Chapter 59
Chapter 59
The warehouse was cold—colder than it should’ve been for a California morning—but Callum felt it more in his bones than his skin. He and Julian stood across from a man named Rafe, a supposed informant with ties to one of the Prestleys’ offshore arms. Callum didn’t trust him. Julian didn’t either, but their options had run dry. Emilio’s information had led to a dead end, and Ariana’s safety could no longer afford delays.
Rafe leaned back in the metal chair, the hum of a faulty fluorescent light flickering above them. He was lean, tatted, with skin weathered by time and too many close calls. His smirk was the kind Callum had seen on too many liars.
“You want the truth?” Rafe’s voice was hoarse, like he chewed sandpaper for breakfast. “The Prestleys were behind the hit on your girl. Same guy who ran security for Milanna at the gala? He’s a hired ghost. He’s been seen tailing her before.”
Julian stepped forward. “Name.”
Rafe shrugged. “I give you the name, I disappear. That’s not part of the deal.”
Callum folded his arms. “There is no deal. You’re here because someone we trust said you were worth the risk.”
“And now you’re here, talking to me. That tells me something, Guerrero. Tells me you’re desperate.”
Julian bristled, but Callum held him back with a slight lift of his hand. “What’s your angle?”
“I want out. New name. Passport. You make that happen, and I give you everything I know—times, locations, aliases.”
“You’re asking for a lot based on very little,” Callum replied.
Rafe leaned forward, dropping the cocky tone for a shade of sincerity. “You think the Prestleys play clean? This is bigger than Milanna wanting your attention. Her father has ties to the Bonelli cartel now. That attempted kidnapping wasn’t just about you or your girl—it was a warning. You’re in deeper than you think.”
Julian raised a brow. “And you just happen to be the selfless hero saving us from ourselves?”
Rafe grinned. “Let’s just say I’m allergic to bullets and being buried in deserts.”
Before Callum could respond, his phone buzzed. A private number. He stepped aside and answered.
“Callum.”
“Brother.”
It was Alex.
Callum straightened. “What’s going on?”
“I landed thirty minutes ago. I’m at the safehouse. We need to talk. Things are shifting fast. I’ve been getting calls too—from board members. There’s chatter about a power vacuum.”
“Hold tight,” Callum said, then ended the call.
He turned back to Julian. “Alex is in. And something tells me we’re not just being hunted by the Prestleys.”
Julian nodded toward Rafe. “You believe him?”
“No,” Callum muttered. “But I believe someone wants us looking in the wrong direction.”
⸻
Back at the safe house in Los Angeles, Alex stood in the quiet kitchen of the safehouse, sipping black coffee from a chipped mug. He still wore his travel clothes—well tailored slacks and a charcoal vest, the collar of his white shirt open. He looked too clean for the dirt they were all wading in.
Callum and Julian entered through the side door. The moment Alex saw Callum, he set the mug down and opened his arms. They hugged briefly, the tension between them momentarily forgotten.
“You look like shit,” Alex said.
“I could say the same,” Callum replied.
Julian nodded. “He’s been pacing since he got here. You sure it’s safe bringing him in now?”
“I need him,” Callum said. “He’s family.”
Alex sat at the table, his eyes sharp. “So, the Prestleys, huh?”
“That’s what our informant is saying,” Julian said, pacing. “But it feels off. Too convenient.”
Alex leaned forward. “Because it is. I’ve been following a few of Milanna’s father’s movements. He’s quiet, calculated. If he wanted Ariana gone, she wouldn’t have survived that attempt.”
Callum tensed. “So you think someone else is framing them?”
Alex nodded. “There’s a new player rising in the east. The Castellanos. Quiet money. Brutal tactics. They’re known for infiltration—feeding false leads to cause chaos. What if your informant is working for them?”
Callum glanced at Julian. “That would make sense. Keep us distracted, while they make a play.”
Julian cursed under his breath. “We need to find out who’s playing the Prestleys against us.”
Alex added, “And fast. Because if I’m right, Ariana’s not the target anymore. You are.”
Callum’s jaw tightened. He thought of Ariana. Of her curled up in his bed, trusting him without knowing what shadows were gathering outside their door. He’d brought her into this.
“They touch her again,” he said quietly, “and I burn their entire world to the ground.”
Alex exchanged a look with Julian. “Then let’s make sure they don’t.”
⸻
Back at the Warehouse, Rafe paced the length of the room, aware he was on borrowed time.
The door creaked open and in stepped one of Callum’s guards—Nicolas.
“You have visitors,” he said.
Rafe turned toward the sound of footsteps, expecting more threats.
Instead, a woman walked in. She was dressed in black, lips painted blood red, and eyes hidden behind sleek sunglasses.
“Rafe,” she said in a clipped accent. “What have you told them?”
He froze. “Wait—you’re not—”
She removed her glasses. Cold, unrecognizable eyes stared back. “The Castellanos don’t forgive disobedience.”
Before he could speak again, she raised a silenced gun.
Outside the warehouse, a single shot echoed into the silence.
⸻
At safe house, Later That Night, Julian’s phone buzzed.
He frowned. “Warehouse. It’s Nicolas.”
Callum gestured for him to answer. Julian stepped aside, and a moment later his expression changed.
“Shit,” he muttered. “Rafe’s dead. Clean shot. Silencer. No sign of a break-in.”
Callum’s fists clenched.
Alex spoke up. “They’re sending a message.”
Callum’s jaw set. He was boiling in anger. His world has never been so out of control before.
As the night deepened, Callum stepped out onto the balcony, staring into the darkness beyond the hills. He pulled out his phone and dialed Ariana’s number, but stopped before pressing call.
If what they’d just uncovered was true, he couldn’t just protect her.
He had to choose: bring her deeper into his world—or let her go to save her from it.
Inside, Julian and Alex debated their next move. Outside, Callum whispered into the wind:
“If they want war… I’ll give them war.”