Page 10 of Secret Bratva Twins

The room is already bustling when I enter, filled with men in tailored suits who pause their conversations to glance my way. Serge stands at the head of the table, his presence commanding even among a sea of powerful figures. His sharp blue eyes lockon to mine, and for a moment, the air between us seems to thrum with unspoken tension.

“Miss Vinci,” he says, his tone smooth and polite. “Welcome.”

“Mr. Sharov,” I reply, inclining my head. My voice is neutral, giving nothing away.

I take my seat at the table, my back straight, my hands resting lightly on the notepad in front of me. The meeting begins with the usual pleasantries and updates—financial projections, partnership terms, and expansion plans. I stay focused, responding when necessary, my answers measured and precise.

I can feel Serge’s gaze on me throughout. It’s not just a glance; it’s a steady, assessing look that feels like a challenge. I refuse to let it rattle me. When our eyes meet, I hold his stare, unwilling to back down. His lips curl into a faint smirk, as though he’s amused by my defiance. It only makes me more determined to prove myself.

“Miss Vinci,” Serge says during a pause in the discussion, his voice drawing the attention of everyone in the room. “What’s your perspective on the proposed expansion timeline?”

The question catches me slightly off guard, but I recover quickly. “It’s ambitious but achievable. With the right resources and strategic partnerships, I believe the timeline is feasible.”

He leans back in his chair, his gaze unwavering. “Ambition is admirable,” he says. “It tends to yield extraordinary results.”

“Ambition is also a necessity,” I reply, my tone calm but firm. “Without it, there are no results.”

His smirk deepens, but he doesn’t press further. The meeting continues, though the intensity in the room remains. By the time it concludes, I’m both relieved and drained. Asthe others begin to leave, Serge approaches me, his expression unreadable.

“Impressive input,” he says casually. “I look forward to seeing how this partnership develops.”

I meet his gaze, my voice steady. “So do I.”

Serge’s smirk deepens, and I feel the weight of his gaze like a carefully aimed blow. He’s testing me, prodding for weakness, but I refuse to give him the satisfaction.

“I hope your actions match your confidence,” he says, his tone laced with a hint of mockery. “This city tends to weed out those who overestimate themselves.”

“I’m not concerned,” I reply smoothly, my chin lifting slightly. “We Vinci women have a habit of thriving where others fail.”

His laugh is soft, more of a rumble that seems to resonate in the space between us. “Bold words. I hope you’re ready to prove them.”

“That’s why I’m here, isn’t it?” I tilt my head, matching his energy. “Or did you invite me just to trade barbs?”

“Perhaps I enjoy the banter,” he admits, his gaze flickering with amusement. “Though I suspect you do too.”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” I say, though I can’t entirely hide the quirk of a smile tugging at my lips. His charm, while infuriating, is undeniably effective, and it’s taking every ounce of control not to fall into his rhythm.

As the last of the other attendees file out of the room, the space feels charged, the air thicker. Serge steps closer, his presence commanding, his sharp blue eyes studying me intently.

“You handled yourself well in there,” he says, his voice softer but no less powerful. “Not everyone can sit across from me and keep their composure.”

I arch an eyebrow. “You’re not as intimidating as you think.”

“Careful, Chiara,” he warns, though there’s a hint of a grin playing on his lips. “You’re already walking a fine line.”

I cross my arms, leaning casually against the edge of the conference table. “I thought you appreciated ambition.”

“I do,” he says, taking another step closer. “But I also appreciate knowing when to push and when to pull back.”

“Good thing I’m not looking for your approval,” I counter.

His grin turns predatory, and I can feel the intensity of his energy crackling between us. “We’ll see about that.”

I refuse to let my resolve falter under his gaze, though my pulse quickens. He has a way of making every interaction feel like a game of chess, each word a calculated move. I’ve always been good at this kind of game, but Serge Sharov plays on a level I’ve never encountered before.

After a beat of silence, he steps back, the shift in his posture signaling a change in tone. “You’ll want to settle into your apartment before the work really begins.”

I nod, not entirely trusting where this conversation is heading. “That’s the plan.”

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