Twisted vows のすべてのチャプター: チャプター 161 - チャプター 170

Morning didn’t exactly tiptoe in. It kind of slipped through the door, almost like it didn’t want to disturb the ghosts that seemed to hang around. Pale sunlight spilled onto the sheets, showing a world that had scraped through the night... just barely. I blinked my eyes open, the first thing I noticed was warmth beside me that wasn’t my own. Nikolai was there on the narrow hospital bed, lying above the covers, his back against the pillow and his injured arm bandaged and secured at his side. At some point during the night, he must’ve climbed onto the bed to be closer to me because our hands were still intertwined like they had nowhere else to go. His breaths were deep but had that restless quality to them. Even in sleep, it seemed the tension never really left him. I found myself really looking at him. The way his dark lashes cast shadows on his cheeks, the line of his jaw, still tight even now, and the faint stubble that hinted he hadn't bothered with a mirror in days. This was

Gunfire crackled outside the clinic, sounding like lightning. The windows shook from the blasts. The calm morning was shattered—replaced by the chaos of war. Nikolai kept me behind him as we moved down the narrow hallway, every fiber of his being focused on survival. Luca led the way, flanked by two of Nikolai’s soldiers, speaking in terse, urgent whispers. “They’ve broken through the east entrance,” Luca warned. “We’ve got maybe two minutes before they reach this floor.” “Should be enough,” Nikolai muttered, gripping his gun tightly in his uninjured hand. Despite the mayhem around us, Nikolai appeared eerily calm—almost like violence was a language he spoke better than anything else. But I caught the slight tremor in his shoulder. Pain. Blood loss. Fear—not for himself, but for me. His fingers brushed against mine, a grounding touch. “Stay close. If I say run—you run.” “No,” I replied, surprising myself with my own determination. “I’m fighting beside you.” He looked at me, to

Alessia’s finger tightened on the trigger— BANG! But the shot never reached her father. Emilio’s guard jumped in front of him, taking the bullet in the shoulder. Emilio stepped back into the shadows, barking orders. The gunfire erupted again, even more intense than before. Nikolai pulled Alessia down behind the SUV. "What are you trying to do, get yourself killed?!" "I had the shot!" she shot back, anger vibrating in her voice. "You had a death wish." He grimaced, gripping his bleeding side. Alessia grabbed his chin, forcing him to look her in the eyes. "Don’t you dare tell me to back off when it’s my life he ruined." His breath hitched—not from pain, but from the fire in her gaze. He opened his mouth, probably to argue or maybe to give in—but Matteo interrupted the moment. "We need to fall back!" Matteo shouted. "We’re outnumbered!" Yuri crouched behind a crate, reloading. "Reinforcements will be here in two minutes." "We don’t have two minutes!" Nikolai snapped. Another

By the time dawn broke over the city, we already had a plan. Not the polished, ideal sort you see in movies — more like a jagged list of options held together by anger and urgency. But hey, it was ours, and that’s what mattered. The med bay was filled with the smell of antiseptic and strong coffee. Nikolai looked pale but determined, his eyes showing pain and an unusual sort of determination. The surgery team had done what they could; they had removed the bullet, but his recovery was going to take time. He wasn’t going to lie in bed like some helpless thing, so he was up bright and early, tapping away on a tablet, plotting our next move like a general who had everything on the line. I slid into the chair next to him, clutching a hot paper cup. “You sure you should be moving that arm?” He glanced at me, grinning crookedly. “You’re always telling me to stop being so dramatic. Lead by example, right?” I snorted in response. “When did I ever give you advice worth following?”

The back corridors of the casino felt like a maze made for fleeing royalty — sterile white walls, buzzing fluorescent lights, and a faint mix of bleach and greed. Our footsteps echoed as we chased, guns drawn and breaths sharp. “Left,” Nikolai whispered, glancing at a trail of fresh blood smeared on the wall like breadcrumbs. Emilio was injured. Good — fear made him careless. We moved in sync, even with his injury slowing him down a bit. My senses were razor-sharp; every flicker, creak, and distant radio buzz shouted danger. Above us, the casino still roared with chaos — Yuri and Giovanni were buying us precious seconds by holding off reinforcements. Then, a scream pierced the corridor — a security guard fell ahead, throat slit. Not our doing. Nikolai crouched next to the dying man, studying the wound. “Professional,” he muttered. “Someone Roger-knifed him. Silent, clean.” “Someone working with Emilio,” I suggested. “No.” He rose slowly. “Someone protecting him.” We pressed on