Page 50 of Married to My Sis’s Bratva Fiancé

Now it tore through the cover and clamped around my throat.

"Get down." I moved fast, stopping as close as I could without spooking her. "Don't do something stupid."

"If dying makes you believe I love you, then at least my death will be good for something."

She closed her eyes and started to lean back.

I lunged. Before she could commit, I wrapped an arm around her waist and hauled her away from the edge. She slammed into my chest, arms flying up around my neck, shaking hard.

I slammed the glass door shut and snapped the lock. Only when the wind died behind the glass did I ease my grip.

"Are you out of your fucking mind?" My temples throbbed.

She just buried her face against my neck. Hot tears soaked my skin.

"I don't want to ruin your marriage," she said. "When you're with Elena, I won't interfere. I just... want to see you sometimes. After I get closure, I'll leave."

I believed her. Maybe there were holes in it, but after watching her nearly fall, I couldn't think clearly. Still, I couldn't betray Elena.

I guided Isabella back to the couch, peeling her hands off me when she wouldn't let go.

"I can believe you. But I won't promise you anything."

"Because of Elena?" Isabella studied me for a long time. "You've fallen in love with her?"

When she said it, my body remembered that night—Elena asleep in my bed, like she belonged there forever.

"Kiryan, you don't even know her," Isabella said. "She's played pathetic since she was a kid. Head down, never fighting for anything, letting everyone speak for her. Then the second people relax, she takes whatever she wants."

My cheekbone tightened.

"Watch who you're talking about."

"I am talking about my sister," she said, meeting my eyes. "And the woman who's lied to you."

She pulled out her phone. Her slim fingers tapped the screen, then she held it out.

A video started.

A dim hotel room. Clothes on the floor. A man pressed a woman against the door and drove into her. The lighting was low, but I recognized the bodies tangled together.

It was me and Elena.

I snatched the phone and replayed it. The time, the room—every detail matched. The camera angle came from a corner, recording the night of the engagement party.

"This was sent to me by Elena."

"What did you just say?" My blood cooled, inch by inch.

"After she left your room that night, she came to me with that video." Isabella's voice stayed steady, but her eyes were wet. "She said if I didn't leave, she'd hand it to the media. She said reporters would love the story. Your enemies would love it too." She paused. "I could have stayed and exposed her, but once that video got out, your rivals would have used it like a knife. I couldn't risk your name."

I stared at the frozen frame, my chest rising and falling too hard.

I'd thought that night in her studio I'd finally seen Elena clearly—sweet, kind, all empathy and soft edges. This video cut right through that picture and split it down the middle.

I remembered the way she'd looked at me in bed. The way she'd pressed her forehead to my chest, her breathing going ragged. And in the middle of my fury, my body still remembered her heat.

I had to shove my emotions back into a place I could control. Until I confirmed where the video came from, I wasn't going back to confront Elena. Anger made men stupid, and I'd already made too many mistakes between two Rossi women.