Page 5 of Secret Bratva Twins

He laughs, a genuine sound that takes me off guard. For a fleeting moment, he seems almost… human. Not the calculated Sharov prince, not the enemy of my family, but a man. Just a man.

“I like your fire,” he admits, his voice dropping an octave. “It’s rare to meet someone who doesn’t wilt under pressure.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” I reply, though my guard remains firmly in place. “Don’t mistake fire for recklessness. I know what I’m doing.”

His grin returns, sharp and predatory. “Do you? Because it feels like you’re still deciding whether to play this game with me.”

“It’s not a game,” I snap, the words slipping out before I can stop them. His eyebrows lift, amused by my sudden outburst. I take a breath, steadying myself. “Not for me, anyway.”

“Then what is it for you?” he asks, his tone genuinely curious.

The question catches me off guard. I don’t have an answer—at least not one I’m willing to share. He must see the hesitation in my eyes because he leans back, giving me space to collect myself.

“Think about it,” he says, his voice softer now, almost inviting. “What do you really want, Chiara? Not just for your family, but for yourself?”

I freeze, his words hitting closer to home than I’d like. It’s a question I’ve avoided for years, burying it under the weight of duty and revenge. But Serge doesn’t wait for an answer. He finishes his drink, sets the glass down with a deliberateclink, and stands.

“Progress waits for no one,” he repeats, giving me one last lingering look before turning to leave.

I sit there long after he’s gone, the echo of his words ringing in my ears. The room feels colder, emptier without his presence, but my resolve hardens.

If Serge thinks he can manipulate me into playing his game, he’s mistaken. I’ll play, but by my rules. This isn’t just about progress. It’s about survival—and in the end, only one of us will come out on top.

***

Two hours later, the door to my hotel room clicks shut, and the silence presses in immediately. My heels echo against the polished floor as I stride toward the window, the glittering lights of Monaco mocking me with their carefree brilliance. Every nerve in my body feels like it’s on fire, rage bubbling beneath the surface.

I drop my purse on the desk and notice a small glass figurine—one of those complimentary ornaments hotels think adds charm. My fingers curl around it, trembling.

His voice echoes in my head.

Progress waits for no one.

The image of Serge’s calm, smug expression flashes before me, and the dam breaks. With a guttural cry, I fling the figurine across the room. It collides with the mirror above the dresser, shattering the glass into a thousand sharp fragments that rain onto the floor. My chest heaves as I grip the edge of the desk, my vision blurred with fury and tears.

“Bastards,” I mutter under my breath. “Every last one of them.”

The sound of rushed footsteps reaches my ears, and the door swings open. Dante strides in, his eyes scanning the room before landing on me.

“What the hell happened?” he demands, his voice low but firm as he shuts the door behind him.

I turn to him, my breathing uneven. “I can’t do this,” I snap, gesturing to the broken mirror. “They took everything from me, Dante. My father. My family’s legacy. And now Serge Sharov has the audacity to talk about progress as if it absolves them of their crimes?”

Dante approaches cautiously, his gaze softening as he takes in my state. “Chiara,” he says gently, “you need to calm down.”

“Don’t tell me to calm down!” I shout, my voice cracking. “They think they’ve won. That they can control everything, everyone. Well, I won’t let them. I won’t.”

Dante closes the distance between us, his hands resting on my shoulders to steady me. “Listen to me,” he says, his voice steady. “I understand your anger. I feel it too, but this?” He gestures to the shattered glass. “This won’t bring him back.”

Tears prick my eyes, but I force them back, refusing to let them fall. “I hate them, Dante,” I whisper. “I hate them so much.”

“I know,” he murmurs. “And that’s why you need to think strategically.”

I frown, my chest still tight. “Strategically?”

Dante steps back, crossing his arms. “This could be your opportunity,” he says, his tone deliberate. “You’re right. The Sharovs have done unforgivable things to our family. This deal Serge is offering? It’s a chance to get close to him. To gain his trust.”

I stiffen, my mind racing as his meaning sinks in. “Then what?”

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