Page 54 of Secret Bratva Twins

I stare at him, the words sinking in slowly. Lorenzo. My half brother. The man who had always stood as a looming figure of control in my family, distant yet omnipresent in his influence.

“And,” Serge continues, his smirk widening, “as the next of kin, all his assets and power transfer to you. Congratulations, Chiara. You’re now a very wealthy woman.”

His tone is mocking, but his words cut through the haze of shock settling over me. I sit back on the bed, my hands gripping the edge tightly.

“I don’t want it,” I say quietly, my voice trembling.

“That doesn’t matter,” Serge replies, his tone turning serious. “It’s yours now. Whether you want it or not, his legacy is tied to you.”

I glance up at him, my emotions warring between anger and indifference. “Do you think I care about his money, about his power?”

“No,” he says simply, his gaze unwavering. “It’s yours regardless.”

I shake my head, my lips pressing into a thin line. “I’m not going to grieve him, Serge. Lorenzo was never family to me. He barely acknowledged my existence unless it suited him.”

Serge watches me closely, his expression unreadable. “Good,” he says after a moment. “You shouldn’t waste tears on someone who didn’t deserve them.”

I look away, my gaze falling to the floor. There’s no sadness in me, no sense of loss. Just a hollow resignation, an acknowledgment that Lorenzo’s death changes nothing for me.

The silence between us stretches, heavy and oppressive. My gaze stays on the floor, the weight of Lorenzo’s death pressing down on me—not because I mourn him, but because his passing has brought an unwelcome shift to my life. One more thing to manage. One more legacy I didn’t ask for.

The soft rustle of fabric pulls my attention back to Serge. He’s standing at the dresser, unholstering the sleek black handgun tucked at his waist. His movements are unhurried, methodical, as if this is just another part of his routine. Hesets the gun down, carefully dismantling it piece by piece before placing it inside the hidden compartment of the drawer.

“What do you plan to do now?” he asks, his voice breaking the silence but still quiet enough to feel deliberate.

I look up at him, startled by the question. “What do you mean?”

He closes the drawer, locking it with a subtle flick of his wrist before turning back to me. His blue eyes meet mine, sharp and unreadable. “You have influence now,” he says, leaning casually against the dresser. “Power. It’s yours whether you want it or not. So, what will you do with it?”

For a moment, I don’t know how to respond. The idea of wielding Lorenzo’s influence feels foreign, like wearing a coat that doesn’t belong to me. I could use it, I realize. I could take my children and disappear, build a new life far away from Serge and the suffocating grip of his world.

The thought is fleeting. He would never let me go, never let the twins slip through his fingers. And even if I somehow managed to escape, what kind of life would they have without their father?

I exhale slowly, forcing myself to meet his gaze. “I’ll continue like this,” I say, my voice steadier than I feel. “As your wife.”

His brow lifts slightly, the faintest flicker of curiosity crossing his face. “You’ve accepted your role, then?”

“I haven’t accepted anything,” I snap, my tone sharper than I intended. “I’m staying because the kids are happy. When we live like a happy family, they smile more, laugh more. I’ll do anything to keep it that way. For their happiness.”

For a moment, he doesn’t respond. He studies me, his expression unreadable, before giving a single nod. “Good,” he says simply, turning back to the dresser.

His lack of argument unsettles me. I expected him to push, to gloat, to wield this as another form of control. Instead, his calm acceptance feels more disarming than any threat.

“But,” I continue, my voice softening slightly, “I need to attend to my family’s businesses.”

His shoulders stiffen, but when he turns back to me, his expression is calm. “Why?”

“Because it’s what I owe,” I say firmly. “If Lorenzo’s power and assets are mine, then I have a responsibility to maintain them. To make sure they don’t crumble.”

“You’re already stretched thin,” he counters, crossing his arms. “You have the twins, this house, and now the weight of his legacy. Are you sure you can handle all of it?”

“Yes,” I reply without hesitation. “I need your word that I’ll have the freedom to do so.”

He tilts his head slightly, his gaze narrowing. “You’ll have it,” he says after a moment. “On one condition.”

I tense, waiting for the inevitable strings attached. “What condition?”

“You stay in Chicago,” he says firmly. “Your businesses, your dealings, all of it—keep them here. If you leave the city, you do so with my approval.”

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