Page 26 of Secret Bratva Twins

When I wake, the first thing I notice is the softness of the bed beneath me. The second is the blinding pain in my leg. A groan escapes as I try to shift, but my body protests with every movement. My head feels heavy, my vision blurred as I take in the unfamiliar surroundings.

The room is lavish, with sleek, modern furnishings and large windows that let in streams of muted light. The scent of antiseptic lingers in the air, mingling with the faint aroma of expensive cologne. My leg is elevated, wrapped tightly in a pristine white cast. My arms are bandaged, the cuts from the crash meticulously cleaned and dressed. Whoever patched me up knew what they were doing.

A soft knock at the door startles me. For a moment, I consider pretending to be asleep, but curiosity wins. “Come in,” I croak, my voice weak.

No one enters. Instead, I hear the faint sound of footsteps retreating. The knot of anxiety in my chest tightens. Whoever it was, they didn’t need to come inside to remind me of where I am—or who brought me here.

Pushing aside the covers, I swing my legs over the edge of the bed, grimacing as pain shoots through my injured one. With slow, deliberate movements, I rise to my feet, steadying myself against the bedpost. The windows draw my attention, and I limp toward them, each step an agonizing reminder of the crash.

The view outside is breathtaking. A sprawling estate stretches as far as the eye can see, with manicured gardens, a glittering pool, and guards stationed at various posts. There’s no mistaking it now. I’m in Serge’s world—a world I fought so hard to escape, now wrapped around me like a vise.

I press my forehead against the cool glass, my fingers trembling against the frame. My reflection stares back, pale and weary, but defiant. Serge may have brought me here, but this isn’t over. Not yet.

Chapter Eleven - Serge

The room is dimly lit, shadows pooling in the corners and casting eerie shapes on the walls. The chill in the air bites at my skin as I push the heavy door open, stepping inside. Chiara sits in the far corner, her posture tense, every line of her body screaming defiance. Her hair falls loose around her shoulders, a stark contrast to the pale bandage wrapped around her arm—a memento of her failed escape.

I close the door behind me, the click of the latch reverberating in the silence. Her eyes snap up to meet mine, burning with a fire that refuses to be extinguished. Even here, in the depths of my territory, she holds herself like a queen. The corner of my mouth lifts in a smirk as I take a step closer.

“Comfortable?” I ask, my tone laced with sarcasm. “I hope the accommodations meet your standards.”

Her jaw tightens, and she crosses her arms over her chest. “A little drafty, but I’ll manage.”

I chuckle, dragging a chair across the floor and positioning it directly in front of her. I lower myself into it, leaning back with an air of casual dominance. “Always so witty, even now. You don’t seem to grasp the reality of your situation.”

Her lips curve into a bitter smile. “Oh, I grasp it just fine, Serge. I’m at your mercy. Isn’t that how you like it?”

Her words are a challenge, daring me to rise to her bait. Instead, I study her, letting the silence stretch between us until she shifts uncomfortably.

“You tried to kill me,” I say finally, my voice low but sharp. “You poisoned me and left me to die.”

She sits up straighter, meeting my gaze head-on. “You’ve done worse. Don’t act like you’re innocent in this. We both know what you are.”

I lean forward, resting my elbows on my knees. “What I am doesn’t excuse what you did.”

She lets out a bitter laugh, the sound grating against my nerves. “I did what I had to do. What would you have done in my place? Oh wait—don’t answer that. You don’t need hypotheticals. You used me, Serge. From the very beginning, I was just a pawn in your game. A means to an end.”

The accusation stings, not because it’s untrue, but because of how plainly she states it. I don’t bother denying it. “You’re right,” I say, my voice steady. “I did intend to use you. You were leverage, Chiara. A tool to gain power, influence, everything I’ve worked for.”

She flinches, her mask slipping for the briefest moment. “So, how does that make you any better than me? At least I admit what I’ve done.”

Her words cut deeper than I want to admit. I straighten in my chair, dragging a hand through my hair as I gather my thoughts. “I wouldn’t have killed you,” I say eventually, the words almost a growl. “I grew fond of you, Chiara. Against my better judgment, I cared for you.”

Her eyes widen slightly, but she quickly masks her surprise. “Fond of me?” she scoffs. “Is that what you call it? Playing games, lying, manipulating—none of that feels like fondness to me.”

My jaw clenches, anger bubbling beneath the surface. “You think I’m lying?”

“I think you don’t know what you want,” she shoots back, her voice rising. “You can’t decide if you want to use me or destroy me.”

I rise from the chair abruptly, towering over her as I close the distance between us. She doesn’t flinch, her chin tilting upward in defiance as I stare her down. “You made that decision for me when you poisoned me,” I say coldly. “You chose war, Chiara.”

Her expression falters, and for a moment, something like regret flickers in her eyes. “What about you, Serge? What did you choose when you decided I was just another piece on your chessboard?”

The question hangs in the air, heavy and suffocating. I want to shout, to argue, to deny it all. Instead, I step back, turning away from her and running a hand over my face. She’s right. I did choose to use her, but it’s more complicated than that. She’s more complicated than that.

I glance over my shoulder, meeting her gaze once more. “I don’t hate you, Chiara,” I admit, my voice quieter now. “I should, but I don’t. I hate what you did, but not you.”

Her lips part, but she says nothing, the fire in her eyes dimming slightly. For the first time since stepping into this room, I see something other than anger in her expression. She looks tired, conflicted, as if she’s fighting a war within herself.

---