Page 8 of Secret Bratva Twins

That dress she wore last night….

I shake my head, irritated with myself for letting my thoughts veer so far off track. There’s no point in fantasizing about her. She’s dangerous. Treacherous. Still, the memory of her smirk, the way she tilted her chin in defiance—it all lingers, gnawing at my focus. The attraction feels as inevitable as it is infuriating.

My phone buzzes on the desk, snapping me out of my reverie. I grab it, glancing at the caller ID.

Makar.

I swipe to answer, leaning back in my chair. “Cousin,” I greet, my voice sharp with impatience.

“Serge,” he replies smoothly. His tone, as always, carries that slight edge of superiority. Makar has always been the one with the polished manners, the diplomatic veneer. I prefer a more direct approach. “I trust business is going well in Chicago?”

“It’s moving,” I say curtly. “What do you want, Makar?”

He chuckles softly, the sound grating. “Straight to the point. I admire that. I heard about your little venture in Monaco. The Vinci girl. Bold move.”

His mention of Chiara tightens something in my chest. I hate how easily her name seems to entangle itself in my affairs. “Is there a point to this call, or are you just bored?”

Makar sighs, feigning exasperation. “Always so prickly. I called to remind you that the Vinci family isn’t what it used to be. They may be a shadow of their former selves, but shadows have a way of creeping in unnoticed.”

“I know what I’m doing,” I reply sharply, irritation bubbling to the surface. “I don’t need your advice.”

“Of course not,” Makar replies smoothly. “Just remember, Serge, our enemies aren’t always obvious. Sometimes, they’re the ones who smile the most.”

I clench my jaw, hating the insinuation. “If that’s all, I have work to do.”

“One more thing,” he says before I can hang up. “I trust you’ll be at the family gathering next week?”

The thought of mingling with relatives, pretending to care about their trivial problems, is almost enough to make me hang up right then. “I’ll be there.”

“Good. It’s important we present a united front. Until then, Serge.”

He hangs up before I can reply, leaving me with a growing sense of irritation. Makar always has a way of needling at me, but this time, it’s the truth behind his words that stings.

Chiara isn’t just a distraction. She’s a threat. A beautiful, dangerous threat that I can’t seem to stay away from.

I toss the phone onto the desk, leaning back and scrubbing a hand over my face. My inbox is overflowing with reports that need my attention, but all I can think about is the way Chiara looked at me last night—defiant, daring, utterly intoxicating.

For the first time in a long time, I’m not just playing the game. I’m invested. That’s a dangerous place to be.

Chapter Four - Chiara

The steady hum of the jet fills the cabin, blending with the occasionalclinkof glass as I swirl the wine in my hand. The deep red liquid catches the dim light overhead, shimmering like liquid fire.

My gaze drifts to the endless expanse of clouds outside the window, but my mind isn’t as tranquil as the view. Dante sits across from me, his expression calm but his eyes sharp. He’s been quiet for a while, watching, waiting. I can feel the weight of his judgment, though he hasn’t voiced it yet.

When he finally clears his throat, it cuts through the cabin’s quiet like a knife. “What do you think Lorenzo would say if he finds out about this little… arrangement?”

His voice carries the exact note of disapproval I expected, but it still grates on my nerves. I glance at him, arching a brow as I set the glass down on the table between us. “Lorenzo doesn’t care about me, Dante. Why should I care what he thinks?”

Dante leans back slightly, folding his arms across his chest. “He’s still your brother. The Vinci name rests on both of your shoulders. No matter how much distance you put between yourselves, your father’s legacy ties you together.”

My fingers curl around the edge of the table, the pressure grounding me. Lorenzo and I have always been oil and water. As my half brother, he inherited everything that mattered in our family—the power, the loyalty of our father’s closest allies, the weight of expectations. He’s never believed in my capabilities. No matter how many deals I close, no matter how many risks I take to rebuild what we lost, he always sees me as a liability rather than an asset. To him, I’m justChiara.

“I don’t need his approval,” I say finally, my voice steady despite the anger simmering beneath the surface. “Lorenzo isbusy building his empire in Italy. I’m doing what I need to do—for myself and for our family’s honor. If he finds out about this deal, then so be it. Let him deal with it however he wants.”

Dante studies me for a long moment, his dark eyes unreadable. “So this is still about revenge?”

“Of course, it is.” My response comes out sharper than I intended. I push the wine glass aside, theclinklouder than I wanted. “The Sharovs didn’t just kill my father. They dismantled everything we had in Chicago. They humiliated us, destroyed us. I’m not here for some petty grudge, Dante. This isn’t just about revenge. It’s justice.”

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