CHAPTER 48 – The Devil’s Move

The warehouse was empty, save for the two men and the unshakable weight of the past pressing down on them. The dim glow of the overhead bulbs flickered, casting elongated shadows against the concrete walls. The air smelled of oil, blood, and something deeper—an old betrayal that refused to fade.

Carver leaned against the rusted metal desk, swirling a glass of whiskey in his hand, the ice clinking against the sides. His smirk was a permanent fixture, but there was something more dangerous in his eyes tonight. Something knowing. Something calculating.

"I was wondering how long it would take you to piece it together," Carver mused, taking a slow sip. "Your past, your father, the reason you ended up in my world. And now, here we are."

Alexander stood rigid, every muscle coiled, his fists aching to drive through Carver's smug face. But not yet. Not until he understood the game being played.

"You knew." His voice was low, dangerous. "You knew about him this entire time."

Carver exhaled through his nose, shaking his head with amusement. "Knew? Alexander, I didn't just know—I let it play out. I let you believe you were running from shadows while I watched from the sidelines. It was useful. You were useful."

Alexander's jaw clenched. His heartbeat was a war drum in his chest. "You used me."

Carver's smirk deepened. "Don't act surprised. You've always been a weapon, Alexander. The difference is who's holding the blade. You had your revenge against the men who came after you, but the mastermind? The one who made sure you were marked for death? He's still out there, pulling strings. And now, you have a choice."

He slid a folder across the table. It landed with a soft thud, but the weight it carried was crushing. Alexander hesitated only for a moment before flipping it open. Photographs. Documents. A web of underground dealings, assassinations, bribed officials. And at the center of it all, his father's name.

The bastard wasn't just alive. He was thriving.

"This isn't news to me," Alexander muttered, but his grip on the papers tightened.

"Maybe not. But here's what is." Carver leaned in, his voice smooth, almost entertained. "He's been watching you. Since the moment you crawled out of your grave, he's been waiting. Waiting for you to make a mistake. Waiting for you to become something he can control… or eliminate. And trust me, Alexander, he still has the power to do both."

Silence thickened between them. Alexander could hear the faint dripping of a leaky pipe somewhere in the vast emptiness of the warehouse. He inhaled slowly, pushing down the storm rising in his chest.

"So, what?" Alexander finally said, voice edged with quiet fury. "You want me to work with you? Help you take him down so you can get a bigger piece of the empire?"

Carver chuckled. "You say that like it's a bad thing. The underground fights, the trade, the power—your father built it, but he doesn't deserve to keep it. Neither do the vultures circling him. But you? You've already proved you can survive in the dark. You just need to stop fighting it."

Alexander's hands curled into fists. "And what happens after? I kill him, and then what? You get to play king?"

Carver raised his brows. "I'm already king, Alexander. I just want to make sure the right people stay in power. And I want to make sure you don't end up dead before you get your revenge."

Alexander studied him, searching for the cracks beneath the surface. There were always cracks. Carver was a manipulator, a strategist, a man who bent people until they broke. And yet… his father was the greater monster. The one who had condemned him. The one who had marked him for execution like a defective tool.

"You want to kill a monster?" Carver's voice was smooth as poison. "You'll need another one."

Alexander closed the folder, exhaling through his nose. The choice had been made long before Carver opened his mouth.

He just didn't know if it would be his salvation or his damnation.

Either way, the devil was making his move. And Alexander was stepping straight into hell.