Chapter 12: Chapter 12 – POV Lilianna

The warehouse fight had left my hands trembling and my heart hammering so hard I could feel it in my throat. Adrenaline still coursed through me, sharp and jagged, keeping sleep impossible even if I wanted it. Matteo’s grip on mine was grounding, steadying, reminding me that I wasn’t alone in this. But Petrov… he wasn’t defeated. Not really.

The van ride back to Matteo’s brownstone was quiet, the streets of New York slick with rain and empty at this late hour. Callum was asleep, tucked safely in the back, blissfully unaware of the danger we had just faced—or the storms that were still brewing.

I stared out the window, watching reflections ripple across puddles as the van glided past. My mind kept returning to Petrov’s eyes—the hatred, the sheer fury. He had underestimated us tonight, but I knew he wouldn’t forget. He would come back, and next time, it wouldn’t just be his men we’d have to worry about.

“Lilianna,” Matteo said finally, his voice cutting through my spiral of thoughts. I turned to find his gaze on me, dark and unreadable. “We need to talk.”

I nodded, swallowing hard. “Yeah. I know.”

Back at the brownstone, the house felt different. Too quiet, too safe. Callum still slept, and the sound of his steady breathing reminded me why I couldn’t let my guard down. Matteo led me to the office, shutting the door behind us. He leaned against the edge of the desk, eyes piercing, unreadable.

“It’s not over,” he said bluntly. “Petrov won’t let tonight go unanswered. I already know he’s planning a counterattack.”

My stomach tightened. “What kind of counterattack?”

He shook his head. “Something personal.”

That made my pulse spike. Personal. My mind immediately went to Callum. To me. Matteo. Whoever Petrov planned to target—it would be close, intimate, the kind of strike meant to hurt the people you care about most.

“Callum,” I breathed, the name tasting like fear.

Matteo’s jaw clenched. “Exactly. That’s why we need to stay ahead. He’s not going to come after me first. He’s going to test you.”

I stiffened. “Test me?”

He leaned forward, voice low. “He knows your history. He knows your family. And he knows the one person who could draw you out of the shadows and make you vulnerable. That’s who he’ll target.”

I felt a chill run down my spine. Petrov knew about Callum. He knew the truth. He would strike at him if he got the chance. My fists clenched, nails biting into my palms.

“Then we don’t give him the chance,” I said through gritted teeth. “We stop him before he even moves.”

Matteo’s eyes softened, and for a brief moment, I saw a glimmer of something else—fear, maybe, or concern. “You’re right. But we need a plan. A real plan. Not just guns and brute force.”

The next few hours were a whirlwind of preparation. Maps, surveillance footage, contact lists, weapons, escape routes—it all had to be flawless. Every contingency accounted for. We moved with precision, Matteo and I working side by side, the silence between us filled with unspoken understanding.

And then came the call.

I answered, expecting one of Matteo’s men. Instead, a voice cut through, low, dangerous, smooth like glass over steel.

“Genovese,” the voice said. My blood ran cold. “I hope you enjoyed your little victory tonight. Consider it temporary. I know who your son is. I know who matters to you. And I will have them, one way or another.”

The line went dead.

I sank back against the wall, heart racing. Petrov had crossed a line. He had made it personal, just as Matteo had feared. My hands shook, and I felt an anger hotter than anything I’d felt before.

Matteo stepped beside me, placing a firm hand on my shoulder. “We’re going to fix this,” he said quietly. “I won’t let him touch Callum.”

I nodded, swallowing hard. “We need to find him before he finds us.”

The strike team was briefed, each man understanding the gravity of what was coming. Matteo and I went over the intel repeatedly, triangulating Petrov’s likely moves. He was smart, calculating, but arrogant. That arrogance was the key.

We had one lead—a warehouse on the East River, heavily guarded, but not impossible. Surveillance suggested Petrov was using it as a staging ground for something big. Weapons, drugs, maybe more. And if our intel was correct, he’d be expecting retaliation.

“Then we hit him first,” I said, voice firm. “We go on the offensive. Before he can make a move.”

Matteo’s lips tightened. “Agreed. But this isn’t a straight fight. He’ll have traps, ambushes, maybe even hostages. We go in smart, coordinated, precise.”

I felt my pulse quicken. Precise. Smart. That was me. That was why I’d survived this long. And now, we weren’t just fighting for ourselves. We were fighting for Callum. For family. For vengeance.

Night fell, and the city grew darker, the streets slick with rain again. Our van pulled up to the edge of the East River, the warehouse looming ahead like a shadow waiting to swallow us whole. Matteo, Lilianna, and our small strike team crouched in the shadows, weapons ready, movements silent.

“Positions,” Matteo whispered. “We take the west entrance. Lilianna, you and I go in together. The rest provide cover.”

I nodded, gripping my weapon, heart racing, adrenaline coiling tight. Callum’s face flashed in my mind, his wide brown eyes, his trusting smile. I would not fail him. Not now, not ever.

We moved forward, shadows among shadows, silent predators stalking our prey. The warehouse doors loomed, massive, steel-reinforced, and behind them… Petrov.

He had underestimated us once. That would not happen again.

Inside, the air was thick with oil, dust, and anticipation. Petrov’s men patrolled, unaware of the storm descending upon them. Lilianna moved with lethal grace, covering my flank as we approached the center of the warehouse.

“Eyes open,” I whispered, scanning for movement.

A guard stepped forward, but Lilianna was faster. One precise shot, and he crumpled silently. Another, and the path was clear.

“Go,” I murmured, signaling the team.

We moved in, coordinated, deadly. Crates toppled, weapons clattered, men fell. Lilianna’s eyes were fire, her movements precise, calculating. She had grown into something formidable, something I could rely on without question.

And then I saw him—Petrov, standing at the center, flanked by his closest men. His eyes locked on me, and I felt the weight of every life he had endangered pressing down.

“Costello,” he said, voice smooth, dripping with malice. “You think you can stop me?”

I didn’t answer. I raised my weapon, signaling Lilianna. Tonight, we ended this.

The battle erupted, a storm of gunfire and chaos. Lilianna was everywhere, taking down men with lethal precision, covering me as I pushed toward Petrov. He fought back, desperate, calculating, but we had the advantage. We had fire, determination, and each other.

Petrov’s arrogance would be his downfall.

And tonight, I would make sure of it.