Page 52 of Secret Bratva Twins

And Leo… he’s quieter, more reserved, but there’s a strength in him, a determination that reminds me of myself at his age. He’ll be my pride, the one to carry on the Sharov name and legacy.

Chiara returns, her steps slower, her expression guarded as she sits back down.

“They love you, you know,” I say suddenly, surprising even myself with the admission.

She looks at me, her eyes narrowing slightly as if trying to decipher my intent. “They’re children,” she says softly. “They love easily.”

“No,” I reply, my voice firm. “They don’t just love. They trust. Don’t underestimate how rare that is.”

She doesn’t respond, her gaze dropping to her hands, which rest loosely in her lap.

Before the silence stretches too long, the staff begins clearing the table, bringing out fresh coffee and tea. I glance atthe empty plates, the remnants of the French toast lingering in the air, and my gaze shifts back to her.

“You’re a good mother,” I say finally, my tone quieter now.

Her head lifts slightly, and for a moment, I see the faintest flicker of vulnerability in her eyes. But then she straightens, her expression hardening again.

“You’re just figuring that out?” she asks, her voice tinged with sarcasm.

I chuckle softly, shaking my head. “No. I’ve always known.”

Her lips part, and for a fleeting moment, I think she might say something—anything—to bridge the chasm between us. Instead, she closes them again, the faint hesitation replaced by the guarded expression I’ve come to know so well. It’s her armor, the wall she puts up every time I get too close.

The silence stretches between us, heavy but not uncomfortable. It’s a truce of sorts, neither of us willing to escalate further, yet neither backing down completely. I lean back in my chair, studying her as she traces the rim of her teacup with her finger.

“You’re quiet again,” I say softly, breaking the stillness.

Her gaze flicks up to meet mine, and there’s a flicker of defiance in her eyes. “Like I said, I’m tired.”

I let the corner of my mouth lift in a faint smirk. “Tired from what, when I fucked you last night?”

Her cheeks flush, but she quickly schools her expression, straightening in her seat. “Don’t flatter yourself, Serge. The only exhausting part of last night was dealing with your nonsense.”

Her words are sharp, but there’s no real bite to them. She’s deflecting, as always, and I decide to let it go. For now.

“Well, then,” I say, my tone light.

Her lips twitch, almost forming a smile, but she catches herself, turning her attention back to the tea. She’s avoiding me again, retreating into her thoughts.

I lean forward, resting my elbows on the table, and let my voice drop slightly. “You’re a terrible liar, Chiara.”

That gets her attention. Her head snaps up, and her eyes narrow at me. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means you can pretend all you want,” I say, meeting her gaze steadily. “I know you’re thinking about last night just as much as I am.”

Her jaw tightens, and I see her fingers grip the edge of the table. “Don’t push me, Serge,” she warns, her voice low.

“I’m not pushing,” I reply smoothly, leaning back again. “Just stating the obvious.”

Her glare sharpens, but before she can retort, the sound of the children’s laughter drifts down from upstairs. It breaks the tension like a knife cutting through rope, and she exhales, her shoulders relaxing slightly.

“They’re happy here,” I say, my tone quieter now.

Her gaze softens as she glances toward the staircase. “For now,” she murmurs.

“They’ll always be happy,” I counter firmly. “I’ll make sure of it.”

She turns back to me, her expression unreadable. “Happiness isn’t something you can buy or control, Serge. It’s earned.”

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