Page 48 of Captured By the Russian Wolf

"You made a mistake," Nikita said, his voice cold, brutal. "You messed with the wrong people. And now, you're going to pay for it."

My father's eyes widened, a flicker of fear crossing his features. For the first time, he looked genuinely afraid.

I couldn't breathe. I couldn't move. The world had come crashing down around me, and I was caught in the middle of it, torn between the man who had betrayed me and the man who had protected me—even when I didn't deserve it.

CHAPTER 18

Nikita

The drive back to the estate was quiet, the tension between us thick but different now. It wasn't the icy wall of distrust that had been building between us. It was something else—something raw, something fragile. Lily sat beside me, staring out the window, her expression distant, lost in her own thoughts. I watched her from the corner of my eye, feeling a pull in my chest that I didn't want to acknowledge but couldn't ignore anymore.

She was shattered. The weight of her father's betrayal had crushed something inside her, something I wasn't sure could ever be repaired. I knew that feeling all too well—the moment when you realize that the person you've trusted, the one who's supposed to love you, has been pulling the strings of your life like a puppet master. The kind of betrayal that leaves scars too deep to heal.

I wanted to say something, to break the silence that hung between us, but the words wouldn't come. What could I say? That I understood? That I knew exactly what it felt like to be betrayed by family, by blood? Maybe that was true, but thiswasn't about me. This was her world collapsing around her, and I couldn't force her to process it any faster than she was ready for.

The estate came into view, the grand stone walls rising up like a fortress against the outside world. It used to feel like a safe haven, a place where I could control everything, where nothing could touch me. But now, as we pulled through the gates, it felt more like a cage, trapping us both inside.

The car rolled to a stop, and I turned to her, my hand hovering near her arm but not quite touching. "Lily," I said quietly.

She didn't respond right away, her gaze still fixed on the horizon. I could see the tears welling in her eyes, though she didn't let them fall. She was stronger than anyone gave her credit for. But even the strongest break.

"I need to think," she finally whispered, her voice so soft I almost didn't hear her.

I nodded, watching as she opened the door and stepped out of the car, her movements slow and deliberate, as if each step took everything out of her. I wanted to follow her, to pull her into my arms and tell her that it was going to be okay—that we'd figure this out, that she didn't have to carry the weight of her father's sins alone. But I didn't.

I followed her into the estate, keeping my distance as she made her way to the sitting room, her arms wrapped around herself as if trying to hold the pieces together. She looked so small, so fragile, like she could crumble at any moment.

I stood in the doorway, watching her as she sank onto the couch, her head falling into her hands. The silence stretched on, thick with unsaid words.

I didn't know how long I stood there, watching her wrestle with the truth, before I finally moved. I crossed the room, lowering myself onto the couch beside her. She didn't look up,didn't acknowledge my presence, but I could feel the tension in her body—the way she held herself together, like if she let go for even a second, she'd shatter.

"Lily," I said softly, my voice gentle, careful. "I'm not going to let him get away with this."

She lifted her head slowly, her eyes red-rimmed but dry. "You don't understand," she whispered, shaking her head. "This isn't just about him getting away with it. It's about… everything. So much of my life has been shrouded in lies."

I wanted to reach out, to touch her, to offer her some kind of comfort, but I didn't know if she'd accept it. So instead, I just sat there, my hands resting on my knees, my gaze locked on hers. "I know it feels like that now," I said quietly. "But we can fix this. We can figure out a way to make this right."

She let out a bitter laugh, the sound hollow and broken. "How? How do you fix something like this? My father… he never cared about me. He used me. He used Alexei. He ruined everything."

I clenched my jaw, anger flaring up inside me at the thought of that bastard—of how easily he'd manipulated her, how he'd twisted her into something she was never meant to be. "He'll pay for what he's done," I growled, my voice harder now. "But you don't have to carry this alone."

Her eyes flicked to mine, searching, unsure. "And what do you want, Nikita?" she asked, her voice barely more than a whisper. "What do you want me to do?"

I hesitated, my chest tightening as I looked at her. There were so many things I wanted—and I didn't know I wanted them until I saw Donovan destroy her world. It had all become so clear, so suddenly.

I wanted her to choose a life with me, away from all of this violence and manipulation. I wanted to give her a world where she didn't have to fight every second to survive. I wanted toprotect her so that no one could ever hurt her like this ever again.

But I also knew that revenge was a powerful thing, and once it took hold, it was almost impossible to let go.

"I want you to decide what's right for you," I said slowly, carefully. "If you want to walk away from all of this—from him, from the past—I'll help you. We can leave this behind, start something new. But if you want revenge, if you want him to pay, then I'll stand by you. Whatever you decide, I'm with you."

Her brow furrowed, her lips parting slightly as she stared at me, like she couldn't quite believe what she was hearing. "You'd do that?" she asked, her voice laced with disbelief. "You'd risk everything for me?"

I reached out then, finally letting my hand settle on hers, feeling the tremor in her fingers as they twitched beneath mine. "I already have," I murmured, my voice low, almost a growl. "And I'll do it again if it means you'll be safe."

Her eyes searched mine, and for the first time since we had left her father's estate, I saw the flicker of something that wasn't pain or betrayal. It was something softer, something warmer. But it was fragile, tentative, like she was afraid to trust it.

"What if I don't know what I want?" she whispered, her voice so quiet I almost missed it.

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