Chapter 6
1008 Words
Elara jolted awake at the sound of gunfire.
Her breath caught, heart hammering as she shot up from the bed.
Another sharp pop echoed through the night, followed by the distant roar of men shouting.
For a moment, she was frozen.
Then—panic.
She scrambled out of bed, her bare feet hitting the cold floor as she rushed to the window.
The estate’s vast gardens were bathed in silver moonlight—but now they were filled with shadows.
Armed men. Dozens of them.
Her stomach dropped.
The estate was under attack.
Nicholas.
Where was he?
Before she could think, the door burst open.
“Elara!”
She spun just as Nicholas strode inside.
His white shirt was open at the collar, his sleeves still rolled up—but this time, there was a gun in his hand.
And the look in his eyes?
Lethal.
“Elara, stay with me,” he ordered, gripping her wrist.
“W-what’s happening?” she stammered.
“Montenegro,” he said grimly, pulling her toward the door. “He sent men. They won’t make it past the outer perimeter, but I’m not taking any chances.”
Her pulse spiked.
She could barely keep up as Nicholas led her down the grand hall, his grip firm, his body tense.
The estate’s once silent walls were now filled with the sounds of chaos.
Gunfire. Shouting. The heavy boots of men moving through the corridors.
They reached the staircase just as one of Nicholas’s men approached.
“Sir—north perimeter is secure, but they’re trying to breach the east side.”
Nicholas’s jaw ticked.
“Take them out,” he ordered.
The man nodded and disappeared, leaving Elara stunned.
Take them out.
Just like that. No hesitation.
No remorse.
She turned to Nicholas, her pulse pounding. “You’re… you’re giving kill orders?”
Nicholas met her gaze, unapologetic.
“Yes.”
A shiver ran through her.
“Is that a problem, sweetheart?” His voice was smooth, dangerous.
Elara swallowed hard.
Of course it was.
But the worst part?
Somewhere deep down, she wasn’t sure if she wanted him to stop.
Because as terrifying as this world was—
She felt safer with Nicholas than she had ever felt in her life.
And that was the most dangerous thing of all.
---
Meanwhile…
Victor Montenegro stood in his penthouse, watching the firefight unfold on his security feed.
His men were dropping like flies.
And Nicholas Wolfe?
Untouchable.
Victor exhaled slowly, swirling the glass of whiskey in his hand.
“So,” he mused, turning to the man beside him. “Wolfe isn’t just playing defense.”
The man, a tall figure in a dark suit, gave a slow smirk.
“No,” he said. “He’s preparing for war.”
Victor chuckled, setting his glass down.
“Good.” His voice was smooth, deadly.
Then he turned to the shadows.
“Tell Sandro Velasquez it’s time to make his move.”
Elara barely registered what was happening as Nicholas dragged her through the chaos.
Gunfire rattled in the distance, the scent of gunpowder thick in the air. His grip on her wrist was unyielding, his body tense, a predator in motion.
She was breathing too fast, her thoughts racing.
This wasn’t just a business empire.
This was a war zone.
“Nicholas, where are we going?” she demanded, struggling to keep up.
He didn’t answer, his gaze sharp, scanning their surroundings as he led her through a hidden passage behind the library.
When they finally emerged into a dimly lit underground garage, she yanked her hand free.
“What the hell is going on?!”
Nicholas turned, his dark gaze pinning her in place.
“Montenegro is making his move,” he said, voice controlled but deadly. “And if you think I’m going to let him lay a single finger on you, then you don’t know me at all.”
Her heart pounded.
“This—this isn’t just business, is it?” she whispered.
Nicholas exhaled, running a hand through his hair.
“No,” he admitted. “This is personal.”
Elara’s stomach twisted.
“You’re willing to kill for this,” she murmured, realization sinking in.
Nicholas stepped closer. Too close.
His presence wrapped around her like a vice, heat radiating from his body.
“I’ve already killed for less,” he murmured, his voice a dark promise.
Elara shivered.
Because the terrifying part?
She believed him.
But instead of fear, something else coiled in her chest.
Something dangerous.
“Then what happens next?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
Nicholas’s eyes darkened.
“Next?” He reached out, fingers tilting her chin up. “I burn Montenegro’s world to the ground.”
Her breath hitched.
His grip tightened.
“And you, sweetheart…” His gaze dropped to her lips. “You stay right where I can see you.”
Elara’s pulse spiked.
Because the way he was looking at her?
Like he was about to devour her whole.
And God help her—
She wanted him to.
---
Meanwhile…
Sandro Velasquez leaned back in his chair, watching as Victor Montenegro paced his office, fury simmering beneath the surface.
“You lost men tonight,” Sandro mused, sipping his drink. “And yet Nicholas Wolfe still stands.”
Victor shot him a glare. “You have something useful to say?”
Sandro smirked.
“Just this…” He leaned forward, voice smooth as silk.
“You’ve been fighting Nicholas the wrong way.”
Victor’s jaw clenched.
Sandro’s smirk widened.
“You don’t take down a man like Wolfe with bullets.” He exhaled, tapping a finger against the desk.
“You take him down by destroying the thing he won’t let go of.”
Victor’s eyes darkened.
And as realization dawned, a slow, wicked smile curled his lips.
“Elara Sinclair,” he murmured.
Sandro nodded.
“Get rid of her,” he said, voice dripping with amusement. “And watch Nicholas Wolfe fall apart.”
- Writer
