Page 49 of Secret Bratva Twins

Serge comes too, spilling hot seed as my walls clench around his cock. He grunts—it could have even been my name—and his hands are like a vise on me.

We come together, and I’m barely even aware I’m calling his name.

When it’s over, we lie side by side on the bed, the room silent except for the sound of our breathing. My skin feels tender, bruised in places, and the faint scent of his cologne still lingers in the air, mixing with the floral perfume I’d worn earlier.

I turn my head slightly, glancing at him. His expression is unreadable, his gaze fixed on the ceiling, as if lost in thought. For a moment, I wonder if he regrets it, but then his hand moves to my wrist, his fingers brushing over the faint marks he left there.

“You’ll remember this,” he says quietly, not looking at me.

I don’t reply. I’m too tired, too overwhelmed by everything that’s happened, to argue or fight. My body aches, and my mind is a whirlwind of conflicting emotions—anger, guilt, desire, and something I can’t name.

The room is heavy with silence, the kind that presses against your chest and makes every sound feel too loud. Serge lies beside me, his arm casually draped across his stomach as he continues to stare at the ceiling, his expression unreadable. I hate the way he can look so composed, as if this was just another calculated move in a long game.

I shift slightly, the ache in my body a constant reminder of everything that just happened. My fingers brush over the faint bruises on my wrist, and I glare at him, though he doesn’t meet my gaze. “You think this proves something?”

His lips twitch, but it’s not quite a smile. “It proves enough.”

I push myself up on one elbow, ignoring the way the sheets slide against my skin, cool and soft in stark contrast to the heat still simmering in my veins. “Bruises don’t mean anything, Serge. They don’t mean you’ve won.”

His eyes finally meet mine, sharp and unyielding. “You say that now,” he murmurs, his voice low. “You didn’t push me away, did you? You wanted this just as much as I did.”

I swallow hard, the truth of his words cutting deeper than I want to admit. “I didn’t—”

He interrupts me, sitting up slightly, his presence overwhelming even in his stillness. “You can lie to yourself, Chiara. Don’t lie to me. I know you better than that.”

I open my mouth to argue, but no words come. His gaze pins me in place, and for a moment, all I can do is stare back.

Finally, I drop back against the pillow, my body too exhausted to keep fighting.

“You’re insufferable,” I mutter.

I close my eyes, his words haunting me as sleep takes over.

Chapter Nineteen - Serge

The early sunlight filters through the tall windows as I descend the staircase, the house unusually quiet except for the faint sound of laughter drifting up from downstairs. It’s a sound that doesn’t belong in my world—a soft, innocent thing that feels out of place amidst the cold marble and sharp edges of my home.

I pause for a moment, letting the sound wash over me before continuing down, the soft padding of my bare feet against the polished steps the only indication of my presence. As I approach the dining room, the scene unfolds before me.

Chiara is sitting on the floor with Alyssa and Leo, her smile wide and unguarded as she holds up a small toy horse for Alyssa to inspect. Leo clutches a stuffed bear, his laughter quiet but genuine as she tickles his side, pulling a giggle from his usually shy demeanor.

Katya sits nearby, a steaming cup of tea in her hands, her expression warm but knowing as she watches her daughter-in-law with the children. She catches my eye as I step into the room, offering a slight nod.

“They couldn’t sleep,” she says softly, her voice laced with amusement. “Your children missed their mother.”

Chiara glances up at Katya’s words, her eyes meeting mine for the briefest of moments before flicking back to Alyssa. Her smile doesn’t falter, but there’s a hint of tension in the set of her shoulders, a reminder of the dynamic between us.

“Papa!” Alyssa’s voice pulls me from my thoughts as she leaps up, her small frame barreling toward me with unrestrained excitement.

I crouch slightly, catching her as she collides with me, her arms wrapping around my neck. “Good morning, Alyssa,” I say, my tone softening instinctively.

“Did you sleep good, Papa?” she asks, her voice muffled against my shoulder.

“I did,” I lie, though the restless night I spent staring at the ceiling says otherwise. “You?”

She pulls back, her face lighting up as she nods. “Grandma said we could come back early because Leo missed Mommy.”

I glance at Leo, who’s now climbing into Chiara’s lap, his small hands clutching at her shirt as she strokes his hair. His gaze meets mine briefly, and there’s a flicker of recognition there, though he quickly buries his face in her shoulder.

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