Chapter 92: Adrenaline Rush

Chapter 92: Adrenaline Rush –Livana– I knew we were going to be ambushed. That’s why I sent out the decoy vehicle—the same one we used to arrive at this so-called rendezvous with the ambassadors. My pawns took our place, disguised as me and Deanne. While they drove off to lure the threat, we remained at the villa. Every guest who attended the meeting was escorted by personal security—my order—until they reached their respective residences. I wasn’t going to let any blood be spilled. Not yet. I took a sip of my coffee, letting its warmth chase away the early morning chill as I waited for their plan to unfold. And then—perfect. The bait was taken. But something flickered on the dashcam feed. A second vehicle. I narrowed my eyes. "Is that my husband’s car?" I asked, gaze fixed on the screen as Deanne leaned in with her tablet. "Yup. Your husband is everywhere," she muttered, exasperated, rolling her eyes. "Damn, I hope they didn’t notice that." I immediately grabbed my phone and dialed him. He couldn’t mess this up. Not now. Not when everything was falling perfectly into place. "Livana!" he answered, far too enthusiastically. "Get out of there. Now," I hissed, keeping my voice low and controlled. "Get your ass out of that location." "Are you safe?!" "Yes," I exhaled sharply. "But if you don’t leave this instant, I swear I’ll divorce you." "Caine, let’s go!" I heard him call someone in the background, then—"What do you mean divorce? There will be no divorce." A few seconds of silence while I rubbed my temple. "Where are you?" he added, still not taking the damn hint. "Somewhere safe." "How do you even know I’m near the accident?" I closed my eyes. He’s like a pebble in my stiletto. "Because I have ears and eyes everywhere. Obviously." "Hm. Are you sure you’re not blind?" "If I wasn’t blind, I would’ve left you already." "Ohh, that’s harsh, my love." "I’m hanging up." I ended the call and rolled my eyes. Honestly, there are moments I seriously question if Damon was the best choice for a husband. He’s clingy—unbearably clingy—but... useful. Most of the time, anyway. I just can’t stand how possessive he is. Then again, his obsessive loyalty and submissiveness? Quite the advantage. I’ll admit that much. Deanne was grinning like a lunatic when I glanced her way. "What?" I asked, arching a brow. "Nothing. It just sounded like you were scolding a toddler." "Huh," I scoffed. "He really is like a baby." Deanne tilted her head with amusement. "He’s always like that. Haven’t you noticed?" "What?" I frowned. "Damon. He’s always acting like a child around you. You bring that side out of him. That’s probably why he’s been so madly in love with you ever since high school." "You’ve noticed that?" I crossed my arms, suddenly a little colder. "Livana, he took out my stepfather for you. He’s threatened every guy who so much as looks your way. And how many times has he saved you now? Please." I sighed. As much as I want to ignore it, I can’t. His feelings are evident, too loud to dismiss. But I don’t care if he’s in love with me. I just need him. "Let’s wait until the pawns clear everything out," I muttered. "Tell them not to get hurt." "You always say that," Deanne said with a soft grin. "Always worrying about your people." "They’re useless to me if they’re injured or dead," I replied, rolling my eyes. "I’m not trying to be the kind and compassionate boss. I don’t want to be that kind of leader. They need to fear me—respect me. I want them to look up at me like I’m their king." Perhaps it’s simply innate—this impulse toward kindness. I was raised to see compassion as strength, not weakness. But let me make one thing clear: I refuse to be mistaken for soft. Still, my husband? He’s a different kind of challenge. A beautiful headache wrapped in tailored suits and bloodstained loyalty. I only hope—no, expect—that he handles his responsibilities without delay or error. No backlogs. No disasters. I know what he’s dealing with: shipments worth millions—some brushing against the half-billion mark. Smuggled goods, priceless artifacts, untraceable tech, and occasionally... things far darker. Most of the jewelry I wear? Smuggled. He tries to clean them up before they touch my skin. There’s paperwork, fake customs clearance, tax receipts... Some of it is real, most of it fabricated. But I see through it all. Damon goes out of his way to ensure that whatever graces my neck at a gala can’t be traced back to a black market listing or an Interpol alert. He wants me untouchable. I understand the sentiment. But even diamonds carry blood. "It’s strange, Liva," Deanne said, breaking my train of thought. "A Madrigal just reached out to us." I arched my brow. "Alejandro Madrigal?" She shook her head. "No. Pablo Madrigal. The old one." I frowned, taking the tablet from her hand and scanning the screen. Pablo Madrigal. The patriarch. A relic from the days when deals were sealed with gunpowder and blood. I shouldn’t entertain this. And yet... "I don’t want to answer this," I murmured, eyes narrowed on the message. "But I’m curious." Deanne grinned, knowingly. "Girl, curiosity gets people killed. But yeah... I’m curious, too." –Damon– My wife is my life. But she’s also the death of me. Livana just set up a bait for them. And it worked—brilliantly. I’ll admit that much. They nearly went after me. They shot at our car. One shot—clean, deliberate—from a sniper, aimed straight at Caine’s head. But someone on a motorbike intercepted the bullet with some kind of shield. The Pawns. "They’re protecting us. Because you’re dumb," Caine chuckled, gripping the wheel as he sped away from the site. I scowled. "Don’t call me dumb." "You are. You stalk your wife too much and nearly—no—almost ruined her operation." I pressed my lips together. He’s getting on my nerves. But he’s not wrong. I ruined her setup. Because I’m obsessed. Possessive. I can’t help it. It’s instinct. I don’t know how to stop. I just want to protect her—always. Even though I know she doesn’t need me to. Livana can take care of herself better than anyone else I know. She’s more powerful than the Blackwells now. She doesn’t stop—she keeps gathering allies, building new networks, establishing organizations. Like a queen arranging her pieces on a chessboard. Every move is deliberate. "We’re here," Caine announced as we pulled into the underground garage of our headquarters. The moment one of my men opened the door, I stepped out and headed straight to my office. A mountain of paperwork waited—documents to sign, deals to approve. Running the legal side of the family empire is exhausting. But thanks to David and Father, it hasn’t collapsed yet. Still, the underworld side? That’s mine. And it’s far more unforgiving. But there’s one upside—threats. Enemies. The kind I can deal with how I want. No rules. No red tape. Just clean eliminations. Killing? That’s just business now. Routine. I barely feel anything. Torture, though? If it’s someone who’s laid a hand on my wife... that’s different. That’s not business. That’s personal. That’s my rush. A high I don’t even try to deny. "What’s the latest update on the Dela Vegas?" I turned to Commander Grant, head of the team assigned to track their movements. I want every scrap of dirt they’re hiding. If I ruin them, I know they’ll try to expose the Blackwells too. I don’t care. Whatever proof they’ve got—I’ll burn it. I’ll erase it like it never existed. "They’re currently in Peru," Grant reported. "Hmm. Interesting." I skimmed through the documents—transactions, failures, cleanups still waiting for my attention. It’s too much for one sitting. I need to focus. I need to stop thinking about her. I need to stop picturing her curled up in our bed, her bare skin tangled in the sheets, her voice still echoing in my ears. Damn it, Livana. You’re my curse. My distraction. And my only peace. –Sophia– She’s asking for the impossible. Kill Alejandro Madrigal? Damn it, Livana. And not just kill him—she wants it done in an artistic way. Clean, symbolic, theatrical. She didn’t say it outright, but I know her well enough. She wants a message sent. But why now? Last I checked, Damon was still stringing Alejandro along, keeping him close. Playing the game. So why the sudden change? "How do you kill someone in an artistic way?" I asked, eyeing Francis. He tilted his head like I’d just asked him to explain metaphysics. "You’re asking the wrong person for that, Sophia. I’m not a psychopath... or a sociopath." I arched a brow. "Oh, really?" Francis and I both knew that line was thin and he’d danced on it more than once. Before he could respond, Kai walked in, carrying a tray of sliced fruit. Of all things. He placed it on the coffee table with quiet grace, then handed me a bowl like we were just gossiping, not plotting murder. I muttered a thank you, still turning over the puzzle in my mind. "So," I said slowly, "why would Livana suddenly ask for Alejandro’s head?" "Someone probably asked her to do it," Kai replied with a shrug, too casual for the weight of the topic. I added. "It’s either going to start a war... or prevent one. Either way, it’s going to tarnish someone’s empire. And Livana doesn’t jump into blood without a damn good reason." I plucked a strawberry from the bowl using a food pick, slowly biting into it. The sweetness tasted almost ironic against the bitterness in my thoughts. "To kill him artistically, we need more than just orders," I said. "We need a reason. A narrative. A motive that makes the kill speak." Francis leaned back in his seat, arms crossed. "Usually," he said, "when someone’s name ends up on an execution list—especially that name—it means it’s meant to be silent. Untraceable. Whether there’s a reason or not..." He dragged a finger across his neck in a familiar motion. Clean. Final. I nodded slowly. Artistic or not, death always has a weight. Alejandro Madrigal won’t go quietly—not unless we give his death meaning. And I’m very good at giving death meaning.