Chapter 9
1076 Words
Nicholas stood over Victor, his gun steady, his eyes void of mercy.
Victor clutched his bleeding knee, gasping.
“Nicholas—”
BANG.
Another shot.
This time—his other knee.
Victor’s scream ripped through the air.
Nicholas tilted his head, watching as the man writhed in agony.
“I told you,” Nicholas murmured, his voice lethal. “She was never yours to take.”
Victor panted, blood pooling beneath him. “P-Please…”
Nicholas smiled.
And it was the coldest thing Elara had ever seen.
He crouched down, pressing the barrel of his gun under Victor’s chin.
“You touched what’s mine.”
Victor froze.
Nicholas leaned in, whispering in his ear.
“I could let you die slow.” His voice was silk and steel. “Make you beg. Make you choke on your own blood.”
Victor shuddered.
Nicholas pulled back, c*****g the gun.
“But I’m in a hurry.”
His finger tightened on the trigger—
“Nicholas, stop!”
Her voice broke through the haze.
Nicholas didn’t move.
Didn’t even blink.
His entire body was rigid, the gun still pressed against Victor’s trembling jaw.
Elara swallowed.
She could see it.
The darkness in his eyes.
The beast unleashed.
This wasn’t just Nicholas Wolfe, the ruthless billionaire.
This was the man who burned the world for revenge.
Elara’s pulse pounded.
She knew what would happen if she didn’t stop him.
And she knew, deep down, if Nicholas pulled that trigger—
There would be no coming back.
She took a slow, careful step forward.
“Nicholas,” she whispered. “Look at me.”
Silence.
Then—
He turned.
And for the first time that night—
She saw something c***k in his gaze.
Elara reached for him, fingers brushing his wrist.
His skin was burning hot.
His breathing ragged.
She could feel the tension in him—the war inside.
“You got him,” she murmured. “He’s done.”
Nicholas’s jaw clenched.
His grip on the gun tightened.
For a second, she thought she had lost him.
That he was too far gone.
Then—
He exhaled sharply.
And dropped the gun.
His hands were shaking.
Not from fear.
Not from weakness.
But from the sheer, raw rage still simmering beneath his skin.
Victor lay gasping at his feet.
Pathetic. Broken. Not worth another second of his time.
Nicholas turned to Elara.
She was watching him carefully, her hands still on his.
And for the first time that night—
The storm inside him settled.
Without thinking, he reached for her.
Pulled her against him.
Buried his face in her hair.
Elara stiffened—then melted into him.
He could feel her heartbeat against his chest.
Warm. Steady. Alive.
Nicholas closed his eyes.
For the first time in hours, he breathed.
She was safe.
She was his.
And God help anyone who ever tried to take her again.
The scent of blood and gunpowder lingered in the air.
Nicholas still had his arms around Elara, her warmth the only thing keeping him grounded.
But this wasn’t over.
Not yet.
His grip tightened, then he slowly pulled away, turning to Luca.
“Finish it.”
Luca nodded once, understanding.
Victor Montenegro wouldn’t make it out of this warehouse alive.
Nicholas didn’t care how he died, only that by sunrise, there wouldn’t be a trace of him left.
“Let’s go,” he murmured to Elara.
She hesitated, glancing at Victor’s broken, bleeding form.
“Nicholas—”
But he was already leading her away.
She didn’t argue.
Not when she saw the cold finality in his eyes.
Outside the Warehouse
The night was still thick with tension as Nicholas and Elara stepped out.
His men were already wrapping up the cleanup—bodies being dragged, blood being washed away.
Nicholas didn’t spare them a glance.
His focus was on Elara.
She was shaken but strong.
A f*****g fighter.
He cupped her face, brushing his thumb over her cheek.
“Are you hurt?” His voice was low, possessive.
She shook her head. “Just—tired.”
Nicholas’s jaw clenched.
She had been through hell.
Because of him.
He leaned in, pressing a kiss to her forehead. A silent promise.
No one would ever touch her again.
He was about to pull away when—
“Boss—trouble.”
Luca’s voice was sharp, urgent.
Nicholas turned, his entire body going rigid.
A convoy of blacked-out SUVs was approaching fast.
Unmarked. Armed. Dangerous.
Elara stiffened. “Who—”
Nicholas already knew.
And his blood ran cold.
The Volkov Syndicate.
The Russian Mafia.
And they were here for him.
The black SUVs rolled to a stop.
Engines hummed. Doors clicked open.
Nicholas stood his ground.
He didn’t run. Didn’t flinch.
This was his city.
And the Volkov Syndicate had just made a grave mistake stepping into it.
Luca moved beside him, gun already drawn. His men spread out, ready to strike.
“Nicholas,” Elara whispered, her fingers gripping his arm.
He glanced at her. One look.
And that was enough.
She was his priority.
“Get in the car,” he ordered. Low. Firm. Uncompromising.
Elara hesitated. “But—”
Nicholas’s eyes darkened. “Now, Elara.”
She swallowed but didn’t argue.
Luca signaled two men. “Take her back to the penthouse.”
Elara’s pulse pounded.
Everything in her screamed to stay. To fight.
But Nicholas’s gaze was like iron chains, holding her in place.
This wasn’t a battle she could win.
So she turned.
Got into the car.
And as the door slammed shut, she locked eyes with Nicholas one last time.
Then—they drove away.
The moment Elara was gone, Nicholas turned back to the Russians.
A man stepped forward. Broad. Cold-eyed. Ruthless.
Dimitri Volkov.
The bastard himself.
Nicholas smirked. “You should’ve called.”
Dimitri’s lip curled. “You’re not easy to find, Wolfe.”
Nicholas rolled his shoulders. “And yet, here you are. What the f**k do you want?”
Dimitri exhaled a dark chuckle. “You.”
Silence.
Nicholas’s blood went ice cold.
Dimitri stepped closer, voice silky with menace.
“You made a deal, Wolfe.”
Nicholas stilled.
Luca’s gaze snapped to him.
Nicholas didn’t move. Didn’t breathe.
Because he knew exactly what Dimitri meant.
And if the Russians were here to collect—
Then this wasn’t just about business anymore.
This was about a blood debt.
- Writer
