Page 113 of Married to My Sis’s Bratva Fiancé

Isabella watched that reflex. Her gaze paused for half a second, then rage flooded it.

"If you hadn't crawled into Kiryan's bed, I wouldn't have left New York. If you hadn't married him in my place, he wouldn't have fallen for you. If he hadn't chased me off because of you, I wouldn't have drunk myself stupid and lost my baby—if it wasn't for you, I wouldn't be in this much pain!"

Her voice climbed, sharp enough to cut.

"You ruined my marriage. You ruined my home. You ruined my chance to be a mother. You ruined everything I had."

My lungs felt packed with fire.

Leaving New York, forging papers, trying to fool Kiryan with somebody else's baby—those had been her choices. But she still wrote every bill in my name.

I twisted my wrists like I could hurl the truth back at her. The chair back creaked.

"Mmm! Mmm—"

Isabella lifted her hand again, ready to hit me.

Slow clapping drifted out of the warehouse shadows.

"Touching."

Her hand stopped midair.

Footsteps crossed the concrete, steady in a way that made my skin crawl.

A tall, lean man stepped out from behind an iron pillar.

His coat hung open, his right hand in his pocket, like he had just walked out of a meeting not worth his time. One eye was intact. The other had been ruined by an old knife scar. The mark slashed across the socket, leaving his face permanently skewed into something cruel and off-balance.

Matteo Soto.

I had only seen him in the files Father had left behind. In person he had looked thinner, sharper—more dangerous.

He moved without wasted motion, like a blade honed down too fine. Isabella had trained ballet for years and could hold herself like royalty in any room, but she still shifted half a step aside.

That half-step said who owned this place.

"You showed up late," Isabella said, ice-cold.

"You started early," Matteo said. He stopped a few paces away, eyes flicking over my swollen face. "I told you not to break her yet."

He smiled lightly. "She is leverage."

Isabella's jaw tightened.

"You promised I could handle her."

"After I get what I want," Matteo said. "Then you can settle twenty-some years of sisterly bullshit, line by line. Hell, I'd even lend you a sharper knife."

He looked at me.

That good eye held no lust, no pity. Only appraisal.

"But right now, she has to stay intact."

My stomach clenched hard.

Isabella crossed her arms. "What if Kiryan doesn't trade?"