Page 32 of Secret Bratva Twins

I end the call abruptly, tossing the phone onto the passenger seat. My jaw tightens as I turn the car around, the address seared into my memory.

***

The house is modest, a far cry from the luxury Chiara grew up in. It’s tucked away in a quiet neighborhood, the kind of place designed to disappear. I park across the street and step out, taking a moment to steady myself before walking up the driveway.

I ring the bell, the sound sharp and hollow in the stillness. The door creaks open, and a young woman peers out. She’s slight but composed, her eyes widening when she sees me. This must be Hannah.

“Who are you?” she demands, her voice trembling despite her bravado.

Before I can answer, two small heads peek out from behind her. A boy and a girl. They freeze when they see me, their wide eyes filled with curiosity and confusion.

“Is that Mommy?” the girl asks, her small voice tentative.

“No, sweetheart,” Hannah says quickly, her hand instinctively moving to block their path. “Stay back.”

The boy steps forward, his face lighting up with hope, but then he stops short, realizing I’m not who he expected. His small frame stiffens, and he grabs the girl’s hand, pulling her close.

“Who are you?” Hannah repeats, her tone sharper now. She tries to mask her fear, but I can see it clearly.

“I’m here for Chiara,” I say, my voice cold and deliberate.

Her expression falters, and she looks from me to the children and back again. “You can’t be serious.”

“Oh, I’m very serious,” I reply, stepping closer. “Now, step aside.”

“Leo, Alyssa, go inside.” Hannah doesn’t move, her chin lifting defiantly. “Chiara isn’t here, and her children-”

“These areherchildren?”

Hannah’s face goes pale. She grips the door in a white-knuckle grip, eyes wide. “I don’t, you-”

I look at the children. They’re barely older than toddlers, three or four, perhaps. Anger rolls in my gut as I realize… the timeline works. Either Chiara was fucking somebody else, or…

Or those two kids are mine.

Somehow, I know the truth.

The kids cling to Hannah, their little faces a mix of fear and confusion. It’s a sight I wasn’t prepared for, and it twists something deep inside me. I didn’t come here for sentimentality, but seeing them—so small, so vulnerable—makes this personal in a way I hadn’t anticipated.

“Hannah,” I say, lowering my tone but keeping the edge. “I’m taking my children. Move, or I’ll move you myself.”

Her resolve wavers, and for a moment, I think she might resist. Then she steps aside, her face pale and tight with worry.

“Leo, Alyssa,” I say, crouching to their level. They don’t move, their wide eyes locked on mine. “Come here.”

Leo tightens his grip on Alyssa’s hand, and they both press closer to Hannah. I rise, exhaling sharply. This isn’t how I envisioned this moment.

“Get them ready,” I order Hannah. “We’re leaving.”

“You’re making a mistake,” she says quietly, but she does as I command, her hands trembling as she gathers their things.

The room feels eerily quiet except for the occasional sniffle from the children clinging to Hannah. My eyes sweep over the modest living room, taking in its simplicity. It’s nothing like the places Chiara would have grown up in, yet it feels like her. Warm, inviting, understated. My gaze halts on a picture hanging on the wall. A framed photograph.

Chiara stands in the middle, smiling—a real smile, not the calculated ones I’ve grown accustomed to. On either side of her are two children, their small hands clutching her. A boy and a girl, no more than four or five. They have the same bright blonde hair and piercing blue eyes. Sharov eyes.

It’s impossible to miss.

Leo, the boy, is a spitting image of me. My jaw, my cheekbones, my eyes. It’s like looking at a photograph of myself as a child. The girl, Alyssa, has Chiara’s delicate features, but those eyes… they’re unmistakably mine. The realization settles over me, heavy and inescapable. These aremy children.

---