Page 18 of Secret Bratva Twins

My fork hovers over the plate, ready for another bite when something clicks in my mind. Roman’s voice echoes faintly, a conversation from weeks ago.“She’s lactose intolerant.”

I freeze.

If she can’t have milk, why does she have it in the fridge? The thought slams into me like a fist. My eyes dart back to the plate, to the note, to the toast that now feels more like a weapon than a meal.

A chill runs down my spine, the hair on the back of my neck standing on end. I set the fork down and grab my phone, my movements sharp and deliberate. Roman picks up on the second ring.

“Roman,” I bark, the unease in my voice unmistakable, “get over here now.”

“Everything okay?” His voice is alert, professional.

“Just get here. Something’s wrong.”

A sudden wave of nausea grips me, a sharp twist in my stomach that makes me clutch the edge of the table for support. My vision blurs for a second, black spots dancing at the corners. The realization hits me like a sledgehammer.

I’ve been poisoned.

The phone slips from my hand, clattering onto the table as I stagger to my feet. My knees buckle, the room spinning violently. Every muscle in my body feels like it’s turning to lead, my heartbeat pounding in my ears.

“Roman!” I shout, though I don’t know if he can still hear me. My voice sounds distant, like it’s coming from underwater.

I stumble toward the door, gripping the wall for balance. My mind races, replaying every moment with Chiara, every look, every touch, every carefully chosen word. She planned this. The thought slices through me, sharper than the pain gripping my stomach.

The last thing I see before the world goes dark is the untouched plate of French toast sitting innocently on the table.

When I hit the floor, the cold tiles offer no solace. Only betrayal.

***

The rhythmic beeping of a heart monitor pulls me out of the darkness. My body feels heavy, every limb weighed down like it’s encased in concrete. Blinking against the harsh fluorescent lights above me, I try to sit up, but a sharp pain in my stomach keeps me pinned to the hospital bed.

“Take it easy,” Roman’s voice cuts through the fog. He’s seated by my side, his elbows resting on his knees, looking at me with a mix of relief and frustration. “You’re lucky to be alive.”

I ignore his concern, my throat dry as sandpaper. “Where is she?” My voice is hoarse, rough from disuse. It’s the only question that matters.

Roman leans back, exhaling slowly. “Gone.”

The single word is like a punch to the gut. I grit my teeth, forcing myself to sit up despite the sharp protest from my body. The effort leaves me breathless, but I don’t care. “What do you mean, gone?”

“The moment you blacked out, I got you here. I left the men to track her down, but….” He hesitates, glancing at the doorway like he expects someone to walk in and save him from the rest of the explanation. “She vanished. So did Dante.”

A bitter laugh escapes me, one that sounds more like a growl. Of course, she did. She planned this too well. Every smile, every look, every kiss—it was all part of her game. She got to me before I could get to her.

Roman shakes his head, his voice low but edged with incredulity. “Can’t decide if she’s smart or just cruel.”

The doctor steps in, a clipboard in hand, interrupting us. “You ingested a controlled toxin,” he explains. “It was laced into your food. Small doses wouldn’t have been lethal, but if you’d eaten more, you wouldn’t have made it here. You’re lucky your men acted fast.”

Lucky. The word tastes foul in my mouth. Luck has nothing to do with this. I was played.

As the doctor leaves, Roman studies me closely. “She’s clever, I’ll give her that. She knew exactly how to strike.”

I swing my legs over the side of the bed, ignoring the wave of dizziness that washes over me. “Clever doesn’t mean untouchable.” My voice is cold, laced with a fury I can barely contain. “I’ll find her.”

Roman places a steadying hand on my shoulder. “You need to recover first. She’s not worth dying over.”

My glare silences him. “She made it personal. She thought she could humiliate me and walk away.” My fists clench, my nails digging into my palms. “She’s wrong.”

Roman hesitates, then nods. “What’s the plan?”

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