Page 3 of Captured By the Russian Wolf

He didn't respond immediately. Instead, he watched me with a look that sent a chill down my spine. He knew I wasn't telling the truth, but he wasn't pushing.

"People come to places like this for a reason," he said finally. "And it's usually not just for a drink."

I swallowed hard, my fingers tightening around the vial. He was too close, too sharp. But I couldn't let him see that he was getting to me.

Before I could respond, one of his men approached and whispered something in his ear. Nikita's expression darkened for a brief moment, his eyes narrowing as he listened. Then, just as quickly, his face smoothed over, and he nodded.

"I'm sorry,krasotka, but I need to run," he said, rising from his seat with effortless grace. "Business. Let's continue this another time. Mikhail, one of my dearest and trusted friends, will get your phone number."

I nodded, my throat dry. "Of course."

As he walked away, the tension in my body eased just enough for me to breathe again. I watched him go, my heart racing. He was suspicious of me—there was no doubt about that. But he hadn't pushed too hard. And he wanted to see me again.

My hand slipped out of my purse, leaving the vial there. I stared at the glass of whiskey he had left behind, knowing how easily it could have been laced with poison. I could have done it. I should have.

But even though he watched me like a hawk, I knew I wouldn't have done it even if he had given me the opportunity.

I couldn't explain it. I had been ready—months of planning, rehearsing, preparing for that moment. And yet, when the time came, I had hesitated. The man who had torn my life apart had been right in front of me, and I couldn't follow through.

It was just an opportunity missed, I told myself.I'll try again.

But that was an excuse. There might never be another chance. Why did I not use this one? I tracked him for years, and suddenly, I just backed out. The longer I sat there, the more confused I became about myself.

Nikita Volkov was supposed to be a monster, a soulless brute who had killed my husband without a second thought. But as I watched him walk across the bar, I couldn't shake the feeling that he was more than that. That maybe—just maybe—I had miscalculated or underestimated myself.

I took another sip of my whiskey, trying to push the thought away. I couldn't afford to doubt myself, not after how long I'd been plotting.

No matter what, I was going to kill Nikita.

CHAPTER 2

Nikita

Ileaned back in my chair, staring out the floor-to-ceiling windows of my penthouse. The shimmering skyline of New York was a constant reminder of the world I ruled, both legitimate and otherwise. But lately, there was something else gnawing at my mind, an unexpected itch I couldn't quite shake off—her.

Lily Donovan. The woman from the bar.

Her image had been etched into my mind since that night—her ocean blue eyes, calm one moment, hinting at something wild the next, that thick raven hair, glossy and inviting, and her sexy body temptingly shrouded in elegance.

Lily was alluring, mysterious, a sculpture of perfection that I wanted to shatter just to see what really lurked beneath. There was more to what she was letting on, so much more.

And that excited me.

I'd met countless women, but none left this lingering... presence. Without saying a word, she seemed to beckon me.

"This idea is fucking ridiculous."

Mikhail's gruff voice snapped me out of my thoughts. My second-in-command sat across from me, a permanent scowl etched onto his face. He was never one to sugarcoat his opinions, and right now, he was making it clear that he hated the direction of our conversation.

"Polishing your image with a wife? Come on, Nikita. You don't need that," Mikhail continued, running a hand over his graying beard. "If we're expanding into legitimate business, we can do it the same way we've always done it. Force and fear."

"Mikhail's right," Yuri chimed in, lounging lazily against the couch. He always had that casual, carefree demeanor, but I knew better. Behind his playful smirk and constant sarcasm was a man who could kill with efficiency. "Why complicate things with a woman? Besides, isn't this more your brother's style?"

I narrowed my eyes at him. He didn't flinch, but the smirk faded. "This isn't about complicating things," I said, my voice calm but firm. "We're stepping into a different world now. You know how the game works here—appearances matter. If we're going to solidify ties with partners who don't want to see blood on their money, we need to show them stability."

"Stability?" Mikhail let out a low growl. "They want control. They want someone they can manipulate. You think a wife is going to change that?"

I didn't respond immediately. Instead, I let the silence stretch between us, the tension palpable in the room. Mikhail had been with me for years. He was loyal, brutal, and brilliant in many ways. But he didn't see the whole picture here. This wasn't just about control or power. It was about strategy, playing the game smarter, not harder.

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