Page 15 of Secret Bratva Twins

The crunch of gravel behind me pulls me from my spiraling thoughts. I tense, instinctively reaching for the small blade hidden beneath my coat.

“I figured you’d be here,” a deep, familiar voice says, smooth and self-assured.

I stand, turning slowly. Serge is standing a few feet away, his hands in the pockets of his tailored coat. His piercing blue eyes are locked on me, a flicker of something unreadable in their depths. He looks effortlessly composed, as always, but there’s a tension in his jaw that tells me he’s not here for pleasantries.

“What are you doing here?” My voice comes out colder than I intended.

“I could ask you the same thing,” he counters, taking a step closer. “You’ve been avoiding me. For days, weeks even. I don’t like being ignored, Chiara.”

I fold my arms, standing my ground. “Maybe I just needed some space.”

He arches a brow, a hint of amusement curving his lips. “Space. Interesting choice of words for someone who seems determined to occupy my every thought.”

His words throw me off-balance for a moment, but I quickly recover. “I’m not here to talk about us, Serge.”

“No,” he says, his tone hardening as he glances at the grave. “You’re here for him.”

I stiffen, the mention of my father bringing a fresh wave of anger to the surface. “You have no right to be here.”

He doesn’t flinch at my words, stepping even closer until there’s barely any space between us. “You’re wrong,” he says quietly. “I have every right. You’re here, Chiara. Whether you like it or not, that makes it my business.”

I glare at him, hating how easily he dismantles my defenses. “This has nothing to do with you.”

He studies me for a long moment, his gaze intense and searching. “Doesn’t it?”

The question hangs in the air, heavy and unspoken truths lingering between us. I hate that he’s right, hate that he’sinserted himself into every corner of my life, my thoughts, my plans.

“I don’t owe you an explanation,” I snap, turning away from him.

He catches my wrist, his grip firm but not harsh. “Don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“Run.” His voice is low, almost a plea. “You’ve been running since the day I met you.”

My heart pounds as I pull my hand free, the weight of his words sinking in. He’s not wrong, but I can’t admit that. Not now. Not ever.

“I’m not running,” I lie, my voice steadier than I feel. “I just don’t want to be around you.”

“Liar,” he says, his tone softer now, almost teasing.

I don’t respond, my gaze fixed on the lilies at the base of the grave.Focus on the mission,I remind myself.Don’t let him get to you.

He steps back, giving me space, but his presence is still overwhelming. “You think standing here, visiting his grave, changes anything?” His voice is measured, but there’s an edge to it. “It doesn’t bring him back. It doesn’t fix what’s broken.”

My head snaps up, anger flaring in my chest. “Don’t pretend to understand my grief.”

“I don’t have to pretend,” he says, his eyes locking on to mine. “I’ve lived it.”

The raw honesty in his voice catches me off guard, but I push it aside. He’s trying to get into my head, and I can’t let him.

“This is your last warning, Serge,” I say, my voice cold. “Stay out of my way.”

He smirks, the defiance in my tone seemingly amusing him. “You don’t want me to do that, Chiara. Whether you admit it or not, you need me.”

The audacity of his words leaves me speechless, and before I can respond, he turns and walks away, leaving me alone with my swirling emotions and the haunting echo of his presence.

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