Page 11 of Secret Bratva Twins

His eyes remain fixed on me, an unreadable expression on his face. “Once you’ve settled in, let’s discuss this partnership further. Over dinner.”

I blink, surprised by the sudden shift. “Dinner?”

“Yes,” he says, as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. “Tomorrow evening. I’ll have a car pick you up.”

“I’m capable of finding my own way,” I reply, my voice sharp. “I don’t need you to chauffeur me around.”

“It’s not about what you need,” he counters, his tone firm. “It’s about what I want.”

I narrow my eyes, trying to gauge his intentions, but his expression gives nothing away. “Fine. Where?”

“My penthouse,” he says with a casual shrug. “I’ll send you the details. I assume you’ll want to make an impression.”

“I always do,” I reply, refusing to let him think he has the upper hand.

“Good.” His gaze lingers on me for a moment longer before he steps aside, gesturing toward the door. “Until tomorrow, then.”

I walk out of the room with my head held high, refusing to look back. The moment the door closes behind me, I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding. Serge Sharov is a formidable opponent, but he underestimates me if he thinks I’ll be easy to manipulate.

This partnership might be his game, but I intend to play it my way.

In the car ride back to the apartment, Dante sits across from me, his arms crossed and his gaze heavy. I can feel the weight of his disapproval without even looking at him. He’s been uncharacteristically quiet since the meeting ended, but I know he won’t stay that way for long.

“You’re playing with fire, Chiara,” he finally says, his tone low and measured.

“I thought you said this could be an opportunity,” I reply, keeping my focus out the window. The Chicago skyline glitters in the distance, a stark reminder of how far I’ve come—and how dangerous this city can be.

“There’s a difference between seizing an opportunity and walking into a trap,” Dante says, his voice sharp now.“Serge Sharov isn’t just another businessman. He’s calculating, ruthless, and he never does anything without a reason.”

“Neither do I,” I counter, turning to face him. “I know exactly what I’m doing.”

Dante leans forward, his expression hard. “Do you? Because from where I’m sitting, he’s already got you on the defensive. He invited you to dinner, Chiara. That’s not business—that’s personal.”

“Everything in our world is personal,” I shoot back. “That’s what makes us who we are.”

He exhales, clearly frustrated. “Just remember, he’s not someone you can trust.”

“I don’t trust him,” I say firmly. “That doesn’t mean I can’t use him.”

Dante shakes his head, leaning back into his seat. “Just be careful. The last thing we need is for you to get too close to the flames.”

I nod, but I don’t respond. My thoughts are already miles ahead, focusing on tomorrow night. Dante doesn’t understand—this isn’t just about business or revenge. This is about proving to Serge, to Lorenzo, and to myself that I can play this game and win.

Chapter Five - Serge

The dining room is a picture of refinement, every detail meticulously arranged to create the perfect setting. Crystal glasses sparkle under the soft glow of the chandelier, white roses arranged elegantly in a silver vase serve as the centerpiece, and the faint hum of classical music fills the air. It’s not my usual preference for dinner, but Chiara Vinci isn’t just any guest. Tonight is about making an impression, about control, and about setting the tone for what lies ahead.

Chiara sits across from me, her posture flawless, her sharp eyes missing nothing. She’s a vision of sophistication in a sleek black dress that clings to her slender frame, her hair falling in loose waves over her shoulders. The candlelight catches the gold flecks in her brown eyes, making them seem even more piercing. Her very presence commands attention, and it’s no wonder she’s become a force in her family’s fractured empire.

“This is exceptional,” she says, cutting into her filet mignon with a grace that seems effortless. “Better than anything I’ve had in Italy or Monaco, for that matter.”

“I’d hope so,” I reply smoothly. “I told the chef to spare no effort. It’s not every day I entertain someone like you.”

Her brow lifts slightly, the corners of her lips curling into a faint smile. “Someone like me; you mean someone from a family you’ve been at war with for decades?”

I lean back in my chair, the ghost of a smirk tugging at my lips. “A powerful, intelligent businesswoman, actually. The Vinci name is just a bonus.”

She lets out a small, amused breath. “Flattery. How predictable.”

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