Chapter 74

Chapter 74
Callum’s POV

The letter hadn’t left my mind in seven days.

I carried it with me like a splinter under the skin, a constant reminder that Liam had found a way to invade my home, my space, her space. Every time Ariana crossed the penthouse living room or lingered on the balcony, I imagined him watching from somewhere unseen.

I wasn’t going to live like that. She wasn’t going to live like that.

So Julian and I spent the week in war mode.

The days blurred together: meetings in the study until dawn, calls to men I trusted, rewiring camera systems, planting false routes for Ariana’s comings and goings. By day, I played the calm protector for her sake. By night, I sharpened my knives.

Julian was my shadow, as always. He didn’t need me to explain why I was unraveling. He knew Ariana wasn’t just another pawn in my empire. She was the only piece that couldn’t be sacrificed.

“You’re thinking like him,” Julian said on the third night, when I was bent over blueprints of the building and nearby streets.

“I’m thinking like me,” I growled.

His smirk was humorless. “Same thing, brother.”

Maybe he was right. But unlike Liam, I wasn’t after Ariana. I was after blood.

The trap was simple in theory, but dangerous in execution.

We would leak information through one of my men—a low-ranking guard, easy to manipulate, easy to “overhear.” The false lead? Ariana would be leaving the penthouse at night for a hospital visit to Charlie. A perfect chance for Liam to strike.

Except Ariana wouldn’t be leaving.

Instead, a decoy in a wig and coat would take her place. Our cars would roll out from the garage, but the convoy would be a skeleton compared to the usual full protection. Just enough bait to tempt him into action.

Julian would run point, tailing the convoy at a distance. I’d be embedded close to the decoy. The moment Liam surfaced, we’d close the jaws of the trap.

We rehearsed every detail. Entry routes. Exit strategies. Gun placements.

Julian insisted on redundancy—two snipers on nearby rooftops, trackers hidden in the convoy cars, a jammer to cut Liam off if he tried to escape with a call for backup.

But I wasn’t worried about backup.

I wanted him alone.

I wanted him to see me when the trap snapped shut.

The night of the plan, Manhattan hummed beneath a full moon. Ariana was asleep upstairs, curled under the sheets like she hadn’t been living with a ghost breathing down her neck.

I stood in the dark, watching her chest rise and fall. For a moment, the violence waiting for me outside seemed unreal. All I wanted was to climb into bed and pretend this world didn’t exist.

But if I didn’t end this now, she’d never be safe.

I leaned down, brushed a kiss against her temple, and whispered, “I’ll be back.”

Her fingers twitched, like some part of her heard me even in her dreams.

Then I left.

The convoy rolled out at 11:47 p.m. It was finally time for the execution.

I was in the backseat of the second SUV, the decoy at my side. She was one of our own—dark hair pulled under a hood, Ariana’s build, Ariana’s coat. In the shadows, the resemblance was enough to fool anyone hunting from a distance.

Julian’s voice crackled in my earpiece. “Convoy in motion. Snipers, check in.”

“North rooftop, clear.”
“South rooftop, clear.”

My grip tightened on the pistol resting in my lap.

The city passed in a blur of neon and shadow. Every corner, every parked car felt like a threat. I could feel Liam out there, circling, waiting for his moment.

“Two blocks to drop point,” Julian reported. “No movement yet.”

I exhaled slowly. He was coming. I knew it in my bones.

And then—

“Convoy, eyes left,” one of the snipers snapped. “Black sedan, no lights. Following two cars back.”

My pulse surged.

Julian’s voice was steady. “Keep steady pace. Don’t spook him.”

The sedan closed the distance, weaving through traffic with surgical precision.

I leaned forward. “It’s him.”

The decoy tensed. I placed a hand on her arm. “Stay calm. You’ll be fine.”

Julian’s voice again: “Wait for him to make the move.”

The attack happened in a blur.

The black sedan accelerated, slamming into the rear SUV with bone-rattling force. Glass shattered, tires screeched, horns blared.

“Go, go, go!” Julian barked in my ear.

The decoy screamed as the driver yanked the SUV sideways, trying to block the sedan. But Liam was fast. Too fast. He swerved, cutting off the lead car, forcing the convoy into chaos.

Doors flew open. Masked men spilled out, guns flashing in the night.

I shoved the decoy down, throwing open my door as bullets peppered the vehicle. The roar of gunfire filled the street, echoing off concrete and glass.

“Engage!” Julian shouted.

Sniper shots cracked from the rooftops, dropping two of the masked men instantly. I took cover behind the SUV, returned fire, and clipped another in the leg.

The sedan door opened.

And there he was.

Liam.

Smirking, like this was all a game. His eyes locked on the decoy, and I saw the hunger in them.

Not tonight, you bastard.

I stepped into his line of sight.

His smirk faltered.

“Callum,” he said, voice carrying over the chaos. “Didn’t expect to see you babysitting.”

“You picked the wrong night,” I growled, raising my gun.

His eyes glittered with something between hatred and amusement. Then he ducked behind the sedan as bullets tore through the air.

“Move!” Julian barked, suddenly at my side.

We pushed forward, clearing the masked men one by one. The air stank of gunpowder and blood. My heart hammered, not from fear, but from the thrill of being so close.

Liam tried to run.

I wasn’t about to let him.

I launched myself forward, tackling him to the pavement. His head cracked against the asphalt with a satisfying thud.

He snarled, swinging a fist into my ribs. Pain exploded, but I didn’t let go. I slammed my elbow into his jaw, once, twice, until his resistance slackened.

Julian was there in an instant, cuffs snapping over Liam’s wrists.

“Got him,” he panted.

I pressed my gun to Liam’s temple, forcing his head against the ground.

“You’re done,” I whispered.

But Liam just laughed, blood trickling from his split lip. “Oh, Callum… this is only the beginning.”

We didn’t take him to the penthouse. I wouldn’t risk Ariana seeing him, hearing him, breathing the same air as her.

Instead, we drove him to one of my underground warehouses. Cold concrete, rusted chains, the smell of oil and metal thick in the air. A place where secrets never saw daylight.

Julian and I dragged him to a chair bolted to the floor, cuffs biting into his wrists, ankles locked tight.

He spat blood onto the ground, grinning like the devil himself. “Always knew you’d bring me here, Guerrero. Fitting, don’t you think?”

I ignored him, pacing slow circles. My fists itched.

Julian set a tray of tools on the table beside me—blades, pliers, things designed to peel truth from flesh.

I picked up a knife, letting the steel catch the dim light.

“You crossed a line when you stepped into my home,” I said. “You threatened what’s mine. Now you’re going to tell me who’s helping you. And if you don’t…” I pressed the blade against his cheek, just hard enough to draw a thin line of blood. “…you’ll beg for death long before I grant it.”

He chuckled, low and mocking. “You think pain scares me? You think I haven’t been through worse?”

I leaned closer, my voice a razor. “This isn’t about scaring you. This is about breaking you.”

Julian cracked his knuckles. “And we’re very good at that.”

The first hour was nothing but screams.

Liam fought hard—taunts, laughter, curses. He spat blood, spat teeth, spat every insult he could think of. But with every strike, every turn of the pliers, every cut of the blade, I saw the cracks forming.

By the second hour, his laughter had thinned into ragged gasps. His body shook with pain, sweat soaking through his shirt.

And finally, finally, he spoke.

“You want names?” he hissed. “You want to know who delivered it?”

I grabbed his jaw, forcing him to meet my eyes. “Say it.”

His bloody grin widened.

And then he whispered a name that turned my blood to ice.