Chapter 42 Chapter 42
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
Dimitri's POV
The leader's grip on my collar was tight as he dragged me towards the door.
Behind me, I could hear the old woman crying and shouting.
"Please! Leave him alone! He has nothing to do with this! Please!"
People were gathering outside the restaurant already, watching through the windows. Some were recording with their phones, others were calling for help.
The other loan sharks were laughing, enjoying the show. They thought this was entertaining.
"Your grandmother is a terrible businesswoman," one of them mocked, his voice dripping with cruelty. "She cannot even pay her debts on time, maybe we should burn this place down."
"She is not my grandmother," I said again, trying to stay calm and think of a way out of this situation.
They didn't listen. They only laughed and kicked things as they walked by.
Anger was building in my chest now. It was hot and fierce, like a fire that had been waiting to burn for a long time.
This situation felt humiliating. I just knew I wasn't someone who begs for his life.
We were almost at the door when something inside me snapped.
“I’ve had enough!” I thundered.
I do not know what happened, my body moved on its own again, just like at the clothing store, like I had done this a thousand times before.
Within seconds, I twisted out of the leader's grip, the movement was so smooth and natural, like muscle memory taking over.
Before he could react, I grabbed his arm and broke it with a sharp crack that echoed through the restaurant.
He screamed in pain and fell to his knees, clutching his broken arm, his face twisted in agony.
The other six men rushed at me immediately, their faces filled with rage, but I was faster, so much faster than them.
I dodged the first punch easily, grabbed the man's wrist and twisted it until I heard bones snap, he howled and stumbled backwards.
The second man tried to kick me but I caught his leg mid-air and threw him across the room with more strength than I knew I had. He crashed into a table, wood splintered everywhere.
The third and fourth men came at me together, thinking they could overwhelm me with numbers, but I moved between them like water flowing around rocks, my fists connected with their faces, their noses, their jaws, each punch was precise and devastating.
Blood sprayed across the floor, across the walls, and across the broken furniture.
The fifth man pulled out a knife. The blade gleamed in the light, he lunged at me with a wild expression, but I disarmed him in one smooth motion. The knife clattered to the ground far from his reach.
The sixth man tried to run, his courage was completely gone, but I grabbed him by the back of his shirt and slammed him into the wall so hard the plaster cracked.
Within minutes, all seven men were on the ground, groaning in pain, bleeding, and defeated. Their expensive suits were torn and ruined.
The restaurant was completely silent for a moment. Everyone was too shocked to move or speak.
I stood there breathing hard. My fists were covered in blood that was not mine, my heart was racing, adrenaline was pumping through my veins.
What just happened? How did I do that? Where did this skill come from?
The old woman stared at me with wide eyes, her mouth were opened in shock, she looked like she had just witnessed a miracle.
The customers who had been watching through the windows burst into applause suddenly, the sound was thunderous.
"That was amazing!"
"He is a hero!"
"Did you see how fast he moved? Like something from a movie!"
"Those loan sharks had it coming!"
More people gathered outside, cheering and clapping, phones were still recording, I knew this would be all over social the media soon.
I helped the old woman to her feet. She was trembling but unhurt.
"Are you alright?" I asked gently.
She nodded, tears were streaming down her face. "Thank you, thank you so much, they would have taken you, they would have hurt you."
"I am fine," I assured her. "But we need to call the police about these men."
"No," she said quickly. "Not the police, they have connections, it will only make things worse."
The loan sharks slowly picked themselves up and limped out of the restaurant. The leader glared at me with pure hatred in his eyes.
"This is not over," he spat. "You have no idea what you just did."
But he left anyway. He was too injured and humiliated to continue.
By the end of the day, word had spread even further throughout the neighborhood and beyond. A mysterious silver-haired man who worked at the restaurant had just beaten up seven loan sharks single-handedly.
Girls came to the restaurant in droves, they brought flowers, chocolates, love letters, teddy bears, and all sorts of gifts.
"You are so brave," one girl said, blushing as she handed me roses, her friends giggled behind her.
"You are like a superhero," another girl giggled, giving me a box of expensive chocolates, her eyes were sparkling.
"Can I take a picture with you?" A third girl asked shyly.
And I rejected nicely.
By closing time, the counter was already covered with gifts, there was barely any space left. The old woman was counting the day's earnings with tears in her eyes.
"We made more today than we make in a month," she said in disbelief, her hands were shaking as she counted the money. "You really are a blessing, Dimitri, I do not know what I did to deserve such luck."
"What about the loan sharks?" I asked, concerned. "Will they come back? Will they try to hurt you?"
"I do not think so," the old woman said thoughtfully. "You scared them badly, and everyone saw what happened, if they try again, the whole neighborhood will know, people will protect us now."
I nodded, but I felt uneasy, something about the whole situation bothered me.
Something about the way I fought bothered me even more. The speed, the precision, the brutality, the way I knew exactly where to hit to cause maximum damage.
Who was I before the accident? What kind of life did I lead? Was I some kind of fighter? A criminal? A soldier?
That night, after the old woman left, I cleaned the restaurant thoroughly, trying to clear my mind with physical work.
I swept the floors carefully, and picked up all the broken glass and wood, washed the dishes, wiped down the tables and counters until everything gleamed.
Finally, everything was clean and ready for tomorrow. The restaurant looked normal again, like the violence had never happened.
I locked the front door and turned off most of the lights, leaving only one small lamp on in the back room where I slept.
I was exhausted, my body ached from the fight, my hands were sore and bruised, my muscles were screaming for rest.
I grabbed a blanket and was about to lie down in my usual corner when I heard it.
It was the sound of glass shattering, loud and violent in the quiet night.
My whole body tensed immediately, adrenaline flooded my system again, that same instinct that had saved me twice before.
I turned towards the sound. It came from the front of the restaurant, from the dining area.
Slowly, and quietly, I walked towards the sound. My footsteps were silent, my breathing was controlled.
The front window was broken, and completely shattered. Glass covered the floor, glittering in the dim light like diamonds.
But that was not what made my blood freeze.
Standing o
n the other side of the broken window, silhouetted against the streetlights outside, were figures, many dark figures.
At least a dozen men.
They were all dressed in black, their faces were covered with masks. They were all carrying guns.
And they were all looking directly at me, their eyes were cold and empty behind their masks.