Chapter 131: Chapter 131 Meet you again in my basement
"Who—who the hell are you!!?" the drunk old man slurred, his voice trembling now as he scrambled backward on the filthy couch, trying to push himself away with stubby legs that wouldn’t obey. But Leonardo’s eyes — cold, sharp, and almost bored, pinned him like a bug under glass.
Leonardo didn’t bother to answer. He just tilted his head slightly, his jaw tightening as his eyes swept over the half-empty bottles, the broken furniture, the stained carpet. His gaze turned razor-sharp when he spotted a small mark on the wall — a child’s old scribble half-scratched out. Maybe hers.
In the next heartbeat, he stepped forward. His polished shoes crushed a beer can underfoot with a dull crunch. The uncle flinched — too slow.
With one gloved hand, Leonardo grabbed a handful of the old man’s greasy hair. He yanked him off the couch like he weighed nothing, dragging him up until the man’s feet barely scraped the floor.
"Wait—wait—! Let me—!" the uncle gasped, face flushing red as his fingers clawed at Leonardo’s wrist. But Leo’s grip didn’t budge.
Leonardo leaned in so close the old man could see the ghost of bloodlust flicker behind his stormy eyes. He spoke for the first time, voice low and soft, the kind that made grown men shiver.
"You really thought no one would come for her?" he murmured. "You filthy rat."
Without another word, he shoved the man forward, half-dragging, half-throwing him through the front door. The old wooden frame cracked as the hinges rattled. The neighbors, who had gathered to gawk at the line of black cars and suited guards, gasped when they saw the scene.
"Sir—what’s happening?!" one old lady dared to ask. "What are you doing—?"
Leonardo didn’t even glance at her. He flicked his wrist, and two of his men stepped forward like wolves. He shoved the uncle at them, voice deadly calm. "Unpaid debts," he said coldly, the lie sliding off his tongue like oil. "I’m collecting what’s mine."
The uncle tried to thrash free, squealing like a pig, but Leonardo just smiled — the curve of his lips sharp and mocking. "Put him in the car," he ordered, his tone like a blade sliding into flesh.
The guards obeyed without question. They dragged the struggling, wheezing man to one of the waiting black SUVs, tossing him inside like trash. The uncle’s shouts were muffled the moment the door slammed shut.
Leonardo watched the car pull away, his hands sliding into his pockets, his black coat fluttering in the breeze. The neighbors who’d gathered around stepped back as his cold gaze flicked over them with a silent warning.
In his mind, there was only one thought: Meet you again in my basement.
A slow smile — more like a wolf baring its teeth — ghosted across his lips.
After tossing that worthless man into his men’s custody, he stepped back inside the suffocating little house. The moment the door shut, the stale stink of cheap alcohol wrapped around him like rot. Bottles littered the floor, some empty, some half-full — all of them reeking of wasted nights and uglier secrets.
His polished shoes crunched over broken glass as he moved deeper inside, the silence only broken by the distant creak of the old wooden floorboards. On instinct, he headed for the narrow staircase — the single bulb overhead flickering like it might go out at any moment.
Upstairs was worse. The hallway was short, dark, the peeling paint on the walls flaking off at his touch. One door was cracked open — he pushed it wider with two fingers.
A wave of something bitter and cold settled in his gut.
The room was so small he could almost cross it in two strides. The mattress on the floor looked thin enough to fold in half, and the bedsheet was faded beyond color. Next to it stood a warped old computer desk — more rusted metal than wood and a rickety wardrobe with its doors hanging off the hinges.
Leonardo stepped closer. Inside that crooked wardrobe were just two sets of clothes. One slipped from its bent wire hanger as he lifted it — the fabric so thin he could see the sunlight through it. His thumb brushed over the rough stitching on the seams, clumsy and uneven — evidence of a child trying to fix her only dress over and over, just to make it last a little longer.
His throat tightened. He didn’t let it show.
On the floor by the corner, he spotted a pile of old notebooks stacked together with a rubber band. He crouched, careful not to disturb the dust, and thumbed through the top one.
The pages were worn soft from too much erasing — simple math problems, sloppy essays... her handwriting small, round, a little messy but strangely sweet.
He flipped to the last page and paused.
Near the back, her lines trailed off mid-sentence, a tiny sad smiley face drawn in the corner. A childish attempt to look fine and yet the pen had pressed too hard, the paper torn slightly from the pressure.
He swallowed hard, turning to another notebook. This one had ripped pages and smudged ink near the margin. In the center, her handwriting trembled over the lines:
How should I tell them why I didn’t come back online for a month?
Them?? Who?
Tiny dots stained the paper. Leonardo realized with a sick twist they weren’t ink, they were faint brown spots that looked like old blood. He stared at them, the words echoing in his skull: "Why I didn’t come back online..."
His mind conjured her sweet face. Those bright eyes. Her soft voice. The way she still hugged that ridiculous plush bunny to her chest like it was a lifeline.
His jaw clenched. He could taste something metallic behind his teeth — rage.
He stood there for a long moment, the silence pressing on him like a coffin lid. Then he slid the notebook back where he found it. He scanned the rest of the room: cracked mirror, a tiny window taped over to keep the cold out.