Page 58 of Secret Bratva Twins

She doesn’t reply, but the look in her eyes tells me everything I need to know.

The look in her eyes is enough to undo me. There’s defiance there, as always, but it’s softer now, tempered by something she can’t hide. Something that matches the fire burning in my chest. Her lips part, as though she might argue,but the words never come. Instead, she leans into my touch, her breath hitching softly as my thumb grazes her cheek again.

This kiss is different—deeper, hungrier. It’s not just about claiming her; it’s about something darker, something primal that I can’t fully control. My hands slide down to her waist, pulling her closer until there’s no space left between us. The silk of her dress is cool under my fingers, but the heat radiating from her body more than makes up for it.

She gasps against my lips, her hands gripping the front of my shirt as though trying to steady herself. “Serge…,” she whispers again, and this time, it’s not a protest.

I trail my lips down her jaw, to the soft curve of her neck, inhaling the intoxicating mix of her perfume and the faint saltiness of her skin. “You drive me insane,” I growl against her throat, my teeth grazing the delicate flesh there. “Do you have any idea what you’ve been doing to me?”

Her breath catches, her nails digging into my shoulders. “Then hurry up and—”

“Let me take my time,” I interrupt, biting down gently on the spot where her neck meets her shoulder. She arches against me, a soft moan escaping her lips that goes straight to my core.

My cock is straining, desperate to plunge deep inside Chiara. I tug it free, allowing Chiara a moment of suspense before hiking up her dress. She gasps and moans my name, lighting a fire in my stomach.

She’s so tight when I enter her, pussy clenching, and it’s divine.

The silk of her dress glides over her skin as I push the fabric higher, revealing more of her to my touch. I set an agonizing pace, pounding into her as she clings to me, my mind heady with arousal.

“Say it, Chiara,” I demand, my voice rough as my hand grips her thigh. “Say you’re mine.”

She hesitates, her breaths coming fast and shallow, but when I meet her gaze again, her resolve crumbles. “You know ’m yours,” she whispers, the words barely audible but carrying all the weight I need.

I growl low in my throat, capturing her lips in a bruising kiss as I lift her onto my lap. She straddles me now, her dress bunched around her hips, and I revel in the feeling of her pressed against me, my cock nestled deep, her warmth seeping through every layer of clothing still between us.

Her fingers tangle in my hair, pulling slightly, and I groan against her mouth. My hands move over her thighs, her back, memorizing every curve, every shiver she gives me. She tilts her head back, exposing her neck, and I take full advantage, trailing hot kisses down to her collarbone.

“We belong to each other,” I say again, my voice rough and filled with promise. “I’m not letting you forget it.”

She doesn’t argue this time. Instead, she clings to me, her body pliant and willing beneath my touch. Her breaths are ragged, her skin flushed, and the way she tightens is enough to drive me over the edge.

“Serge,” she murmurs, her voice barely a whisper, but the way she says my name sends a shiver down my spine.

“Yes,dusha moya?” I reply, my hands tightening on her hips.

Her eyes meet mine, and there’s something raw and unguarded in her expression. “You’ve ruined me for anyone else.”

Her admission sparks something primal in me, and I pull her closer, my lips crashing against hers once more. This isn’tjust about possession or control anymore—it’s about us, about the fire that burns too bright to ignore.

We come together right there in the back seat, my orgasm washing over me so hard, I see white. Chiara squeezes her thighs together, trapping me beneath her as she calls my name.

It takes a while to come down from the high, sweating and breathless. When I finally catch my breath, it’s to say, “From now on, we do this every night.”

Chapter Twenty-Two - Chiara

The conference room is stifling, not because of the temperature but because of the weight of the situation. I sit at the head of the long, polished table, the leather chair beneath me creaking slightly as I shift.

Around me are the top officials of the Vinci Group, their faces lined with stress and exhaustion. Among them is Dante, my old right-hand man, his presence both a reminder of the past and a harbinger of the grim reality I’m now facing.

We’ve barely spoken since I returned home with Serge. I wish we had that same light, easy banter we used to.

I lace my fingers together, my elbows resting on the table as I scan the stack of reports in front of me. The numbers blur, but the overall picture is clear: the Vinci Group is on the brink of collapse. The once-mighty empire my father built and Lorenzo inherited is teetering on the edge of ruin.

“How bad is it?” I ask, my voice steady despite the unease roiling in my stomach.

Dante clears his throat, his expression grave. “Bad,signora. The debt has been mounting for years. Several of our key ventures are failing. The real estate developments in Rome and Naples are stalled indefinitely. The shipping company ishemorrhaging money due to delays and supply chain issues. And as for the pharmaceutical branch—”

“It’s a mess,” another executive interjects, his tone sharp with frustration. “Regulatory fines, lawsuits, bad PR… it’s all coming down on us.”

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