Page 118 of Married to My Sis’s Bratva Fiancé

I turned my face away.

She came in, grabbed my chin, forced me toward the lens.

"Let him see what you look like because of him."

The woman on the screen barely looked like me—hair stuck in dirty strands to my face, one cheek red and blown up, blood at the corner of my mouth. Hazel eyes full of fear I couldn't swallow down.

But I wasn't scared for myself.

I was scared of Kiryan seeing it.

Scared those dark-gray eyes would sweep over the ropes, the blood, my belly—and burn every last scrap of reason to ash.

The camera clicked.

The photo froze.

Isabella looked down, not satisfied, and took a second.

"This one's better," she said. "You can really see the tears."

Matteo leaned against an iron pillar. "Send the address with the terms."

"I know."

Isabella's fingers moved fast on the screen.

I stared at her, heart hammering so hard my chest hurt.

Don't.

I couldn't make a sound. I could only shake my head again and again.

She turned the phone so I could see the text box clearly.

—Elena and your child are in my hands.

My blood turned to ice.

She kept typing.

—If you want them back, come alone.

Then the warehouse address.

The trap fit into a few clean lines, neat as an invitation.

Isabella held her thumb over send and lifted her eyes to me.

"So," she said, "will he pick you, or will he pick his empire?"

I shook my head hard.

She smiled.

"We'll find out."

She hit send and set the phone right in front of me. The photo and message shot across the city, racing toward the man who still didn't know he was about to become a father.