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CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

JULIAN

T he 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 an extension 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 kept when 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.

Maybe this is what my father felt. This detached and all-consuming drive. Maybe this is what it means to truly be a Harrow.

Finally, I’m embracing it.

We push forward through beautiful gardens and elegant patios now marred with blood and bodies. The house grows closer, its windows like eyes watching our approach. Somewhere inside, Adrian is hiding. Somewhere inside, Aurelia waits.

The thought of her—her red hair, her green eyes, her traitorous fucking heart—sends a fresh surge of rage through my veins. But I don’t let it consume me. Not yet. First, I need to find them.

“Secure the perimeter,” I order as we reach the main entrance. “No one gets out.”

My men spread out, taking positions around the house while a select few follow me inside. The foyer gleams under chandelier light, pristine and untouched by the violence outside. Not for long.

A maid screams when she sees us, dropping her duffle bag as she cowers in a corner.

I’m not here for innocent bystanders, so I ignore her.

My men do the same and we move deeper into the house.

My instincts tell me where to go—up the grand staircase, toward the private rooms where a coward and his whore would hide.

“Find them,” I snap at my men. “Check every room.”

They disperse like shadows, efficient and silent now that we’re inside enemy territory. I advance up the stairs, each step deliberate, giving my prey time to realize what’s coming. Time to taste their fear.

I know Adrian well enough to predict his moves. He won’t show himself immediately. He’ll calculate, observe, look for an advantage. He’ll try to be three steps ahead like always.

Not this time. This time, I’m writing the script.

At the top of the stairs, the hallway stretches in both directions. A flicker of movement catches my eye—guards ushering someone toward a side exit. A flash of red hair.

Aurelia.

My blood sings with vindication. Found you.

“There!” I shout, and my men push forward, cutting off their escape route .

Gunfire erupts again, more contained in the narrow hallway. Lorenzo’s guards fall back, trying to shield her, but they’re outmatched and outgunned. They drop one by one until there’s just her, pressed against the wall, eyes wide with terror as she realizes what’s happening.

Our eyes lock across the carnage between us, and I see the moment she recognizes me. The way her throat works as she swallows. The slight tremor in her hands. The beautiful, perfect fear that blooms across her face.

It’s fucking glorious.

“Hello, Golden One,” I say, casually stepping forward. “Miss me?”

She doesn’t answer, her gaze darting around as she looks for any escape.

“There’s nowhere to go,” I tell her. “No one left to protect you.”

I step over a fallen guard, closing the distance between us.

Each step feels like reclaiming something that was stolen from me.

With every inch, I feel more powerful, more in control.

This is who I am now—not Julian the inadequate younger son, not Julian the lovesick fool.

Julian Fucking Harrow, leader of the Consortium.

Julian Harrow, the man who takes what he wants and destroys what he can’t have.

“Did you enjoy your time with my brother?” I ask, my voice dangerously soft as I advance. “Was it worth it? Playing me for all those years, pretending you cared when you were plotting with him the whole time?”

“Julian, it’s not—” she starts, but I cut her off with a laugh that sounds nothing like me.

“Not what? Not what it looks like?” I’m close enough now to see the trembling in her chin as she tries to hold it high and defiant. “Jesus, save your lies for someone who still believes them.”

“Please,” she whispers, and the sound of her begging should satisfy me. It should feel like victory. Instead, it just fuels the inferno burning in my core, consuming everything but the need to make her hurt like I hurt.

To destroy her completely this time.

“Where is he? Where’s my dear brother hiding while you face me alone? Typical Adrian—always letting others take the fall.”

A flash at the end of the hallway grabs my attention—Lorenzo, armed and desperate. He fires wildly in our direction, forcing me and my men to take cover.

“Get her out of here!” he shouts to someone I can’t see.

My rage flares, and I step out from behind a column, leaving myself wide open as I aim. I fire and then duck back to cover. The shot echoes in the confined space, and Lorenzo crumples, crimson blooming across his expensive shirt.

Aurelia screams, a sound that tears through the air and splits something inside me. Not remorse—I’m beyond that now. Something else. Something I don’t have time to examine.

“No!” She lunges toward Lorenzo’s body, but I catch her arm, spinning her back to face me.

“Where is he?” I repeat, tightening my grip.

She fights like she always has—all fire and desperation, nails raking across my face, feet kicking at my shins. Her elbow connects with my ribs, but pain is an old friend. I barely feel it through the adrenaline.

“You don’t understand,” she gasps between blows. “It wasn’t what you think. Adrian and I weren’t?—”

“Weren’t what? Weren’t laughing at how pathetic I am? Weren’t planning this all along?” I push her against the wall, pinning her wrists above her head. “You told me you loved me. You fucking told me. Was that part of the plan too?”

She opens her mouth to vomit more lies to manipulate me but I’m done listening to her forever. I grab her index finger and snap it before she can speak.

She screams as the delicate bone breaks, but I only laugh at her pain. Then I twist my fist in her hair and draw her even closer to whisper in her ear. “You’re going to pay for destroying my life and my family. Soon, you’ll wish you died alongside your mother.”

She’s sobbing and barely putting up a fight now, so it’s easy to lead her down the hallway, my men surrounding us as human shields. We burst through the front doors, and I come face to face with what I’ve been seeking.

Adrian.

He’s standing on the stone driveway, gun raised. My men are obeying my orders, surrounding him but keeping their distance to let me handle things.

When Adrian sees that I have Aurelia, he lowers his weapon.

I laugh because I see everything so clearly now.

I see what my father saw—love is a weakness.

It’s okay to want things, to crave power and women, but the moment you give your heart to either, you’re a dead man.

While I don’t like that he abused my mother, I understand that he was only avoiding any real feelings for her.

Love is a death sentence.

Adrian is proof. Here’s my brother, blinded by love, and willing to sacrifice himself for it. Yet, he could easily kill me by shooting through Aurelia.

Love is stopping him from making the wiser choice. He’s going to regret not gunning me down now when he has the chance.

“Julian,” he says. His voice is calm and he has the balls to sound like he’s speaking down to me—big brother trying to talk little brother off a cliff.

It’s funny, since I’m the one in power now. Not him.

“Adrian,” I respond, pulling out my knife and holding it against Aurelia’s throat.

She whimpers and Adrian goes completely still. He sets his gun down and holds up his hands in surrender. “Just let her go.”

I laugh again. He’s really not that smart, is he?

Guess I’ll need to show him how serious this situation is.

Digging my knife blade into Aurelia’s skin, I pull it across, cutting her throat. It’s not a fatal cut—I didn’t sever anything—but maybe Adrian doesn’t know that.

He takes a step forward and I shake my head. I motion to my men and they all point their guns at my dear brother, daring him to move another inch.

Blood cascades down Aurelia’s chest as she clutches her throat.

I bring the blade to my lips and lick her essence off the edge. Then I grin. “Want her, brother? You know where to find me.”

I tip my chin and two men grab Aurelia, carrying her away ahead of me as we leave Adrian alone in a sea of carnage that once was Lorenzo’s estate. His eyes are ice as they follow me into the darkness.