Chapter 51 The Cartel’s Deadline
Liam slept for fourteen straight hours.
Not the restless kind. Not the fevered kind. The kind where his body simply shut down because it had nothing left to give.
Alessia barely noticed the time passing. She stayed in the chair beside his bed, spine aching, eyes burning, counting the rise and fall of his chest like it was the only thing anchoring her to the room. Every beep of the monitor made her breath hitch. Every silence felt too long.
The surgeon came in twice.
He changed the bandages without ceremony, checked the IV, adjusted the antibiotics. His calm was almost irritating, like this was just another day, another body that had been cut open and stitched back together.
“He’s strong,” He said finally, nodding once. “He’ll recover.”
Alessia exhaled, slow and shaky.
“But,” the surgeon added, because there was always a but, “he needs rest. At least a week before he should be moving around seriously.”
A week.
The word sat heavy in Alessia’s chest.
A week, that's what they don’t have.
Her mind drifted, uninvited, to the cartel. To the number that burned into her thoughts, fifteen million dollars and also the deadline that had been ticking down while Liam bled on an operating table.
Everything was already falling apart.
They didn’t have a week.
Liam woke just after dawn.
This time his eyes focused almost immediately, sharp with awareness instead of dizziness.
“How long have I been asleep?” he asked, his voice rough.
“Fourteen hours,” Alessia said. “You needed it.”
He tried to push himself up but he groans.
Pain flashed across his face quickly, ugly, but he kept going.
“Liam, don’t—”
“What day is it?” His voice cut through hers. “What time?”
Her stomach dropped.
“Thursday,” she said quietly. “Seven a.m.”
The color drained from his face.
“The deadline.”
“It was yesterday,” she said. “Midnight.”
He swore, loud and raw, forcing himself fully upright as the monitors began to protest. “Shit. Where’s my phone? I need to...”
“Liam.” She stood, hands hovering uselessly. “You lost a lot of blood. You...”
“I lost time,” he snapped, panic cracking through his voice. “They wanted payment yesterday. If I didn’t deliver...”
The door burst open before he could finish his statement.
Three men swept in, guns raised, moving like they expected bullets at any second.
Alessia reacted on instinct, weapon in her hand before her mind caught up.
Liam raised his good hand. “Stand down. They’re mine.”
She lowered the gun slowly as recognition hit.
Finn. Rory. Mark.
They looked wrecked. Unshaven. Hollow-eyed. Like men who hadn’t slept because sleep felt like a luxury they couldn’t afford.
“Boss,” Finn said, relief and horror tangled in his voice. “We thought you were dead. Your phone was off. The safe house was empty—”
“I was shot,” Liam interrupted him. “What happened with the cartel?”
The room went still.
Mark stepped forward. “The deadline passed six hours ago, the Colombians made their move.”
Liam’s jaw tightened. “What move?”
“They took O’Sullivan’s.” Marcus swallowed. “Your pub.”
Alessia felt blood drain from her hands.
“They walked in at opening,” Marcus continued. “Locked the doors. Everyone inside is being held.”
“How many?” Alessia asked, already knowing she wouldn’t like the answer.
“Twelve regulars, two bartenders and the cook.” Mark held up his phone. Photos filled the screen, boarded windows, armed men at the doors. “They’re waiting. And they’ll only talk to you.”
“What do they want?” Liam asked, though his expression said he already knew.
“Fifteen million cash. Delivered by you. Alone.”
Silence stretched thin.
“It’s a trap,” Finn said hoarsely. “They’ll kill you the second you walk in.”
“Probably or not,” Liam said.
“So we don’t go,” Rory argued. “We find another angle—”
“We have twelve people in there,” Liam cut in. “People who work for us. Who trusted us.”
“But you can’t—”
“I’m going.” He swung his legs off the bed, pain flashing again, worse this time. “Help me get dressed.”
“You’re in no condition to...” Alessia started.
“I don’t have a choice.” He met her eyes. “This is on me.”
“We bring backup,” Mark said quickly. “Hit them hard—”
“And get everyone inside killed?” Liam shook his head. “They said alone.”
“That’s suicide,” Finn said.
“Maybe.” Liam stood, swaying but stubborn. “But I don’t have the money. So I give them what I do have.”
“Blood?” Rory muttered.
“Mine.”
The room went quiet.
“Get me a shirt,” Liam said. “And my weapons.”
Alessia watched him—still pale, still injured, still stubborn enough to walk straight into death for people who would never even knew his name.
And something inside her snapped into place.
“You’re not going alone.”
Every head turned towards her.
“This is my fault,” she said, stepping forward. “I leaked the ledger. I triggered the raids. I’m the reason you couldn’t pay.”
“No,” Liam said sharply.
“Yes.” Her voice didn’t shake, maybe a little. “This started with me.”
“You’re a fugitive—”
“And you’re walking into a cartel hostage situation with a bullet wound,” she shot back. “We protect each other. That was the oath.”
“That doesn’t mean—”
“It means exactly this.” She checked her weapon, movements precise. “We go together.”
Liam stared at her, torn between letting her go with him or stay back.
Finn cleared his throat. “She’s not wrong, Boss. Two of you is better than one.”
“It’s still suicide,” Rory muttered.
“Then it’s suicide we choose,” Alessia said, eyes locked on Liam. “Together.”
The silence broke when Liam nodded.
“Our fight,” he said.
“You three stay outside,” he added to the men. “If we’re not out in an hour, you go in.”
“And the money?” Finn asked.
“We don’t have it.” Liam’s smile was sharp and humorless. “We give them information.”
He pulled on his jacket, jaw tight against the pain.
They didn’t argue again.
Alessia followed him out into the morning light.
Toward the pub.
Toward the trap.
Toward hell.
But not alone.
Because dying alone was never an option.
And if this was where it ended—
Then they would face it together.
Blood for blood.
Life for life.