Page 29 of Secret Bratva Twins

She doesn’t respond, her jaw tightening as she looks away. I reach for the first aid kit I brought with me, pulling out fresh bandages and antiseptic. “Hold still,” I command, my voice leaving no room for argument.

To my surprise, she complies, though her body is tense as I remove the old bandage. The wound beneath is swollen and angry, the deep gash a stark reminder of how close she came to losing more than her pride.

“Doesn’t look good,” I mutter, dabbing antiseptic onto a cotton swab. She hisses as it makes contact, her fists clenching against the sheets. “You’re lucky it wasn’t worse.”

“Lucky,” she echoes bitterly. “That’s one word for it.”

I glance up at her, my hand stilling for a moment. “Why, Chiara?” The question slips out before I can stop it, the edge of curiosity laced with something darker. “Why go through all this… was it worth it?”

Her gaze meets mine, unflinching. “You wouldn’t understand.”

I lean closer, the proximity intentional. “Try me.”

For a moment, I think she might answer, but she stays silent, her lips pressing into a thin line. I finish wrapping her leg, tightening the bandage just enough to draw a sharp intake of breath from her.

“Rest,” I say, standing and towering over her. “You’ll need it for the trip tomorrow.”

Her eyes widen slightly, panic flashing across her face. “Right. Chicago.” She shakes her head, trying to sit up straighter despite the pain. “You can’t do this—”

“I can and I will,” I interrupt, my tone leaving no room for argument. “You’re done running, Chiara.”

Her expression hardens, but there’s a flicker of something else in her eyes—fear, maybe, or resignation. I turn on my heel, heading for the door. Roman is waiting for me in the hallway, his arms crossed and his expression grim.

“She doesn’t look good,” he says, nodding toward the room. “You sure about this?”

“She’ll live,” I reply coldly. “That’s all that matters.”

Roman exhales sharply, his disapproval clear, but he doesn’t push the issue. “I hope you know what you’re doing, Serge.”

“So do I,” I mutter under my breath, the weight of the situation settling over me as I walk away.

Chapter Twelve - Chiara

The silence in the room is oppressive, broken only by the faint rustle of the trees outside the window. I sit on the edge of the bed, my leg throbbing in time with my heartbeat. The faint light of dawn seeps through the blinds, casting long shadows across the cold, empty room. I haven’t slept. How could I? Every time I close my eyes, I see Serge’s face—cold, angry, unyielding.

The sunrise is dull, muted by thick gray clouds rolling in over the horizon. It matches my mood perfectly. I’ve spent hours trying to piece together my next move, but the pain and fatigue make it hard to think straight. My stomach twists uncomfortably, not just from hunger but from the gnawing anxiety clawing at me. My children. I have no idea where they are or if they’re safe. I can only hope Hannah followed the plan.

A creak in the hallway snaps me out of my thoughts. Roman steps into the room, a tray in his hands. The smell of eggs and toast wafts toward me, and my stomach growls involuntarily. He sets the tray down on the small table by the window without a word, his expression as unreadable as ever.

“Finally decided to feed me?” My voice is hoarse from disuse, but I manage to lace it with as much sarcasm as I can muster.

Roman doesn’t rise to the bait. “Eat,” he says simply, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed.

I hobble over to the table, every step sending a fresh wave of pain up my leg. It takes all my strength not to let him see how much it hurts. I sit down and pick up the fork, eyeing him warily.

“You’re watching me like I’m going to attack you with a piece of toast,” I say dryly.

He smirks faintly but says nothing. I take a bite, the food warm and surprisingly good. For a moment, I let myself enjoy it,but the reprieve doesn’t last long. I set the fork down and meet his gaze.

“Do you have them?” My voice is quiet, but there’s steel behind it. “The children.”

Roman’s expression flickers, just for a second, but it’s enough to confirm my suspicions. He knows something.

“They’re not here,” he says finally.

Relief washes over me, so intense that it leaves me dizzy. “Good,” I mutter under my breath, gripping the edge of the table to steady myself.

Roman tilts his head slightly, watching me with something akin to curiosity. “You seem awfully calm for someone in your position.”

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