Page 3 of Secret Bratva Twins

There it is—that spark. She’s baiting me, trying to assert control over the situation. It’s almost endearing how hard she tries. Almost.

“I have a few ideas,” I reply, my voice calm, measured. “First, let’s enjoy the moment. Monaco’s charm is fleeting, after all.”

Her eyes narrow slightly, skepticism flashing across her face before she schools her expression into one of detached amusement. “Then lead the way, Maestro. Let’s see if you can deliver.”

Dante’s displeasure is palpable, but Chiara ignores him, her focus entirely on me. I offer her my arm, a mockingly polite gesture, and she hesitates for only a fraction of a second before taking it. Her touch is light, cautious, as if she’s testing the waters.

“Enjoy your evening, Dante,” I say over my shoulder, my tone dripping with condescension. His jaw tightens, but he stays put, his loyalty to Chiara keeping him from making a scene. It’s almost too easy to rile him up, but I save that for another time. Tonight, my focus is solely on her.

As we move through the glittering crowd, the weight of curious stares follows us. The Vinci heiress and the youngest Sharov brother—a pairing no one saw coming. I can feel the whispers trailing in our wake, the unspoken questions about what could possibly bring two feuding families together.

Chiara, ever the performer, plays her role perfectly. Her smile is charming but calculated, her laughter light but controlled. She leans into me just enough to make it convincing, but not so much that anyone could mistake this for anything other than a strategic alliance.

It’s intoxicating, watching her maneuver through the room with such precision. She’s a masterpiece of contradictions—bold yet cautious, fiery yet restrained. I can’t decide if I want to dismantle her defenses or admire them from afar.

As the night deepens, I catch her stealing a glance at me, her eyes flickering with something I can’t quite place. Curiosity? Wariness? Perhaps both. It’s a reminder that this isn’t just a game of power—it’s a battle of wills.

I fully intend to win.

Chapter Two - Chiara

The delicateclinkof fine silverware against porcelain fills the intimate room, mingling with the soft hum of conversation in the restaurant. I sit across from Serge Sharov, his sharp blue eyes fixed on me, their piercing intensity making it hard to look away. The private dining room of this Michelin-starred restaurant was undoubtedly his idea. He thrives on control, and this setting is no exception.

I reach for my wine glass, swirling the rich red liquid before taking a sip. “You know, Serge, you could’ve just taken me to a café like a normal person. This feels… excessive.”

His smirk is faint but unmistakable. “You’re not exactly a normal person, Chiara. Excess suits you.”

I roll my eyes, setting the glass down with a soft thud. “Flattery doesn’t suityou, Sharov. Let’s cut the small talk. What is it that you want?”

“Straight to the point.” His voice is calm, teasing even. He leans back in his chair, exuding a confidence that’s both infuriating and magnetic. “We’ll get there. Eventually.”

I let out an exasperated sigh. “You dragged me here for a reason, didn’t you? Or is this just your way of gloating about winning a card game?”

His grin widens. “That was satisfying, I won’t lie, but no. There’s more to this.”

“Then spit it out.” I narrow my eyes, tapping my fingers lightly against the table. “Sharovs don’t do anything without a motive. So, what is yours?”

He doesn’t answer right away, instead taking his time to sip his drink. It’s deliberate, calculated, like he wants me to stewin the silence. Finally, he sets his glass down and leans forward, his elbows resting on the table.

“Expansion,” he says simply, the word hanging in the air like a challenge.

I raise an eyebrow. “Expansion?”

Serge nods. “The Bratva is expanding its resorts business in Europe. We already have key locations in several countries, but Italy… Italy is a different beast. It requires finesse, local connections, someone who understands the landscape. Someone like you.”

I laugh, the sound sharp and incredulous. “You think I’m just going to hand over my family’s interests to the Sharovs? You really are bold.”

“I prefer to think of it as practical.” His tone is casual, but his eyes hold a glint of something more. “Hear me out. Bratva will invest sixty percent, but we’ll take fifty-five of the profit. Your family business gets five percent more profit than if you went solo. It’s a good deal, Chiara.”

I stare at him, trying to gauge his intentions. “Why Italy? You could’ve picked anywhere else.”

“Italy is lucrative, and your family still holds influence there despite everything. Besides”—he leans in closer, his voice lowering—“I like the idea of us working together.”

My chest tightens, a mix of annoyance and something I can’t quite name. “So, this isn’t just about business, is it?”

“Everything is about business,” he says smoothly, though the faint curve of his lips suggests otherwise.

I take another sip of wine, needing a moment to think. The offer is undeniably good. My family could use the boost, and aligning with the Bratva—while risky—might actually stabilize our operations. But it’s Serge Sharov. Partnering with himmeans playing a dangerous game, and I’m not sure if I’m ready to lose again.

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