Page 117 of Married to My Sis’s Bratva Fiancé

I locked eyes with her. I didn't nod.

Isabella's breathing started to shake.

"You had to steal that too?"

The absurdity nearly drowned out the terror. A baby wasn't a prize. Kiryan wasn't a trophy.

But in her world, Father's favor, the best seat at a table, an engagement—hell, even fertility—had to belong to her. If I had something she'd lost, I had to be a thief.

She raised her hand.

I curled inward, shielding my stomach with my shoulder as best I could.

Matteo caught her wrist.

"I told you. After I get what I want."

Isabella turned and glared at him. "Let go of me."

"Calm down."

"She is carrying his kid!"

"Then she is worth more than she was a minute ago."

Matteo flung her hand away.

Isabella stumbled half a step, then steadied herself, but whatever polish she'd had left was gone.

She stared at me for a long time.

Then she smiled, slow.

"Fine."

That one word chilled me worse than the slaps.

She pulled her phone from her purse.

"Since you are so sure he'd come, let's show him."

I knew exactly what she meant.

I fought like crazy.

"Mmm—!"

Isabella opened the camera and backed up a couple steps.

Matteo reached up and swung the hanging lamp toward me. Harsh white light slammed down, showing my swollen cheek, the tears the pain had forced out, the rope digging through my clothes.

"Don't cover her hands," he said. "Let Morozov see it."

A man stepped behind the chair and yanked my raw wrists out to either side.

Isabella lifted her phone.

"Look here, Elena."