Page 30 of Secret Bratva Twins

I shrug, forcing a smirk. “Maybe I’m just better at playing the game than you think.”

He doesn’t respond, but his silence speaks volumes. Roman might be Serge’s loyal lieutenant, but he’s not entirely unfeeling. He knows I’m a mother, and somewhere deep down, that must mean something to him.

“Where are they?” he asks, his tone almost casual, though I can hear the undercurrent of tension.

I raise an eyebrow, feigning innocence. “You think I’d tell you?”

Roman lets out a soft laugh, shaking his head. “Of course not. I thought I’d give you the chance.”

I pick up the fork again, taking another bite of the eggs. They’re cold now, but I barely notice. My thoughts are spinning, trying to figure out how much Roman knows and how much of it is a bluff.

“You don’t need to worry about them,” I say finally, my voice steady. “She knows what to do”

His eyes narrow slightly. “She?”

“Not that it’s any of your business,” I say, leaning back in the chair, “but she’s their babysitter. She knows enough to keep them safe but not enough to be a threat. It’s called planning, Roman. You should try it sometime.”

He doesn’t rise to the provocation, but his jaw tightens ever so slightly. “You’re awfully confident for someone who’s spent the night under Serge’s roof.”

My smile is sharp, brittle. “You think Serge scares me?”

Roman pushes off the wall, stepping closer. His gaze is piercing, unrelenting. “He should.”

I hold his gaze, refusing to back down, even though my heart is pounding in my chest. “If he had them, he would have told me by now,” I say quietly. “That means they’re out of his reach. As long as they’re safe, I can handle whatever he throws at me.”

Roman studies me for a long moment before stepping back. “You’re playing a dangerous game, Chiara.”

“Then we have that in common,” I shoot back, picking up the toast and taking a defiant bite.

He shakes his head, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “Enjoy your breakfast. You’ll need the strength.”

With that, he turns and leaves, the door clicking shut behind him. I let out a shaky breath, my shoulders sagging as the tension drains out of me. My leg throbs dully, a constant reminder of how close I came to losing everything.

I glance at the window, the dreary morning light casting long shadows across the room. Somewhere out there, my children are safe. I cling to that thought like a lifeline, even as the walls close in around me.

I pick at the eggs for a while longer, chewing mechanically as my thoughts churn. Roman’s words replay in my mind, but I push them aside. At least for now, I know my twins are safe. That’s the one solace I have in this twisted situation. I clear the plate, leaving no scraps, because who knows when Serge might decide I don’t deserve another meal.

The door creaks open, and my heart lurches. Serge steps inside, his presence commanding as always. He leans against the doorframe, his sharp eyes scanning the room before settling on me.

“Finished?” His voice is calm, but there’s an edge to it.

I nod, pushing the tray aside. “I guess you’re not here to bring dessert.”

His lips curve into a faint smirk. “Not quite. I thought you might want to clean up. There’s a bathroom across the hall.”

I hesitate, glancing at him warily. “You’re just going to let me wander around unsupervised?”

He arches a brow. “I’ll be outside the door. Don’t get any ideas.”

Of course. I’m a prisoner, not a guest. I rise slowly, my leg still aching, and follow him out into the hallway. He stops in front of a door and gestures for me to enter.

“You’ve got ten minutes,” he says, his tone leaving no room for negotiation.

Ten minutes. That’s hardly enough time to scrub away the grime of the last twenty-four hours, but I’ll take what I can get. I step inside and shut the door, locking it behind me. The bathroom is small but clean, with a sleek, modern design that seems out of place in this rustic house.

I turn on the shower, letting the water run until steam begins to fill the room. Stripping off my clothes, I step under thehot spray, a sigh escaping my lips as the warmth soothes my sore muscles. The water cascades over me, washing away the dirt, the fear, and the tension that have clung to me like a second skin.

For a moment, I let myself relax, closing my eyes and tilting my head back. The steam envelops me, softening the sharp edges of reality. I lather my skin with the bar of soap provided, scrubbing harder than necessary as if I can erase the events of the last few days. My fingers linger on the bruises forming around my wrist and leg, reminders of my crash and Serge’s hold over me.

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