Page 156 of Malicious Claim

I let out a dry chuckle. "That's your concern? Not the prisoner who'd slit your throat if he got the chance?"

Alessio shrugged. "He's not going anywhere. But good coffee? That's a daily struggle."

I shook my head, stepping past him toward the entrance. The scent of rust and damp concrete clung to the air.

He fell into step beside me, his tone shifting. "We should move him."

I glanced at him. "Why?"

"A kid went missing a couple of days back. Not unusual, but the cops are tearing through every abandoned building, facility, and warehouse. We've kept things quiet, but no place stays off the radar forever." He paused. "Better to move him before anyone gets too curious."

I let out a slow breath. "Fine. I'll make the arrangements."

Alessio gave a satisfied nod, falling back as I moved forward. The other men stepped aside, murmuring their greetings, but I barely acknowledged them. My focus was ahead.

Inside, dim lighting cast my shadow long against the concrete walls. My footsteps echoed through the narrow corridor, the only sound in the stillness. There were just a handful of rooms along the hall, all empty, hollow spaces stripped of purpose.

Except for one.

At the very end, a heavy steel door stood closed. I pressed against it, and the metal groaned in protest as it swung open.

He was already on his feet.

The chain bolted to the far wall rattled as he moved, his wrists bound in front of him, one ankle shackled to keep him from going too far. There was a chair and table welded to the floor. In the corner, the small bed looked barely slept in.

His eyes locked onto mine, sharp and burning. His breathing was steady, controlled, but the tightness in his stance told a different story.

Then he lunged.

The chain jerked tight with a brutal snap, stopping him just inches away from me. He fought against it, muscles coiled, breath becoming heavier. A low, guttural sound rumbled from his throat.

I didn't flinch.

"Enough," I said, tilting my head.

He stilled, chest rising and falling, fingers twitching like they were aching to close around my throat.

I sighed, stepping past him toward the table. "Sit down. Relax. I'm only here to talk, not kill you."

For now.

I pulled a notepad and pen from my coat and tossed them onto the table. "I know you have something to say. Go ahead. Be dramatic."

His fingers tightened around the pen, slow at first, then feverish. The only sound in the room was the frantic scribbling of ink on paper.

I picked up the notepad as he slid it toward me, eyes never leaving mine.

What's the problem? Too scared to unchain me?

My gaze flicked back to him. He tilted his head, a slow, taunting smirk in his eyes.

How about you come closer?

I let out a low chuckle. "You always did love theatrics."

I tossed the notepad back, and he caught it without missing a beat. A second later, he pushed it toward me again.

Let me out of here you piece of shit.

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