Page 38 of Secret Bratva Twins

“I don’t care what you think,” I say finally, my voice cold. “The first thing we do when we land is get married.”

Her head jerks up, her eyes wide with disbelief. “What?”

“You heard me.”

She shakes her head, a small laugh escaping her. “You’re insane. That’s not happening.”

“It is,” I say firmly. “Unlike the Italians, we don’t welcome illegitimate children. My children will be viewed as equals, as Sharovs. That means you will be my wife.”

Her face pales, the fight momentarily draining from her. “You can’t force me into this,” she whispers.

“You don’t have a choice,” I reply, my voice softer but no less resolute.

***

The hum of the jet continues to fill the cabin as I settle back into my seat, my eyes locked on Chiara. She’s not looking at me. She hasn’t since I told her we’d be getting married the moment we land. Her jaw is tight, and her hand absently strokes Leo’s hair as he sleeps against her. She’s furious, but beneath that fury is something more—resignation.

There’s a strange satisfaction in seeing her like this. She thought she could escape me, hide my children from me, and erase me from her life. Now, every move she makes is tethered to my control. It’s exactly how it should be.

Yet, there’s something else. A nagging thought I can’t shake as I watch her. It’s not just control that drives me. I’ve dealt with betrayal before. I’ve exacted punishment countless times. This feels… different.

Chiara isn’t like anyone else I’ve encountered. She doesn’t crumble under pressure. Even now, when I’ve stripped her of her plans and shattered her illusions of freedom, she holds on to that defiance. It’s infuriating. Fascinating. No one challenges me the way she does, and I don’t know whether I want to crush her spirit completely or see how far she’ll go before she breaks.

Her head turns slightly, her gaze drifting out the window. The sunlight filters through, casting a soft glow on her face. She looks vulnerable like this. Tired, yes, but still breathtaking. My chest tightens, and I clench my fists, irritated by my own thoughts. This isn’t the time for weakness.

The plane jolts slightly as it begins its descent. I glance toward Roman, seated a few rows behind us. He catches my eye and immediately comes forward, his expression guarded.

“Everything ready?” I ask.

Roman hesitates, his brows furrowing. “The marriage license is prepared. The venue will be ready within an hour. Are you sure about this?”

I raise an eyebrow, my tone sharp. “Do you doubt me?”

“It’s not that,” Roman replies carefully. “She’s unpredictable. Are you sure she won’t fight you on this?”

“She doesn’t have a choice,” I say flatly. “Roman, let me make one thing clear—there’s no room for mistakes. Handle everything.”

He nods, retreating to the back of the cabin to make the necessary calls.

Chiara hasn’t moved, though I see her shoulders stiffen. She heard every word, but she won’t acknowledge it. I lean forward, resting my elbows on my knees. “You can keep pretending this isn’t happening,” I say, my voice low. “It is, and t’s happening today.”

She finally turns to me, her glare sharp enough to cut glass. “You think forcing me into a marriage will make you a father? A husband?”

“No,” I say, meeting her fire with a calm smirk. “It will ensure my children have the name and status they deserve. Whether you like it or not.”

Her lip curls, but she doesn’t respond. She shifts her focus back to the window, her silence speaking volumes.

The skyline of Chicago comes into view, sprawling and vibrant against the backdrop of the lake. For a moment, I see the faintest flicker of something in her expression—nostalgia, maybe, or dread.

I lean back in my seat, satisfied.

As the plane touches down, I stand and adjust my cuff links, signaling Roman to ensure the car is ready.

“Time to go,” I say, my voice carrying an air of finality.

Chiara remains seated, her hand still cradling Leo’s head. Alyssa stirs in her seat, rubbing her eyes sleepily. Chiara gently nudges her, helping her to her feet before standing herself.

She looks at me then, her eyes full of venom and something else I can’t quite place. “This isn’t over, Serge,” she says quietly.

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