Chapter 143

Chapter 143
ARTHUR'S POV

I smiled. Not the polite kind of smile people wear to disarm tension, but the slow, deliberate one that builds from the gut when you know the scales have finally tipped in your favor. It wasn’t about arrogance—it was relief, satisfaction, a long, slow exhale of years of waiting for this very moment.

Victor noticed. Of course he did. His eyes narrowed slightly, his cigarette hanging crooked between his fingers before he raised it back to his lips. He drew in one last drag, and as the smoke curled out of him, he scoffed. “What amuses you, Arthur? Is it the fact you’ve finally realized you’re in some deep shit with me?”

His tone was smug, taunting, but there was a twitch in his brow, a subtle hesitation, like my calm was beginning to needle him.

I chuckled, low and genuine, shaking my head. “No, Victor. What amuses me is your stupidity.”

That got him. The easy grin he wore faltered, hardening into a scowl. He tilted his chin as if daring me to clarify, to explain myself, but I didn’t give him the satisfaction of a drawn-out speech.

“You had your way back then,” I said, my voice steady, the kind of steady that makes even the boldest men lean in a little closer. “But you won’t have it your way now.”

For a second, he looked ready to laugh again. To brush me off as though I was bluffing. But then the shift happened—his eyes flicked over my shoulder, then to the shadows around him. That’s when he noticed.

The rest of my men had moved into position, silent as the night itself, surrounding him and his crew with guns already raised. I saw the realization dawn in his eyes. That flicker of awareness that he was no longer in control.

His men stiffened, weapons twitching upward in defense, but my men were faster, sharper, with numbers on their side. All it would take was a single word from me, and the whole place would turn red with blood.

“All I’m saying, Victor,” I murmured, taking a step closer, “is that you’re trapped.”

His jaw clenched. I could almost see the gears grinding in his head, scrambling for another angle, another way to twist this in his favor. But this time, there wasn’t one.

I didn’t give him a chance to open his mouth. My body moved on instinct, years of fury propelling me forward. In two strides, I was right in front of him, and before he could flinch, my fist connected squarely with his face.

The impact was solid, raw. I felt the jolt run through my knuckles, heard the satisfying crunch as his head snapped back. His cigarette flew from his lips and scattered ash across the dirty floor.

Victor stumbled, clutching his cheek, his eyes wide with shock as much as pain. That look—seeing him rattled, stripped of his smug veneer—was worth every bruise my fist would earn.

“Fucking asshole,” I spat, chest heaving as the adrenaline coursed through me. For a moment, the world seemed to still, the air heavy with the anticipation of what came next. My men didn’t flinch, their aim unwavering, their discipline locking down the chaos before it could break free.

Victor’s men exchanged nervous glances, their bravado beginning to crack. And Victor himself—he wiped the blood trickling from the corner of his mouth, his eyes burning with hatred, but behind it, behind all that fire… there was fear.

And I wasn’t going to let that go to waste.

The second my fist connected, Victor stumbled back, clutching his face and spitting curses through gritted teeth. But I didn’t give him room to recover. My body surged forward before my mind even caught up—years of frustration, old betrayals, and the weight of every innocent life ruined by this man pressing into my veins like fire.

He swung at me wildly, a desperate arc of his arm, but I ducked easily. His movements were slower than mine, sloppier, fueled by anger and arrogance instead of control. I caught his wrist mid-swing and twisted hard, forcing him to stumble into my shoulder. The grunt that tore from his throat was music to me.

“You think you can end me, Arthur?” he hissed, his voice cracking as he shoved against my chest.

I shoved back, harder, sending him sprawling against one of the unfinished concrete pillars. The hollow thud of his back hitting the cold surface echoed across the empty building. “End you?” I muttered, my breath steady, almost calm. “I should’ve ended you years ago.”

He charged again, teeth bared, fists flying in a barrage of strikes meant to overwhelm me. But rage made him predictable. I blocked one punch, sidestepped the next, and buried my fist into his ribs. The air left his lungs in a sharp gasp, his body folding instinctively.

I grabbed him by the collar and slammed him to the ground. Dust rose around us, choking the air as he coughed, rolling to his side in a pitiful attempt to push himself back up. He cursed under his breath, spitting blood onto the dirt.

“Get up,” I snarled, pacing a step back, giving him just enough space to try again. My knuckles throbbed, skin split and raw, but the pain only sharpened my focus.

He staggered to his feet, leaning heavy against the pillar. His once-triumphant face was swollen, his lip split, his eyes wild but dimming with each passing second. “You… you don’t have what it takes,” he panted. “You’re soft. You let people in. That’s why you’ll always lose.”

I let out a short, bitter laugh. “No, Victor. That’s why you’re alone.”

Before he could spit back another insult, I drove my fist into his jaw again. His head snapped sideways, his body collapsing to the ground like a rag doll. He cursed again under his breath, slurring now, the weight of the blows finally pulling him down.

I stood over him, chest heaving, staring at the pathetic shadow of the man who once thought he had control over me. My men stood firm in the background, weapons still trained, their silence heavy, waiting for my next move.

Victor groaned, trying to push himself upright, his voice low and broken. “You think this… ends with me?”

I crouched low, grabbing him by the shirt and forcing him to look up at me. His bloodied face was inches from mine, his eyes still carrying that flicker of defiance even as his body failed him.

“No,” I said softly, almost a whisper. “It ends with you.”

And in that moment, I realized I wasn’t just fighting a man. I was tearing down every chain he’d tried to bind me with all those years ago.