Page 45 of Kidnapped By the Bratva

“By the way,” the woman says after a while, wiping her hands on her jeans, “I’m Chiara.”

“Chiara,” I repeat, offering her a small smile. “That’s a beautiful name.”

“Thank you,” she replies, a proud glint in her eye. “It meansbrightin Italian.”

Italian. The word catches me off guard, and I freeze for a moment, my hands halting over the tire. My stomach twists uncomfortably. Italian? What are the odds?

“My full name is Chiara Vinci,” she adds casually, like it’s the most normal thing in the world. My heart stutters in my chest.

Vinci.

As in Fernando Vinci. My pulse quickens, and before I can even process the full meaning of her words, I feel her shift beside me. The air around us changes, the easygoing warmth replaced by something colder, something dangerous. I look up at her, but it’s too late. She’s already moving.

Before I can react, Chiara grabs my wrists in a tight grip and yanks me back. I stumble, caught off guard, but I instinctively try to fight her off, struggling against her hold.

“What are you doing?!” I shout, panic rising in my chest as I twist and turn in her grasp.

She’s strong—too strong—and my heart pounds as I realize I’m in serious trouble. I push against her, trying to free myself, but Chiara moves with precision, her hands moving quickly as she grabs something from her pocket. The next thing I know, my hands are bound tightly with rough rope.

“Let me go!” I scream, thrashing wildly, but she’s already in control. Her movements are calm, calculated, like she’s done this before. I kick at her, but she dodges effortlessly, her expression hardening as she finishes tying me up.

“Stop struggling,” she says, her voice cool and measured, as if this were nothing more than an everyday inconvenience. “You’ll only hurt yourself.”

“Who the hell are you?” I gasp, my chest heaving as I finally stop fighting, realizing I’m no match for her strength or skill.

Chiara stands over me, brushing her hands off like she hasn’t just tied me up on the side of the road. Her calm demeanor only makes me feel more trapped, more powerless. “I told you already,” she says, her voice smooth and steady. “I’m Chiara Vinci. Fernando Vinci’s daughter.”

The words hit me like a punch to the gut. Fernando Vinci—the man Maxim had been talking about, the one responsible for my father’s death. My blood runs cold as the pieces fall into place.

She smirks, clearly enjoying the shock on my face. “Did you really think I was just some random woman with car trouble?”

I grit my teeth, my heart pounding in my chest. “What do you want with me?”

Chiara crouches down in front of me, her eyes gleaming with a cruel sort of satisfaction. “You’re a Preston,” she says simply. “That makes you useful. You’re leverage.”

My mind races as I try to make sense of what’s happening. Leverage? Against who? Maxim? The Russians? A wave of dread washes over me as I realize just how deep in danger I really am.

“I should’ve known something was off,” I mutter, glaring at her. “You didn’t need help with your car, did you?”

Chiara’s smile widens. “Well, itistrue that my tire was flat, but only to make the story convincing. I just needed to lure you out here, away from yourhusband.” Her voice drips with disdain at the word.

I pull at the ropes around my wrists, but they don’t budge. “If you think Maxim is just going to let you take me—”

Chiara interrupts me with a soft laugh. “Oh, I know who Maxim is. I know exactly what kind of man he is. And trust me, he’s not in control of this situation anymore.” She stands up, looking down at me with a sense of finality.

I shiver, and my mind reels, searching for any way out of this nightmare. I glance around, looking for something—anything—that could help me. But we’re on a desolate stretch of road, no one in sight, no way to call for help.

“Why are you doing this?” I demand, trying to buy myself some time. “What do you want?”

Chiara tilts her head, considering the question for a moment before answering. “Revenge, of course. Your husband and his Bratva think they can walk all over the Vinci family, but they’re wrong. My father has plans—big plans. You, dear, are going to help us set them in motion.”

I clench my jaw, refusing to let the fear show on my face. “Maxim will come for me. You’re making a mistake.”

Chiara leans in closer, her smile sharp. “Let him come. We’ll be ready.”

Before I can respond, she grabs my arm and pulls me toward her car. I stumble, trying to resist, but the ropes around my wrists make it impossible to fight back. Chiara opens the passenger door and shoves me inside, slamming the door behind me. She moves quickly around to the driver’s side, slipping into the seat with a practiced ease.

As she starts the engine, I sit there, my mind racing. I have to find a way out of this. I can’t let her take me—who knows what Fernando has planned for me?

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