Page 27 of Secret Bratva Twins

“You don’t know me,” she says finally, her voice barely above a whisper.

I take a step closer, my gaze unwavering. “I know enough.”

The tension between us is a living, breathing thing, crackling in the dimly lit room like a storm waiting to break. I can feel Chiara’s eyes on me, defiant as ever, even as she sitsperched on the edge of the chair, her shoulders taut with barely concealed anger. It’s maddening how she still refuses to bow, even after everything.

“Say it,” I demand, my voice sharp as a blade. “Admit that you lost.”

She leans back, crossing her arms over her chest with a smirk that both infuriates and intrigues me. “You think this is over, Serge? You think dragging me back to Chicago in chains makes you victorious?”

I take a step closer, my gaze narrowing. “You really don’t know when to shut up, do you?”

“Why should I?” she snaps, her chin lifting in defiance. “What more can you do to me, Serge, kill me? Go ahead. At least I’d be free of you.”

Her words ignite something primal in me, a fire I can’t contain. In two strides, I’m towering over her, my hand shooting out to grab her throat. Her eyes widen, but not in fear. There’s something else there—something darker, more challenging. It only fuels my rage.

“You want me to kill you?” I hiss, tightening my grip just enough to make her gasp. “Don’t tempt me, Chiara. You won’t die that easily. Not until I’m done with you.”

Her hands fly up to claw at my wrist, but she doesn’t break eye contact. Even as her breaths grow shallow, she glares at me like she’s daring me to go further. My grip slackens slightly, and I lean in, my voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. “You don’t get to decide when this ends. I do.”

I release her suddenly, and she slumps forward, coughing as she drags air into her lungs. She looks up at me through tear-filled eyes, and for a moment, I think I’ve broken her. But then she speaks, her voice hoarse but steady.

“You’re just like the rest of them,” she says. “Cruel. Power-hungry. Pathetic.”

My jaw clenches, and I grab the back of the chair, forcing myself to rein in my temper. “Cruel? Maybe, but pathetic? That would be your brother, snitching on his own blood just to save his position. Did you know he practically begged me to take you off his hands?”

Her face pales, the impact of my words hitting her like a physical blow. “You’re lying.”

I let out a humorless laugh, leaning closer. “Am I? He came to me, Chiara. Offered you up on a silver platter because he’s afraid of you. Afraid that you’ll outshine him. It isn’t often a man like him feels threatened.”

The pain in her eyes is unmistakable, but she quickly masks it with anger. “That’s not true. Lorenzo wouldn’t—”

“Wouldn’t he?” I cut her off, my tone laced with mockery. “Face it, Chiara. The only person you’ve ever been able to trust is Dante. And where is he now?”

She flinches, her fists clenching in her lap. “You’re a monster,” she whispers, her voice trembling with emotion.

I step back, my smirk fading as her words sink in. “Maybe I am,” I admit, my voice cold. “I’m the monster who holds your life in his hands. Remember that.”

The room falls silent, the weight of our words hanging heavily in the air. I glance out the window at the dense forest surrounding the rented house bathed in moonlight. It’s the perfect place to keep her hidden until I can get her back to Chicago.

She shifts in her chair, her gaze dropping to her lap, as if she’s finally run out of things to say. For a brief moment, I almost feel a twinge of guilt. Almost.

“Why are you doing this?” she asks softly, breaking the silence. “You already have everything. What could you possibly gain by keeping me here?”

I take a deep breath, my fingers drumming against the back of the chair. “Revenge,” I say simply. “You tried to kill me, Chiara. You betrayed me. You don’t get to walk away from that.”

Her head snaps up, her eyes blazing once more. “Do you think dragging me back to Chicago will fix everything; you think it’ll make you feel whole again?”

“It’s not about feeling whole,” I reply, my voice hard. “It’s about making sure you never forget who holds the power.”

She lets out a bitter laugh, shaking her head. “Power. That’s all you care about, isn’t it?”

I don’t answer. Instead, I turn and walk toward the door, pausing with my hand on the handle. “Get some rest,” I say without looking back. “Tomorrow, we’re leaving for Chicago.”

Her sharp intake of breath tells me she wasn’t expecting that, but she doesn’t protest. As I step out into the hallway, I can’t shake the feeling that this is far from over. Chiara Vinci may be under my control for now, but I know better than to underestimate her.

The war between us has only just begun.

The door closes behind me with a heavy click, cutting off the tension of the room and Chiara’s searing gaze. The house is silent apart from the faint hum of the central heating, but I know Roman is waiting for me down the hall. His shadow stretches across the wall as I approach, his expression carefully blank.

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