Page 29 of Bratva Ruin

“Then stop pretending you’re made of stone,” she says softly. “Let someone see the cracks. You always think you can controlchaos, Sienna. You can’t. Sometimes you just have to decide what kind of fire you’re willing to burn in.”

I exhale and lean back in the chair. “That’s not very comforting.”

“It’s not supposed to be.”

The clock ticks, and a nurse laughs somewhere down the hall.

For the first time in a long time, I let myself feel like a girl who doesn’t have to fix everything.

Finally, I whisper, “I think I love him.”

Her brows rise. “The man you’ve been denying exists?”

“Yeah.” My stomach drops, and I feel like I’m going to get sick.

“And why does that scare you?”

“Because loving him is dangerous.”

Her expression softens. “Safety isn’t love, Sienna. Don’t confuse the two.”

“What does that even mean?”

“It means love is a risk. Love is war.” She gives a small shrug. “But if you’re going to fight, make sure it’s a battle worth bleeding for.”

Before I can say anything, there’s a knock at the door.

“Come in,” Grandma calls out, lacing her hands.

The door opens, and in walks a man in a perfectly tailored black suit, with broad shoulders and a calm composure that I’m lacking.

Him.

Benedikt.

He strides inside like he hadn’t been shot three nights ago. Like he belongs in any room he decides to enter.

“Afternoon, ladies.” His voice is silk. “Hope I’m not interrupting.”

“Ben,” I begin, my voice barely audible. “What are you doinghere?”

He smiles faintly. “Visiting your grandmother. I thought it was time we met properly.”

He steps closer, and my body goes rigid. In his hands is a small bouquet of white roses.

White.

Clean.

Deceptive.

The kind of flowers you bring to funerals or for apologies. Knowing him, it could be both.

My grandmother blinks, confused but polite, before asking, “And you are…?”

No.

He wouldn’t.