Page 25 of Secret Bratva Twins

I nod, even though he can’t see me. “Thanks, Dante.”

“Stay safe, Chiara,” he says before hanging up.

The phone slips from my fingers and lands on the passenger seat with a dull thud. Dante’s warning plays over and over in my head like a sinister mantra. My heart pounds, my throat tight, as I glance into the rearview mirror. The sight of a black SUV catches my eye. It’s been trailing me for too long. Coincidence doesn’t stretch this far.

The logical part of me wants to dismiss the worry. Maybe they’re just heading in the same direction. People drive all the time. It’s Montana—long roads, few stops, sparse towns. But something about the way the SUV moves keeps my pulse racing. Every turn I make, they’re there. Every adjustment in my speed, they match. The knot of unease in my chest hardens. I press my foot down on the accelerator, testing my theory. My small car surges forward. The SUV does too.

There’s no denying it anymore. They’ve found me.

I grip the steering wheel tighter, panic settling like ice in my veins. My twins—what will happen to my babies if they catch me? The thought fuels a wave of desperation. I make a sharp turn down a narrow side road lined with dense trees. Gravel sprays up behind my tires as I speed along the uneven path. The SUV follows relentlessly, its dark presence looming closer and closer.

My mind races for options. If I can lose them in the trees, maybe I’ll have a chance. The road curves sharply, and I yank the wheel to follow, my tires skidding dangerously close to the edge of a ditch. I can’t slow down—not now. The trees blur past, my vision focused on the road ahead, on escaping.

I glance at the mirror again. They’re still there, their black vehicle cutting through the dust cloud my car leaves behind. My breath comes in ragged gasps as I hit the highway. I merge into traffic, swerving into the far-left lane. Cars honk and flashtheir lights as I cut them off, but I don’t care. All that matters is putting as much distance as I can between me and the SUV.

The highway stretches endlessly ahead of me. My speedometer climbs past eighty, then ninety, the car shaking under the strain. My chest tightens as I weave between vehicles, narrowly avoiding a collision with a massive truck. A quick glance in the mirror shows the SUV gaining on me again. How are they so fast?

The wind howls through a cracked window, the sound amplifying the chaos in my mind. My heart races, my hands trembling on the wheel. Up ahead, two more black SUVs idle near an exit ramp. My breath catches in my throat. Serge’s men. There’s no mistaking it now. This is a coordinated trap, and I’ve driven straight into it.

Panic surges, cold and overwhelming. I dart toward the right lane, searching for an opening. If I can just make it past them, I might have a chance. One of the SUVs accelerates, cutting me off. My pulse thunders in my ears as I yank the wheel to avoid a collision, my tires screeching in protest. The car fishtails wildly, and I lose control.

Time slows to a crawl. The world tilts, and the car veers off the road. Gravel turns to grass as the vehicle skids across the shoulder and slams into a shallow ditch. My hands grip the wheel desperately, but there’s no stopping the momentum. The car flips.

The sound is deafening—metal crunching, glass shattering, the shriek of tearing rubber. My body is tossed violently within the confines of the car, the seat belt digging painfully into my chest and abdomen. The airbag deploys with a loud pop, the impact knocking the air from my lungs.

The car finally comes to a halt, upside down. Everything is eerily quiet except for the faint creak of metal settling intoplace. Smoke curls from the hood, mingling with the acrid stench of burned rubber and gasoline. My head throbs, my vision blurred as I hang suspended by the seat belt. Pain radiates through my ribs and shoulders, sharp and relentless.

I try to move, but every shift sends fresh waves of agony through my body. Blinking against the haze, I look around. The world outside is a blur of muted greens and browns. Footsteps crunch on gravel, slow and deliberate.

My heart lurches. They’re coming. I’m out of options, out of time.

I try to unbuckle my seat belt, my fingers fumbling against the latch. Pain lances through my side as I drop free, sharp enough to draw a strangled gasp from my throat. Blood trickles down my temple, warm and sticky, stinging as sweat enter an abrasion. My vision wavers, and for a moment, the world tilts dangerously.

I grit my teeth, reaching down to push open the crumpled door. It resists, groaning under the weight of bent metal. With a surge of desperation, I slam my shoulder against it. A scream escapes as pain erupts in my leg, sharp and blinding. Something’s wrong. My left leg feels stiff, heavy—almost unresponsive. Is it broken?

Voices echo in the distance, muffled by the ringing in my ears. I crane my neck, my movements sluggish. Through the shattered glass of the window, I spot a figure approaching. My chest tightens. Roman. His broad frame is unmistakable as he strides toward the wreckage with grim determination. Behind him, Serge appears, his sharp, chiseled features shadowed by the fading light.

My pulse races as Serge kneels by the shattered window, his ice-cold gaze locking with mine. There’s no sympathy there, no concern—only a chilling sense of triumph that twists mystomach. His voice is low, almost soft, but the words hit like a blade.

“You really thought you could run from me forever?”

The venom in his tone freezes me. I want to spit back, to tell him I wasn’t running, but the ache in my leg and the haze of pain sap my strength. I can’t move. I can’t fight. All I can do is watch as Serge surveys me with an expression that borders on cruelty.

Sirens wail in the distance, their haunting sound slicing through the thick tension. For a fleeting moment, hope flickers to life. Maybe it’s an ambulance. Maybe they’ll take me somewhere safe, somewhere Serge can’t reach me.

As if reading my thoughts, Serge’s lips curl into a dark smile. “Don’t get your hopes up. You’re not going to any hospital.”

Panic bubbles in my chest, threatening to spill over. My breathing quickens, each shallow gasp sending searing pain through my ribs. Roman appears beside Serge, his expression unreadable as he peers inside the wreckage.

“She’s hurt,” Roman mutters, glancing at Serge.

“Get her out,” Serge orders, his voice devoid of any warmth.

Roman moves to the other side of the car, prying open the door with practiced efficiency. He reaches for me, and I flinch, the movement jarring my injured leg. The world spins as strong arms lift me from the wreckage, and I bite back a cry as pain flares in every limb.

The last thing I hear before darkness claims me is Serge’s voice, low and unyielding. “You’re mine now, Chiara. Don’t forget it.”

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