Page 1 of Secret Bratva Twins

Chapter One - Serge

The music on the yacht is deafening, a hypnotic mix of deep bass and upbeat tempos designed to keep the crowd in high spirits. The yacht itself is massive, a gleaming white palace on water, complete with tiers of decks and an open bar stocked with every high-end liquor imaginable. Monaco’s glittering skyline twinkles in the distance, blending with the shimmering waves. The scent of saltwater and expensive cologne is heavy in the air.

I swirl the amber liquid in my glass as I stand at the edge of the upper deck, watching the revelry below. Roman, my right-hand man and most trusted confidant, leans casually against the railing beside me. His sharp, watchful eyes scan the crowd like a predator assessing potential prey.

“Not a bad way to celebrate,” he says, tipping his glass toward the bustling party. “The meeting went well, and now we’ve got new partners. Feels like a win.”

I nod, sipping my whiskey. It does feel like a win, but I’m not the type to get drunk on success—or anything else for that matter. Roman knows this and doesn’t push. He’s the kind of man who thrives in chaos, and as much as I trust him, I’ve learned to keep an eye on him. He’s loyal, sure, but he also loves a good time.

A sudden flicker of movement catches my attention. My gaze locks on to a familiar figure descending the stairs from the upper deck, and the air around me seems to shift. Chiara Vinci.

It takes a moment for my brain to process the sight of her. Her dark hair is swept back in loose waves, and she’s wearing a sleek, emerald-green dress that clings to her curves in a way that turns heads. She looks… regal, almost untouchable. Except I’ve touched her world in the most brutal way possible.

“Isn’t that…?” Roman trails off, following my gaze. His voice drops, taking on a note of caution. “Chiara Vinci?”

“Looks like it,” I say, my tone deliberately casual.

The Vinci family name is one I’ve heard whispered since I was old enough to understand what it meant to hold power. They ruled Chicago’s underworld for years, their influence spreading like wildfire. Until three years ago.

My eldest brother, Maxim, made sure their reign ended when he killed their father, Don Fernando Vinci. It wasn’t clean, and it wasn’t quiet, but it was effective. The Vinci empire collapsed almost overnight, forcing what was left of their family to retreat to Italy. Word was they focused on rebuilding their businesses from a distance, biding their time. Lorenzo Vinci, her brother, now runs their operations.

Then there was Chiara. She wasn’t just a pawn in their game; she was a player in her own right. She held power in her family, though how much, I wasn’t certain. What I did know was that she wasn’t someone to underestimate.

Roman glances at me. “What’s she doing here? Think it’s coincidence?”

I smirk, setting my glass down on a nearby table. “With her? Never.”

Without another word, I step away from the railing and descend the stairs. The party swirls around me—laughter, clinking glasses, bodies moving in rhythm to the music—but my focus is singular. Chiara hasn’t noticed me yet, or if she has, she’s doing an excellent job of ignoring me.

She’s speaking with a man I don’t recognize, her smile polite but distant. Her posture is relaxed, yet I can sense the tension in her shoulders, the careful control she exerts over every movement.

As I approach, her eyes flick to mine. For a split second, something flares in her expression—annoyance, anger, maybe both—but it’s gone as quickly as it appears. She straightens, her smile sharpening like a blade.

“Serge Sharov,” she says, her tone laced with thinly veiled disdain. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

I stop a few feet away, letting my gaze sweep over her, taking in every detail. She’s a masterpiece of poise, but I’ve learned to read between the lines. She doesn’t want me here. Good.

“Pleasure? Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” I reply, my own smile matching hers in its insincerity. “I didn’t expect to see you here, Chiara. Monaco seems… far from home.”

Her smile doesn’t falter, but her eyes narrow slightly. “I could say the same about you. What brings you to this corner of the world?”

“Business,” I say simply. “The kind that pays well.”

Her companion clears his throat, sensing the tension, and excuses himself. Good timing. Now it’s just the two of us, the crowd fading into background noise.

“Do you always crash parties where you’re not welcome?” she asks, tilting her head.

I chuckle, stepping closer. “It’s a habit of mine. You’d know that if you kept up with current events.”

Her jaw tightens, but she doesn’t take the bait. Chiara Vinci isn’t the type to break under pressure, and that’s what makes this so much fun. She might hate me—hell, she probably dreams of putting a bullet between my eyes—but she won’t give me the satisfaction of seeing her lose control.

I lean in slightly, lowering my voice. “We should catch up. It’s been too long.”

Her eyes flash, a dangerous glint sparking in them. “I don’t think we have anything to catch up on, Serge.”

“Oh, I think we do,” I murmur, the corners of my mouth curling upward. “You just don’t know it yet.”

The hum of conversation and the rhythmic pulse of the music fades into the background as Chiara meets my gaze, her green eyes blazing with equal parts challenge and amusement. She raises a single brow, tilting her head in curiosity. “You’re still here, Serge? Should I be flattered or concerned?”

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