Page 16 of Secret Bratva Twins

Talking to them was like pouring water on a hard rock, I just couldn’t win. Plus, I agreed with them; Gianna would be a lot more comfortable if she had other people to talk to that weren’t me. “Do whatever you want. I have other things to take care of.”

Their triumphant laughter followed me out of the kitchen.

When I reached my room, I grabbed my phone from the nightstand and dialed Damien’s number. It bleeped twice before he answered.

“Call Viktor, tell him to find out everything he can about Gianna’s mother,” I ordered. “I need her hospital records too. Tell him to it to me.”

Viktor was my cousin. His oldest brother, Raphael, led the Bratva in New York.

“Something wrong, chief?” Damien asked.

“You take orders from me, don’t ask questions.” Damien was loyal to the core. He was not just my most trusted soldier; he was my friend, and he obviously disapproved of me caring about Gianna after she tried to kill me.

“I’ll make the call now.”

“Good.” I dropped the call and tossed my phone onto the bed.

As long as Gianna was under my roof, she was my responsibility. I was going to find out what happened to her mother and why she blamed me for her death.

I closed my eyes to calm the storm of rage in my chest, the images of her scarred body and bruises flashing behind my eyes.

I didn’t give a shit who hurt her, whether it was her father or one of his men, they were going to pay once I found them.

Chapter 7 - Gianna

I woke up with a headache and puffy eyes. I’d forced the food Maxim left down my throat last night, then I’d brawled my eyes out because I missed my children. They’d been the last thought on my mind before I finally managed to sleep.

Regardless of my absence, I wondered if they were doing ok. They were young, so my papa wasn’t going to start abusing them until the next couple of years at least. Hopefully, I was going to survive through this and go back to save them.

Truthfully, I’d considered telling Maxim about them. Maybe it would melt his heart and he’d help me save them from my papa and even become a part of their lives.

But I’d decided against it after careful consideration. Maxim killed my mother. If he found out about the kids, my guess was he’d go to war against my father, kill him, and take the kids.

I didn’t mind my father dying at his hands, but Max wouldn’t let me raise them, he’d keep me locked up forever or kill me. He was keeping me alive right now because he thought he could use me as leverage against my papa.

Maybe not.

I’d seen the look in his eyes, the pain and shock when I accused him of killing my mother. A tiny foolish part of me wanted to believe that this was all a misunderstanding and that he didn’t do anything like that. My papa could’ve lied about it, but he didn’t know about me and Max. It made no sense for him to lie like that. There was no motive for it.

Maxim was the enemy, I needed to always remember that. I couldn’t let myself waver.

I sat up in my bed, drawing my knee to my chest. All my life, last night was the first time anyone ever cared about my scars. Before my mother died, my father never hit me to leave bruises.

He thought I was a valuable asset he could trade off for power someday, and no one wanted damaged goods. After my mother died, he’d tried to set me up for an arranged marriage to a man who was even older than him, I angrily broke the news that I was no longer a virgin.

That got him mad. So mad that I basically became his punching bag. He beat me up so much that I often ended up in the hospital after I passed out or with bruises. After two months, I knew it wouldn’t be long before he found out I was pregnant, and I didn’t want to lose my babies from the constant beatings. When he was sleeping one night, I stole some of his expensive jewelry and ran away.

I was free from him for six years before he found me again two days ago. My eyes stung with tears.

A knock reverberated in the room, followed by the sound of a key twisting in the keyhole. I quickly wiped my tears and lay down, pretending I was sleeping.

The door creaked open. The sound of female voices and light footsteps filled the room.

“Is she really sleeping?” one of the voices asked.

One of them walked to my bed. “What if she’s dead?”

“She better not be.” I recognized that one. It was Mariana’s voice. I assumed the other women were the other brother’s wives. “These clothes won’t wear themselves.”

---