Page 31 of Forced Virgin Bride of the Bratva
I turn my head slowly. Tiago stands near the far wall, stiff in his suit, knuckles pale around the phone he hasn’t checked in ten minutes. When my eyes land on him, he straightens.
“She was poisoned,” I say, voice like ice cracking. “Under my watch.”
He doesn’t answer right away. Then: “I didn’t know.” Shame flickers across his face—quick, raw. “There are people in the family,” he adds, lower now, “who were never in favor of this union. They tolerated the idea, but loyalty has… cracks.”
A bitter truth. Someone from within the Ortega name tried to kill her.
It sends a message. An attack on her. On me. On the alliance we never asked for.
“Then give me a name,” I say, each word carefully drawn. “Or I’ll find one myself.”
Tiago’s jaw shifts. “I’ll handle it.”
I stare at him, unmoving. I don’t trust him, not anymore.
When I turn to the hospital room, through the glass, I see her.
She’s curled into the crisp white of the hospital bed, skin nearly the same shade as the sheets. Shadows bloom under her eyes, bruises that weren’t there yesterday. The IV taped to her arm feeds her slowly, steadily, like she’s being rebuilt molecule by molecule.
She looks small. Too still.
Beside her, Mateo sits in a low chair, leaning close, speaking softly. His expression is calm, brows drawn in quiet concern. She smiles at something he says—faint, fleeting, but real.
Something twists in my chest. I push the door open, gaze locked on her.
The doctor looks up, startled. She begins to speak, but I don’t break stride.
“When can she leave?” I ask, voice even.
The doctor hesitates. “She’s stable. Weak, but recovering. If there’s someone to monitor her—today is possible.”
I nod once, then shift my focus to Kiera.
She watches me, lids heavy, mouth parted as if halfway to a question. Her gaze is glassy but alert. She’s still pale. Still trembling faintly under the covers.
“You’re coming with me,” I say.
The words leave no space for argument.
Tiago steps forward. “Maxim, wait. We’ve upgraded estate security. I’ve tripled the guards—”
“She’s not safe there.” I don’t look at him. “So she’s coming home.”
Silence folds in, and no one pushes back.
Kiera doesn’t resist. She blinks once, then shifts the covers back, her hands slow and unsteady. Mateo helps her sit up, his touch gentle. I move to her side before he can do more.
I reach for her hand. My grip is firm. Final.
She lets me take it.
***
Silence fills the car, thick and unbroken.
Rain pelts the windows in a constant hiss, soft but relentless. It blurs the outside world into streaks of gray and green, the trees bending and bleeding into one another with every flash of water across the glass. The sky is a low, churning sheet of charcoal, thunder rolling far off and steady.
Kiera sits beside me, legs drawn slightly toward the door, wrapped in the blanket the nurse had pressed into her hands before we left. She hasn’t spoken since we walked out of the hospital. Her breathing is quiet, even—but the tension rolls off her in waves.
