Page 4 of Secret Bratva Twins

“What’s in it for you?” I ask finally, my voice steady.

He tilts his head, studying me. “I already told you. Expansion. Profits. A foothold in Italy. It’s mutually beneficial, Chiara. You win, I win.”

I narrow my eyes. “You don’t do anything mutually beneficial. What’s the catch?”

His grin is wolfish, sending a shiver down my spine. “The catch is you’ll have to deal with me. Think you can handle that?”

I resist the urge to roll my eyes again, though my irritation is palpable. “You’re insufferable.”

“Yet, here you are,” he counters, his smirk unwavering.

“It’s a good deal,” I say, forcing a smile to mask the rising tension inside me. “Except for one small detail—you know, your older brother murdering my father. Doesn’t exactly make you the ideal business partner, does it?”

His smirk vanishes, replaced by a hardened expression that sends a chill through me. The change in his demeanor is swift, almost frightening, and yet I hold his gaze, refusing to back down.

Serge leans forward, his elbows resting on the table, his blue eyes colder than ever. “Let’s not rewrite history, Chiara,” he says, his voice low and edged with steel. “Your father wasn’t exactly innocent. Or did you forget that he murdered my uncle in cold blood?”

My chest tightens, but I manage to keep my composure. This is what it always comes back to—the bloody history between our families, the endless cycle of revenge and loss. “I didn’t forget,” I say evenly, though the memory stings. “My fatheris dead now, thanks to you Sharovs. I guess you’d call that progress?”

He straightens, the corner of his mouth twitching into a grim smile. “The war is over, Chiara. What matters now is what comes next. Progress, as you said. I didn’t invite you to dinner to rehash old grievances. I came here with an opportunity. Take it or don’t. Your choice.”

I feel a flicker of anger at his dismissive tone, but I swallow it down. “If I don’t?” I challenge. “What happens then?”

His gaze locks on to mine, unyielding. “Then nothing changes for me. The Bratva will move forward with or without you. The only difference is whether the Vinci name gets to stand alongside us—or fade further into obscurity.”

His words sting, not because of their sharpness but because there’s truth to them. Ever since my family’s downfall, we’ve been clawing our way back to relevance, and the road has been anything but easy. Aligning with the Sharovs could secure our place again, but at what cost?

“Progress,” I repeat, the word bitter on my tongue. “That’s all you care about?”

His jaw tightens slightly, though his expression remains impassive. “It’s what I’ve been taught to care about. Survival depends on it.”

For a moment, neither of us speaks, the weight of our shared history hanging heavy in the air. Finally, I lean back, folding my arms across my chest. “You’re ruthless, you know that?”

His lips curl into a faint smirk, though it doesn’t reach his eyes. “So are you. That’s why this could work.”

The audacity of his confidence almost makes me laugh, but instead, I shake my head. “I’ll think about it,” I repeat, this time with more finality.

“You do that.” He reaches for his glass, lifting it in a casual toast. “Just don’t take too long. Progress waits for no one.”

As I watch him take a sip, I can’t shake the feeling that I’m being pulled into a game where the rules are his and the stakes are higher than I’d like to admit.

The air between us shifts as Serge’s gaze lingers on me, sharp and assessing. He’s entirely too comfortable in his own skin, too confident in the way he speaks as if everything he says is absolute. It’s infuriating and yet… I can’t deny the magnetic pull of his presence.

I lean back slightly, letting the silence stretch, trying to regain some semblance of control. “You talk about progress like it’s a religion. Is that all this is to you, Serge, just business?”

His smirk deepens, a flicker of something darker dancing in his eyes. “Business, family, power—they’re all intertwined. I’m a realist, Chiara. Sentiment doesn’t build empires.”

The jab is subtle, but it lands, twisting something inside me. He’s the embodiment of everything I hate about the Sharovs—their cold, calculated nature, their ability to destroy lives with a single decision. Yet here I am, seated across from him, listening to his every word like it’s a challenge I can’t walk away from.

“You’re relentless,” I say, my tone lighter than I feel. “Is that supposed to impress me?”

He chuckles, low and rough. “I think it does. Otherwise, you wouldn’t still be here.”

My jaw tightens, but I force a calm smile. “Or maybe I’m here because I want to understand what makes you tick. Sharovs are such fascinating creatures, after all.”

He leans forward slightly, resting his forearms on the table. The movement is casual, but the intensity in his gaze isn’t. “Careful, Chiara. Curiosity killed the cat.”

“Satisfaction brought it back,” I retort, matching his tone.

---