He Didn’t Kidnap Me. Not Exactly novel Chapter 197

Chapter 197

For several moments DeLuca said nothing as the car continued moving through the city. Buildings and traffic drifted past outside while he simply listened-actually listened. And I found myself watching him process every word I had said, absorb them, and quietly sit with them. Eventually his expression softened, and when he finally looked back at the road, something about the tension between us had changed.

“Okay. I agree.”

The answer was simple, quiet, and somehow perfect. A smile immediately appeared on my face.

Unfortunately, DeLuca wasn’t finished.

“But you’re still taking your medication and still going to have enough rest.”

My smile disappeared. He continued driving.

“People who get shot generally recover before they involve themselves in another conflict. So you need to be very strong.”

I frowned.

“You make me sound fragile.”

“You are.” He said and I glared before letting out a sigh.

“Fine.”

I pointed a finger at him.

“But there are conditions.”

His expression suggested he already regretted agreeing to anything.

“You tell me everything.”

“No.”

“DeLuca.”

He went quiet and didn’t respond on time.

I smiled.

Victory.

“You tell me everything,” I repeated. “Every plan. Every step. Every update.”

He remained silent, and then my thoughts trailed to something else.

“What about Nico?” I asked and the question immediately wiped away the small amount of warmth between us.

His expression hardened.

“I’ll deal with Nico.”

“How?”

“By finding my father.”

The answer came instantly, carrying enough irritation to convey his disappointment.

“This entire situation is his stupidity.”

I decided not to comment on that. Mostly because I didn’t want him to get worked up more than he already was.

“What about the shooters?” I changed topic. But that answer took longer.

DeLuca’s fingers tightened slightly around the steering wheel before he finally spoke.

“The trail still leads back to Roman Volkov.”

The unfamiliar name settled heavily between us.

“I’ll find the shooters.” His voice grew colder. “I’ll follow the trail back to the heart.”

The expression on his face became unreadable.

“And when I do, I’ll kill Volkov finally.”

I didn’t doubt him.

The conversation ended there, not because I had run out of questions but because the answers he had given were enough.

Now my thoughts settled on him, Roman Volkov, my apparent father, whom I fail to accept.

The name lingered in my thoughts as the car continued forward, and even without it happening yet, I knew bloodshed and chaos was about to reign.

It was about to be brutal and Daisy of several months ago would have shrunk. But I’m proud to say that this Daisy is different.

She wants to see the end of this.

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