CHAPTER 202: CHAPTER 202

At that moment, the tall, suited man entered the chamber quietly but with urgency written all over his movements. He didn’t need to say much his face, his pace, and the thick envelope in his hand spoke louder than words. Without hesitation, he stepped forward and bowed deeply before her.

"My Lady," he said, his voice low, respectful, but urgent. "We’ve received an immediate request. From the look of things, it’s highly sensitive... and time-bound."

The room was quiet dimly lit, elegant, and cold. She sat in a high-backed chair, her legs crossed, swirling a glass of dark wine, her expression unreadable.

With a slight flick of her hand, she gestured for him to approach.

He stepped forward and placed the sealed document on the obsidian desk before her.

Without a word, she reached out, peeled back the envelope, and pulled out the contents. Her sharp eyes scanned the details with practiced ease.

Then, suddenly, a slow, dangerous smile curled at the corners of her mouth.

"Interesting," she said softly, almost to herself.

She leaned back slightly, the flicker of amusement in her voice undercut by something much darker. "Very interesting."

She closed the file with a quiet snap and set it down.

"Don’t worry," she said with calm certainty. "We’ll get it done."

The man didn’t respond he simply bowed again, deeper this time, sweat beginning to bead near his temples. He knew better than to speak unless invited to.

Everyone in the organization did.

She wasn’t just a leader. She was a legacy. A storm in heels. A name that made powerful men hesitate and entire families submit.

And his own family... they had served her lineage for generations.

He was merely the current torchbearer the loyal servant bound by blood, oath, and fear, and after him... his son.

A boy already being trained. Already being shaped.

For the day when he, too, would kneel before her.

Their family never dared to step out of line with her not in this lifetime, not in the ones before. Every man, woman, and child born into their bloodline was raised to fear her name, obey her voice, and serve her shadow.

Disobedience was not a risk. It was a death sentence.

So, the man remained bowed until she turned and walked away, heels clicking softly against the polished floor. The moment she disappeared through the side door, the tension in the room loosened but only slightly.

Her words had been final.

The order had been given.

And now, it was time to act, the scene shifted.

A dark room illuminated only by the faint flicker of a monitor. Three figures stood around a table scattered with photos, documents, and a digital map overlaying a city district. On the center screen was a paused image a woman, laughing slightly, mid-step as she entered a tall office building.

"Valentina Callum," one of the men said coldly.

"She’s either the one who killed him... or the reason he’s dead," another added. "Either way, she won’t go free."

The third figure taller, broader, with a scar stretching across his brow stepped forward and stabbed a gloved finger against the paper beside the monitor.

"We’ve got her address. We’ve got her schedule. We’ve got her workplace. The only question now is..."

He turned slowly to the others.

"Do we snatch her where she lives... or make a statement at the place she feels safest?"

A slow grin spread across one of the others.

"What if we don’t kill her yet?" he said. "What if we just... teach her? Something unforgettable."

A beat of silence passed, then a dark chuckle filled the room.

"Yeah," he continued, voice dripping with venom. "Something slow. Something painful. Something that’ll make her beg for death... but death won’t come."

He leaned closer to the screen, staring at Valentina’s frozen face.

"We’re going to make her suffer so much... she’ll wish she was never born."

The room grew heavier with tension as silence blanketed the end of that last bitter laugh. Then one of them lean, sharp-eyed, with a voice that cut like a blade leaned forward and said calmly, "Okay, no problem. I like your idea. I really do. But personally..." he paused, then shook his head slightly, "I don’t agree with dragging it out."

The others turned toward him.

He straightened his spine, the low light casting his face in angles. "Forget torturing her. Forget playing games. When we get her — we kill her. Right there. No begging, no screaming, no long speeches."

His hand curled into a slow fist.

"We cut her... from limb to limb."

His voice was void of emotion a man who had seen enough to no longer flinch.

"That’ll send a message," he continued coldly. "To every fool that’s been testing our reach. To the ones whispering that the Circle is losing its teeth. This girl this Valentina she’ll be the proof. The body they use in cautionary tales."

The table fell silent again.

But this time, it was the silence before agreement.

The eldest among them grey-streaked hair, battle-worn face, and a presence that made even the other two sit straighter — finally rose from his chair. His hands rested on the edge of the table as he gazed over the documents, the photos, the details. Every inch of their target was laid bare.

"She thinks she’s clever," he murmured. "She thinks she can walk free after crossing our path."

Then his tone shifted hard and final.

"But that ends now."

He looked at each of them in turn.

"No more talk. No more plans."

He jabbed a finger at the circled timestamp on the digital map. "We strike tomorrow."

Then his gaze darkened, settling on Valentina’s frozen smile on the screen.

"This fool," he growled. "This little lady... she’ll see her end tomorrow."

At that moment, the men around the table stood up in near unison, their boots thudding against the concrete floor as they moved with purpose. No more words were exchanged. The plan had been set. Their target marked. And in their silence, the promise of violence echoed louder than any threat could.

They walked out, one by one, disappearing into the shadows like ghosts leaving behind only the chilling certainty that tomorrow, blood would be drawn.

*

Meanwhile, across the city, the evening sky had dimmed into a soft navy blue as Valentina and Raymond arrived home. The car ride had been quiet, not in discomfort, but in reflection. Luca sat between them in the backseat, holding the box with the Iron Man mask tightly against his chest as though it were the most precious thing in the world.

Valentina stared out the window, her thoughts knotted.

It was too much, far too much.

She glanced at Luca briefly, then turned toward Raymond, who seemed unbothered, focused on driving as if he hadn’t just dropped half a million dollars on a "gift."

She bit her lip, frowning slightly.

What would her mother say? what would people think?

She didn’t even want to imagine it. She already knew Maria would twist this into something vile that Valentina had "sold herself off," or that she was flaunting wealth to impress a child. Maria’s judgment wasn’t just inevitable; it was cruel.

And more than anything... Valentina didn’t want this kind of thing to ever happen again.

It wasn’t about the money. It was about the message.

She didn’t want to feel indebted to them. She didn’t want Luca sweet, innocent Luca being pulled into a world he didn’t understand, bought with things far beyond his age or reach.

When they stepped into the house, Valentina let out a quiet sigh. Luca ran off toward the guest room, still smiling, eager to test out his new toy.

Raymond closed the door behind them.

Valentina stayed by the hallway, unmoving.

She glanced toward the stairs, her arms folded tightly across her chest.

"If it weren’t for Luca," she murmured under her breath, "I wouldn’t have even gone today."

Her voice was laced with quiet resolve.

"I wouldn’t have shown up. I wouldn’t have wanted to see him. I wouldn’t have wanted any of this."

She closed her eyes, holding back the frustration building in her chest.

"I’m going to deal with my mother soon. Very soon."

Raymond watched her carefully, arms folded, his back resting lightly against the staircase railing. The air between them had grown tense, crackling slightly with the weight of Valentina’s frustration. But he didn’t raise his voice. Instead, he spoke gently, like someone soothing a flame before it caught something dangerous.

"Valentina," he said calmly, "you worry too much."

She looked up, eyes sharp, but he met her gaze with steady patience.

"I’ve told you before you carry too much. You try to be strong for everyone. But sometimes, it’s okay to just... relax."

He took a small step closer, lowering his voice. "This wasn’t about Maria. Or about Luca. It was just about making a good impression. Making someone smile. It’s not every day something like this happens."

She wanted to argue, wanted to insist it was more complicated than that, but just as she opened her mouth, a sudden sharpness struck through her skull.