Chapter 286

ALEXANDER

The cellar reeked of blood, damp concrete, and fear.

Arthur sat slumped in the metal chair at the center of the room, his wrists and ankles bound tightly with zip ties that had cut deep into his skin. His expensive clothes were torn and stained. He looked nothing like the powerful man he'd once pretended to be.

One eye was swollen nearly shut, the other red and glassy. A deep split ran across his lower lip, dried blood staining his jaw and the front of his shirt.

Purple bruises covered his cheek, spreading like a map of every bad decision that had finally caught up with him.

One of his fingers sat at an unnatural angle, and every breath he took was shallow and careful, like even his own lungs had turned against him.

Good. At least something in this room understood consequences.

His head lifted when I stepped out of the shadows.

The second he saw me, his expression changed.

“About fucking time,” he rasped.

Even beaten half to death, he still somehow found the confidence to be irritating.

“Untie me.” He tugged against the restraints. “I’m your fucking father-in-law. You will show me some goddamn respect.”

I stopped a few feet away and looked him over slowly. For a moment, I genuinely wondered if the man had hit his head harder than I thought.

Then again...Knowing Arthur, stupidity was probably a long-term condition.

“Respect?” I repeated the word slowly, almost tasting the absurdity of it.

“For you?” I let out a quiet, humorless laugh. “That’s a very bold demand coming from someone who was willing to trade his own daughter’s future for money and called it a deal.”

Arthur’s jaw tightened. “She’s my flesh and blood. I spent money on her — food, education, clothes. So what if I tried to sell her? It’s the least she could do to make up for everything I spent on her.”

“Say that again.” My voice came out soft, almost gentle — the only warning he was going to get.

“Tell me again how raising a child is an invoice. Tell me again how feeding your own daughter, clothing her, sending her to school like any decent human being is supposed to do somehow earns you the right to sell her like livestock the moment you decided the return wasn’t good enough.”

I took a step closer. This time he had the sense to flinch.

His face had gone pale, finally understanding, finally hearing exactly what was underneath my voice.

“Here’s what you don’t understand Arthur.” I said his name like it disgusted me, because it did.

“She’s not yours anymore. She hasn’t been yours in a long time. She’s mine — my wife, my family, the one person on this earth I would burn every version of hell down to protect. And you put a price tag on her like she was something you’d bought at a market and grown tired of.”

“Because I’m her father!” he snapped, voice cracking.

“Father.” I looked around the damp cellar, then back at him with pure disgust.

"You’re not even fit to say the word. A real father protects his daughter. A real father stands between her and every threat that comes near her. You?” My voice dropped, lethal and quiet.

“You were the threat. You sold her. You tracked her. You put a price on her like she was livestock. You were the person she needed protection from. Don’t you dare call yourself her father in front of me again.”

Arthur let out a wet, bitter laugh that turned into a cough. Blood speckled his split lip.

“Oh, spare me the righteous act Dimitri,” he sneered. “Where is she, huh? That ungrateful little bitch. Living it up in your fancy houses, playing queen of the underworld, while her old man rots in a fucking cellar. Hasn’t even bothered to come down here once. Not one visit. Not one word. Too busy enjoying the high life to remember the man who raised her.”

His good eye glittered with pure, rotten resentment.

“I demand to see my daughter. You tell that spoiled cunt to get her ass down here and face me. Or better yet — untie me so I can remind her who she belongs to. She's nothing but a...”

I moved before the last word fully left his mouth.

My hand shot out, grabbed a fistful of his hair, and slammed his head back against the metal chair hard enough to make the whole frame rattle. Arthur let out a choked sound of pain as fresh blood welled from the split in his lip.

I leaned in close, voice low and lethal.

“You ever call my wife a cunt again,” I said softly, “and I’ll cut your tongue out and make you swallow it. You don’t get to speak her name. You don’t get to demand a single fucking thing from her. You sold her. You tracked her like an animal. You lost the right to call yourself her father the day you put a price on her.”

I tightened my grip until he winced.

“She’s not coming down here. Not now. Not ever. And if you say one more filthy word about her, the only thing you’ll be demanding is for me to end it quickly.”

I released him with a sharp shove and stepped back, watching him gasp and cough.

Arthur lifted his battered face, blood still running from his lip, and forced out a hoarse, defiant laugh.

“You can’t keep me here,” he rasped. “I’m family, whether you like it or not. I’m her father. Your fucking father-in-law. You don’t get to lock me in a cellar and pretend I don’t exist. Let me go. Now.”

He strained against the zip ties, the metal chair creaking under the effort.

“You think you can just erase me? Treat me like some street rat? I’m the reason she even exists. You owe me that much respect.”

I stared at him for a long moment, the cold in my chest hardening into something lethal.

“You really don’t know when to shut your mouth, do you Arthur?” I said quietly.

“And I really I don’t owe you a fucking thing,” I said quietly.

“Not respect. Not mercy. Not even a quick death. You’re not family. You’re the reason she spent years looking over her shoulder. You’re the reason a tracker ended up under her skin like she was livestock. You’re nothing but a fucking parasite.”

Arthur’s good eye narrowed, but before he could spit another demand I stepped closer and leaned down until we were nearly at eye level.

“I didn’t come down here for a fucking visit, Arthur. I don’t have time for your demands or your self-pity. Every second I spend listening to you is a second wasted. So answer the one question I’m about to ask, and maybe — maybe — you walk out of this cellar with most of your bones still intact.”

Arthur let out a wet, defiant laugh that turned into a cough.

“And why the fuck would I answer any of your questions? You married my daughter, locked me in this shithole, and now you think you can just walk in here and demand things?”

I stepped closer, voice dropping into something cold and lethal.

“Because every second you keep running that mouth is another second I spend deciding which bone I break next. You’re not bargaining. You’re not negotiating. You’re sitting in a chair you won’t leave in one piece if you don’t start talking. So either you answer me… or I start removing reasons for you to ever speak again.”

“Go fuck yourself,” he hissed.

I straightened just enough to look down at him.

“So you want it the hard way. Fine.”

My fist slammed into his already broken cheek with a wet, sickening crack. Arthur’s head snapped sideways, a fresh spray of blood hitting the concrete.

Before he could even finish the choked sound of pain, I grabbed a fistful of his hair, yanked his head back, and drove my knee into his ribs. Something gave with a sharp pop. He gasped, the air leaving him in a broken wheeze.

I leaned down until my mouth was near his ear, voice calm and almost conversational.

“That was the easy part. Keep testing me and I’ll start working on the joints you actually need.”

“You fucking bastard!”

“Oh, you have no fucking idea how much of a bastard I can really be.” I hissed, as I grabbed a fistful of his hair and yanked his head back hard.

“Now... You want freedom? Then tell me how the tracker works. How do you track her?”

“Tracker?” he repeated, then gave a short, disbelieving laugh. “Why the fuck would I tell you that?”

“Because fucking Santos has her,” I shouted, tightening my grip until he hissed. “And you’re going to tell me how to locate her.”

A harsh, broken laugh tore out of him, followed by a wince as it pulled at his split lip.

“Oh, that’s rich,” he said, blood flecking his teeth. “First I get the shit beaten out of me for treating my own daughter like property — for putting a tracker in her like she was livestock. And now you come down here, all righteous fury, asking for my help with the exact same fucking tracker?”

He tilted his head as much as my grip allowed, the sarcasm dripping, sleazy and rotten.

“You think I just hand over information that valuable out of the goodness of my heart? Everything has a price, boy. Even from family.”

I stared at him until the amusement slowly drained from his face. “You sure about that fucking answer?” I asked softly.

Arthur swallowed, but the defiance stayed.“Go to hell.”

“Wrong answer.” My knuckles cracked when my fist slammed into his face. The sound was sharp and final in the silent room. I didn’t feel anything — no satisfaction, no release — just the cold necessity of it. Arthur’s head snapped sideways.

A fresh spray of blood hit the concrete. Before he could even finish the whimper, I hit him again, then again, until he was coughing and choking on blood.

I dragged the chair back a few inches and sat down across from him, watching him through the haze of pain.

He looked at me through swollen eyes. His cracked lips were bleeding freely now. Several new cuts on his cheeks oozed steadily. They weren’t deep, but they were enough to cause blinding pain every time he tried to speak.

“Do your worst, Dimitri…” he rasped, blood running down his chin in a slow, steady trickle. A wet, ugly smile stretched across his split lips.

“You think I just hand over something that valuable out of the kindness of my heart? That tracker is the only real leverage I’ve got left. You want to know how to find her? You want the key to your precious little wife? Then we negotiate. That’s how this works. Everything has a price… even family. Especially family.”

"There is no negotiation. There is no price. There is only the next ten minutes of your life — and whether you spend them telling me what I want to know, or screaming while I take the information the hard way. Choose carefully. My patience already left the room.”

Arthur tried to smile. It came out as a bloody grimace.“Business is business.”

“No,” I said. “This isn’t business. This is me giving you one last chance to be useful before I decide you’re more valuable as an example than as a source.”

I stepped closer again, grabbed his shattered jaw, and forced him to look at me. My voice dropped to a near whisper that was pure threat.

“Tell me how the tracker works. Tell me how to find her. Or the next thing I take from you won’t be information — it’ll be the ability to ever open your fucking mouth again.”