. My plans for her may be ruthless, but I’ll do whatever it takes to chain her to me—mind, body, and heart. Only, there’s one thing I didn’t count on. One variable I didn’t plan for. The twisted hand of fate.

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

Prologue

Alexei

25 Years Earlier, Moscow

“‘—And that’s when the young prince saw the beautiful princess.’”

Mama pauses in her reading, and I shift uncomfortably, my bottom sore and aching from Papa’s belt. She glances at me and pushes herself up to sit straighter against the piled-up pillows. Her mountain of a belly moves with her, as big as the tower in the book she’s reading.

It’s so big I might be able to fit in there, and I’m already five. Or if not me, then my little brother, Ruslan. He’s only three.

“Want me to stop reading so you can go play?” Mama asks softly as I lay my hand on that huge belly in the hopes of feeling my baby sister kick. She does that a lot lately.

“No, keep going,” I say and nestle closer to Mama. She’s been on “bed rest” forever, ever since my baby sister crawled into her stomach and made her sick. Because I’m grown, I remember a time when things were different, when Mama bathed us and played with us, but Ruslan doesn’t. He thinks it’s always been like this, that Mama has always been this unmoving mound of a person who can kiss us, and read books to us, and that’s about it.

Mama smiles and wraps her soft arm around me as she turns the page. “All right, darling, let’s continue.” Her voice takes on the dramatic cadence I love. “‘The princess lived in a tower surrounded by dragons. Her father, the king, locked her in there because he wasn’t a nice man. He didn’t care that the princess wasn’t happy living there all by herself, so when the young prince came to ask for her hand in marriage, the king refused. He said—’”

“Why did he refuse?” I interrupt. I’ve asked this before—Mama has read this story to me many times—but I still want to hear her answer. “And why was he not nice?”

What I really want to know is whether the king used his belt to punish the princess, the way Papa does with me and Ruslan. But that question might upset Mama, and her doctor said she’s not allowed to get upset or she’ll die. That’s why I haven’t told her that Papa punished me today for breaking the old Chinese vase in the living room. She doesn’t like it when Papa uses his belt, and she also doesn’t like it when I behave badly. I actually wasn’t at fault this time, but I can’t tell her that without Papa finding out the truth. It was Ruslan who broke the vase, but when Papa asked us about it in that scary voice of his, my brother started crying and I told Papa that I did it.

I’m bigger and stronger, so the belt doesn’t hurt me as much.

“The king refused because he didn’t think the young prince was good enough for his daughter,” Mama replies, giving me the same answer as before. “As to why the king wasn’t nice, well, darling… some men just aren’t. They’re born that way.”

Like Papa.

I want to say that, but it might upset Mama. She doesn’t like it when anyone says anything bad about him. I know because she fired Kristen, our American nanny, for calling Papa “abusive.” I don’t know what that means, but it must be bad because Mama liked it that Kristen was teaching us English. Now Ruslan and I don’t have anyone to speak English with except my toy soldiers, and they don’t know it any better than I do.

“Ready to continue?” Mama asks, and I nod eagerly.

This is my favorite story, and even though I know every word and have learned to read it by myself, I like how Mama tells it best.

With a sigh, she keeps reading. “He said, ‘You are not worthy of my daughter. If you truly want her hand in marriage, you must first slay every dragon around her tower.’ The king knew the young prince wouldn’t be able to do that. There were dozens upon dozens of dragons—” She stops abruptly, and I feel her stiffen.

Worried, I sit up to look at her. “Mama?”

She takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. “I’m okay. It’s okay. Come here.” She pats the blanket, and when I’m curled up against her again, she continues. “‘There were dozens upon dozens of dragons, each scarier than the next, and only the bravest, strongest man would be able to fight them—and even he would eventually lose.’”

“But the young prince didn’t lose,” I say, excitement fizzling through me. I know where the story is going, and it makes me want to jump up and down on the bed. I don’t do it, though. The doctor said if I jostle Mama too much, she will die and so will my baby sister.

Mama stiffens again, and when she speaks, her voice sounds different. Strained, like she’s having trouble going number two. “No, he didn’t lose. It took him many years, but he—” She groans and attempts to sit up higher against the pillows. “Darling, please get—ahhh!”

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Advertisement Terrible Beauty (Molotov Betrothal #1) Read Online Anna Zaires http://www.books2020.com/terrible-beauty-molotov-betrothal-1-read-online-anna-zaires Sat, 01 Oct 2022 08:39:05 +0000 http://www.booksnovels.com/terrible-beauty-molotov-betrothal-1-read-online-anna-zaires Genre: Alpha Male, Contemporary, Dark, Mafia, New Adult, Romance Authors: Anna Zaires Series: Molotov Betrothal Series by Anna Zaires
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Total pages in book: 74
Estimated words: 68931 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 345(@200wpm)___ 276(@250wpm)___ 230(@300wpm)

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A family contract. A dark bargain. No escape.

Eleven years ago, I met him. A year later, I was betrothed to him. Now he’s come to claim me, slaughtering anyone standing in his way.

My husband-to-be is a monster from a family as ruthless and powerful as mine, a man who deals in violence and destruction... a man terrifyingly like my father. For over a decade, he’s stalked me, shadowing my life.

I fear him. I hate him. Worst of all, I want him.

My name is Alina Molotova, and Alexei Leonov is a fate I can’t escape.

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

Chapter 1

Present Day, Location Unknown

Cool lips brush my throbbing forehead, bringing with them a faint aroma of pine, ocean, and leather. “Shh… It’s okay. You’re okay. I just gave you something to ease your headache and make this easier.”

The male voice is deep and dark, strangely familiar. The words are spoken in Russian. My fuzzy mind struggles to focus. Why Russian? I’m in America, aren’t I? How do I know this voice? This scent?

I try to pry open my heavy lids, but they refuse to budge. Same goes for my hand when I attempt to lift it. Everything feels impossibly heavy, like my very bones are made of metal, my flesh of concrete. My head lolls to one side, my neck muscles unable to support its weight. It’s as if I were a newborn. I try to speak, but an incoherent noise escapes my throat, blending with a distant roar that my ears can now discern.

Maybe I am a newborn. That would explain why I’m so ridiculously helpless and can’t make sense of anything.

“Here, lie down.” Strong hands guide me onto some soft, flat surface. Well, most of me. My head ends up on something elevated and hard, yet comfortable. Not a pillow, too hard for that, but not a stone either. There isn’t much give in the object, but there is some. It’s oddly warm as well.

The object shifts slightly, and from the foggy recesses of my mind, the answer to the mystery emerges. A lap. My head is lying on someone’s lap. A male someone, judging by the steely, thickly muscled thighs underneath my aching skull.

My pulse accelerates. Even with my thoughts sluggish and tangled, I know this isn’t normal for me. I don’t do laps or men. At least I haven’t thus far in all of my twenty-five years.

Twenty-five. I grab on to that sliver of knowledge. I’m twenty-five, not a newborn. Encouraged, I sift through more of the tangled threads, seeking an answer to what’s happening, but it eludes me, the recollections coming slowly, if at all.

Darkness. Fire. A nightmare demon coming to claim me.

Is that a memory or something I saw in a movie?

A needle biting deep into my neck. Unwelcome lassitude spreading through my body.

That last bit feels real. My mind might not be functioning, but my body knows the truth. It senses the threat. My heart rate intensifies as adrenaline saturates my veins. Yes. Yes, that’s it. I can do it. With strength born of growing terror, I force open my leaden eyelids and look up into a pair of eyes darker than the night surrounding us. Eyes set in a cruelly handsome face that haunts my dreams and nightmares.

“Don’t fight it, Alinyonok,” Alexei Leonov murmurs. His dark voice holds both promise and threat as he gently threads his fingers through my hair, massaging away the throbbing tension in my skull. “You’ll only make it harder on yourself.”

The edges of his calluses catch on the tangles in my long hair, and he pulls his fingers out, only to curve his palm around my jaw. He has big hands, dangerous hands. Hands that have killed dozens today alone. The knowledge roils my stomach even as some knot of tension deep inside me unravels. For ten long years, I’ve dreaded this moment, and finally, it’s here.

He’s here.

He’s come for me.

“Don’t cry,” my husband-to-be says softly, brushing away the wetness on my face with the rough edge of his thumb. “It won’t help. You know that.”

Yes, I do. Nothing and no one can help me now. I recognize that distant roar. It’s the sound of a plane engine. We’re in the air.

I close my eyes and let the hazy darkness take me.

Chapter 2

11 Years and 3 Months Earlier, Moscow

A tentative knock falls on my bedroom door. “Alina, are you in there? Come on, it’s time for our lesson.”

Yeah, fuck that. I pause the game I’m playing on the Wii and thumb up the volume on my iPod until “Get Low” by Lil’ Jon & The East Side Boyz is blasting in my ears, drowning out the annoying voice of my tutor.

Muting the sound on the TV, I resume the game and guide Mario down the road, ignoring the continuous knocking. I don’t know why I have to take English lessons all summer long when I’ve been studying at a boarding school in New Hampshire for the past three years. By now, my English is as good as any of my American classmates’, my Russian accent nonexistent. Sure, my spelling and grammar could be better, but I’m just heading into ninth grade. I’ll learn all the stupid rules eventually.

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