Page 28 of Secret Bratva Twins

“You look like hell,” Roman says, pushing off the wall to stand straighter. “Didn’t expect her to put up that much of a fight.”

I shoot him a glare, the memory of her defiance still fresh in my mind. “She’s lucky she’s still breathing.”

Roman grunts, folding his arms over his chest. “You’ve got to get her leg checked, Serge.”

“Not here. Not until we’re back in Chicago.”

Roman frowns, his concern obvious. “You can’t wait that long. That cut could get infected. We’ve got a guy in town—”

“I said no.” My voice cuts through the hallway like a whip, and Roman snaps his mouth shut, though the tension in his shoulders remains. “I don’t trust anyone here. Not with this.”

Roman parts his lips to answer, and I snap, “Shut up. Chiara could overhear this, and I don’t need her knowing more than she has to.”

Roman stares at me for a long moment, his jaw tightening. “You’re playing with fire, Serge. I hope you know what you’re doing.”

I step closer, lowering my voice to a dangerous whisper. “I know exactly what I’m doing. Now drop it.”

He exhales sharply but nods, the argument dying on his lips. “Fine, but at least let me take another look at her before we go.”

I nod curtly, leaning against the wall as Roman disappears into another room.

My thoughts drift to Chiara as I wait. Her defiance, her fire—even when she’s backed into a corner, she refuses to break. It’s infuriating and captivating all at once.

Roman returns with a small first aid kit in hand, his steps deliberate. “She’s lucky she didn’t shatter her leg entirely,” he mutters, shaking his head as he sets the kit down on a side table. “It’s not broken, but I should make sure she’s fit for travel.”

“Fine,” I snap, “so long as she can walk on it, she’s good.”

Roman’s eyes narrow slightly, his frustration evident. “You’re playing a dangerous game, Serge. She needs proper treatment. What happens if it gets worse?”

I push off the wall, stepping closer to him. “She’s not leaving my sight, Roman. Not for any reason. The second we’re back, we’ll handle it. Until then, we keep her here. No outside interference.”

Roman exhales sharply, muttering something under his breath as he opens the kit. “Fine. Don’t blame me if her condition worsens.”

I let his comment slide, focusing instead on the faint sounds coming from her room. She’s awake, likely stewing in her own thoughts. Maybe in pain. I push down the flicker of concern that tries to surface. This isn’t about compassion. It’s about control.

“She’ll keep,” I say, mostly to myself. Roman glances at me, his expression unreadable.

“You should at least check on her,” he says finally, his voice low but pointed. “She’s not going anywhere on that leg, but if you’re serious about dragging her back to Chicago in one piece, you’ll need to keep her alive.”

I smirk, the coldness in my expression intentional. “Let me take a look at her.”

***

I push open the door to her room without knocking, the heavy creak cutting through the silence. Chiara is propped up on the bed, her leg stretched out in front of her. Her eyes snap to mine, wary and sharp, but she doesn’t say anything.

“How’s the leg?” I ask, my tone bordering on mocking.

She tilts her chin up, defiance etched into every line of her face. “Hurts like hell. Thanks for asking.”

I step closer, my gaze dropping to the poorly wrapped bandage around her thigh. The improvised job Roman had done in the car earlier is holding, but it’s far from sufficient. “You should be grateful it’s still attached.”

Her lips curve into a cold smile. “Grateful… should I also thank you for running me off the road?”

I crouch beside the bed, my eyes locking on to hers. “You can thank me by staying alive long enough to regret your choices.”

She glares at me, her defiance unshaken even in her vulnerable state. “You don’t scare me, Serge.”

“Liar.” My voice is soft but cutting. “I can see it in your eyes, Chiara. You know exactly what I’m capable of.”

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