Page 58 of Forced Virgin Bride of the Bratva
I already gave him my answer, but he wants to hear it now, here, with the air heavy around us and the door shut tight.
“Who first?” he presses. “Which one do we burn?”
I look straight at him. No hesitation. “Maxim comes last.”
He studies me, lips parting slightly like he might ask why. But he doesn’t. He knows.
“I want him to feel it unravel,” I say. “I want him to watch it go soft beneath him. I want him to know it was me when it finally caves in.”
Tiago’s eyes glint with something that might be pride. Or warning.
Mateo still hasn’t spoken, but I can feel his attention—careful, steady, lingering on me just a beat longer than it should.
No one in this room believes I’m too soft for this.
Good.
They shouldn’t.
Tiago’s smirk fades.
He leans forward, elbows on his knees, voice dropping to a murmur. “You know it worked better than I thought it would.”
I don’t have to ask what he means. I already know.
“The poisoning,” he says, eyes on the floor now, almost thoughtful. “The way he reacted. How fast he snapped. It was perfect.”
His words settle like smoke in the room—thin, bitter, clinging.
“You agreed,” he adds, not accusatory. Just stating fact. “You took it willingly. Knew it had to look real. Dramatic. Messy. You played it well.”
I don’t flinch. My body stays still, spine straight. The memory of bile rising in my throat, the metallic burn on my tongue, the cold tile beneath my knees—it all flashes behind my eyes, but I don’t react.
It worked. That’s what matters.
Tiago glances up. “Maxim killing our uncle wasn’t part of the timeline, but I can’t say I’m upset. The man was a parasite.”
“Now you’re undisputed,” I say quietly. “They won’t challenge you again.”
He nods. “Not for a long time.”
Silence stretches between us. The air feels heavier. I know what’s coming next before he says it.
“Darya,” he says. “She’s a weakness. One he doesn’t even try to hide.”
I stay quiet.
“She’s not just part of his structure. She is his structure. Take her out, and it’ll do more than damage the chain of command—it’ll break him.”
Still, I don’t speak.
He watches me. Weighs me. “You don’t disagree?”
I meet his eyes. Shake my head once. That’s all he gets. I don’t need to say the words out loud. My silence is its own answer. Its own weapon.
He nods slowly, leaning back. “You’re doing well, you know.”
I blink.
