Page 118 of Goldflame

But some mistakes can’t be undone with words alone.

And this realization—that I might have lost her forever through my arrogance—is a devastation more complete than any I’ve ever known.

CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

JULIAN

The night air tastes like metal on my tongue, which I associate with blood and victory—familiar flavors that remind me of every fight I’ve won at The Den. But tonight’s battle means more than any petty fight in the ring.

Behind me, thirty of my men wait in tense silence, weapons heavy in their hands. Their breath fogs in the cold night air. Across the lawn of Lorenzo’s estate, his security scrambles like ants whose hill has been disturbed. Too few of them. Too late to call for backup.

My mother’s voice echoes in my head:Make them all pay for what they’ve done to you.

“Remember,” I say to the men gathered around me, “Adrian and Aurelia are mine. Anyone who touches them answers to me.”

Murmurs of acknowledgment ripple through the group. These men know the cost of disobedience. They’ve seen what happens to those who cross me.

I adjust my grip on my gun, feeling its weight like anextension of my arm. The weapon is almost warm against my palm, eager for what’s to come.

Not as eager as me.

“Now.”

The word falls like an executioner’s axe, and chaos erupts.

My men flood toward the gate. The first shots crack through the night—sharp punctuation marks in this story I’m writing with blood.

Lorenzo’s guards return fire, but they’re overwhelmed. We advance like an unstoppable tide, dark water rushing over desperate men trying to hold back the inevitable. The gates crumble under our assault, metal screeching as it’s torn from its hinges.

I step over the first body without looking down. He doesn’t matter. None of them matter except the two traitors hiding inside.

The main house looms before us, windows blazing with light as the occupants realize what’s happening. More guards pour from the doors, pistols flashing in the darkness. But they’re just obstacles, speed bumps on my path to retribution.

“Bring them down,” I command, and my men respond with deadly aim.

Bodies fall. Blood darkens the pristine stone driveway. The noise is deafening—gunshots, screams, the thud of bodies hitting the ground again and again—yet beneath it all, I hear only the relentless drumbeat of my heart.

Thud. Thud. Thud.

Steady. Controlled. Unlike the frantic rhythm it keptwhen I thought Aurelia and I shared a special bond. Or when I believed Adrian was dead. What a fucking joke.

Its beat is now a drum with a steady message: I’m coming for you.

Adrian.

Aurelia.

Adrian.

Aurelia.

You can’t hide.

Tonight’s my turn for revenge.

A bullet whizzes past my ear, so close I feel its heat against my skin. I turn and fire without thinking, muscle memory from years in the ring translating seamlessly to this new battlefield. The shooter collapses, his weapon clattering across the stone.

I expected to feel something—hesitation, regret, the weight of taking a life. But there’s nothing. Just cold clarity and the next target in my sight.

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