Secret Bratva Twins (Sharov Bratva #7)

Chapter Three - Serge

Roman sits across from me, flipping through a thick file with a bored expression. “She went to private school in Florence, graduated top of her class, spent a year at some Ivy League school before transferring back to Italy. She speaks four languages fluently—”

“Enough of that,” I cut him off, leaning back in my chair. “I don’t need her resume. Tell me something unique. Something… interesting.”

Roman frowns, clearly puzzled. “Unique?” He pauses, flipping another page. “Uh, she’s lactose intolerant?”

I laugh, the sound sharp and humorless. “Lactose intolerant,” I repeat. “Fascinating.”

Roman shakes his head, setting the file down. “You’re the one who asked.”

The corners of my mouth twitch upward as I glance out the floor-to-ceiling windows of my Chicago office. The skyline stretches endlessly, a stark contrast to the turmoil brewing beneath it. “I’ve called her here,” I say casually, drumming my fingers on the desk.

Roman narrows his eyes. “Chiara Vinci. To Chicago.”

“Yes,” I confirm, enjoying the look of surprise on his face. “It’s time to push this business partnership forward.”

His brows furrow, and he leans forward slightly. “I know why you’re doing this.”

“Do you?” I arch an eyebrow, genuinely curious about his interpretation.

“She reminds you of Anthony, doesn’t she?” Roman’s voice softens, but his gaze remains steady. “You couldn’t save him, so now you feel obligated to save her. Make things right. It’s guilt.”

The mention of Anthony is like a small knife twisting in my chest, but I don’t let it show. Roman always had a way of cutting through the noise, but this time, he’s wrong. I chuckle, a low, dark sound that fills the room. “You think I have a heart that soft?”

Roman leans back, skepticism etched across his face. “Don’t you?”

“Come on, Roman.” I shake my head, smirking. “I thought you knew me better than that by now.”

I get up and walk to the minibar, pouring myself a drink. The amber liquid swirls in the glass as I turn back to face him. “Chiara Vinci is sharp, I’ll give her that. She’s built her family back up after we left them in ruins; but she’s young. She’s emotional. And because of that, she’s easy to manipulate.”

Roman exhales through his nose, his disapproval clear. “You’re planning to use her.”

“Use her? Roman, you make it sound so crude.” I sip my drink, savoring the burn. “She’s my gateway to power. If we cut her brother Lorenzo out of the picture, Chiara becomes the sole heir to the Vinci fortune.”

Roman’s eyes darken. “Then what? You expect her to just hand it over?”

“No.” My grin widens, wicked and deliberate. “It will belong to her. And she will belong to me.”

Roman’s jaw tightens. He picks up the file, slamming it shut. “You’re playing a dangerous game.”

“Danger is what we do,” I remind him, setting my glass down with a quiet clink . “The Vinci family was once a powerhouse, and with her, it can be that again. Only this time, under my control.”

Roman shakes his head. “She’s not going to trust you.”

“She doesn’t need to trust me,” I reply coolly. “She just needs to think she’s in control.”

Roman stands, gathering his things. “I hope you know what you’re doing.”

I watch him leave, the office door clicking shut behind him. Turning back to the window, I allow myself a rare moment of silence. Chiara Vinci is a wildcard, and I love nothing more than a game where the stakes are high.

I lean against the edge of my desk, my mind circling back to Chiara Vinci. It isn’t just her position in the Vinci family that intrigues me. She’s gorgeous—stunning in a way that’s impossible to ignore. I’ve always known that, but I never let myself think about it beyond surface-level acknowledgment. Not until recently.

There’s something about her fire, her sharp tongue, her refusal to back down even when the odds are against her. It makes her a challenge, and I’ve never been one to turn away from those. The thought of her submitting to me, willingly or otherwise, sends a thrill through my veins. I don’t just want to control her for the power she represents—I want her.

The door swings open, and Roman strides back in, his face a mask of frustration. “I had one more thing to say,” he mutters, dropping a file onto the desk. “You need to be careful with her.”

I arch an eyebrow, crossing my arms. “Careful?”

“She’s still a Vinci,” Roman says pointedly, his voice low but firm. “They might be licking their wounds now, but that doesn’t mean they’ve lost their edge. No one in that family has mercy in their blood.”

I chuckle, the sound dark and amused. “Oh, I know.” I push off the desk, pacing toward the window. The Chicago skyline sprawls out before me, glittering under the night sky. “That’s what makes it fun.”

Roman’s sigh is heavy with exasperation. “You’re playing with fire.”

“I like the heat,” I counter, glancing at him over my shoulder. “You know that.”

He shakes his head, his tone sharp. “This isn’t just business, is it? You’re letting yourself get distracted.”

“I’m not distracted,” I say, my voice edged with steel. “I’m focused. I know exactly what I’m doing.”

Roman steps closer, his expression serious. “Do you? Because it seems to me like you’re getting caught up in something personal.”

“Why not both?” I flash him a grin, but it fades quickly as I turn back to the window. “Chiara Vinci is ambitious, cunning, and fiercely loyal to her family’s legacy. That’s exactly why I want her. She’s going to fight me every step of the way, and when I win, it’ll be that much more satisfying.”

Roman crosses his arms, his voice low and warning. “You’re underestimating her. She might look like she’s playing along, but don’t forget who she is. If you push her too far, she’ll come at you with everything she has.”

I nod slowly, my grin returning. “Good. I wouldn’t want her to make it easy.”

Roman curses under his breath, rubbing a hand over his face. “You’re insane.”

“I prefer determined.” I turn back to him, my expression serious now. “She’s not the only one with something to gain here. She wants revenge. I want power. We both have motives, and that makes this a fair game.”

“What if you lose?” Roman challenges, his eyes narrowing.

“I don’t lose,” I say simply, my tone final.

Roman sighs, his frustration clear, but he doesn’t argue further. As he leaves, I lean against the window, my mind returning to Chiara. Her defiance, her beauty, her fire—it all fuels something in me I didn’t expect. I know she’s dangerous, and I know she has her own agenda. That only makes me want her more.

Roman clears his throat and stands. “I’ll leave you to it, Boss.”

I stare out at the city skyline as he leaves, the lights stretching endlessly before me. Roman’s footsteps fade, leaving me alone with my thoughts. Or more accurately, my distractions. Because no matter how hard I try to focus, my mind keeps drifting back to her.

Chiara Vinci.

That name alone is a contradiction—a sharp reminder of the fire she carries, matched only by the icy control she wields when it suits her. Her long dark hair, always perfectly in place, frames a face that could disarm anyone: sharp cheekbones, piercing dark eyes, and lips that somehow manage to look both soft and unyielding. She’s slender, her figure deceptively delicate, but there’s strength in the way she carries herself. I’ve seen it. That quiet power that lies just beneath the surface.

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.