He Didn’t Kidnap Me. Not Exactly novel Chapter 202

Chapter 202

{Daisy’s POV)

If there was one thing life had consistently taught me, it was that it possessed an alarming talent for taking perfectly ordinary days and throwing them into complete chaos.

I had always thought that talent was exaggerated.

Then I got kidnapped.

Mistakenly kidnapped.

Ever since that wonderfully inconvenient misunderstanding, my life had transformed into something that sounded less like reality and more like the kind of story people made up after drinking questionable amounts of caffeine. One ridiculous event kept crashing into the next until I barely had enough time to process the previous disaster before another one arrived carrying a bigger disaster behind it.

I had survived accidental kidnapping.

I had survived DeLuca DeLuca.

I had survived university drama, criminal families, assassination attempts, and somehow even my own questionable decision-making.

Then, because apparently life believed escalation was an art form, I had taken an actual bullet.

Even now, I still found that difficult to believe.

A bullet.

Real bullets belonged in action films and history books. They weren’t supposed to belong inside people, especially people like me. I had never considered myself particularly brave. I wasn’t the sort of person who imagined heroically diving in front of danger. If someone had asked me a year ago whether I thought I could survive being shot, I probably would have laughed before confidently answering no.

Yet here I was.

Alive.

Sore.

Still recovering.

And somehow preparing for another war.

The realization made me glance across the apartment, where DeLuca moved quietly between the dining table and the living room with the same calm precision he seemed to apply to everything. The apartment itself had become something entirely different from the peaceful place we’d arrived at earlier. Maps covered the dining table now, several firearms had been laid out in neat rows, ammunition magazines sat beside them, and small radios, knives, spare phones, and tactical gear had slowly occupied every available surface.

Fritzo had arrived almost half an hour earlier, bringing only three other men with him.

Three.

I found myself counting them again despite already knowing the number.

DeLuca.

Fritzo.

Three loyal men.

Five people.

That was all.

Not because the DeLuca empire had become weak overnight, but because DeLuca’s own father had handed the empire to someone else. The loyalty that had once surrounded DeLuca now belonged to Nico by virtue of authority, leaving only a handful of men willing to stand beside the man they had originally followed.

The imbalance should have looked frightening.

VERIFYCAPTCHA_LABELVerify