CHAPTER 86: BLOODY SON-IN-LAW!!

The sky was a blanket of steel grey, clouds drifting like silent ghosts over the forgotten ruins of the industrial district. Concrete husks stood where life once thrived. One such structure—an old, rust-bitten factory—loomed at the edge of the city like a relic of war, untouched by time, avoided by everyone else.

A sleek black car rolled to a stop under the broken awning. Its engine purred to silence. Miles stepped out, his boots echoing over the gravel. He wore black. Not the kind of black you wore to disappear, but the kind that warned people not to follow.

He pushed open the creaking steel door. Inside, the air was thick with rust and mildew, and shadows clung to the corners like watchful spirits.

A man in a dark jacket approached, standing rigid with respect."Good evening, boss," he said in a low voice. "We’ve kept Jehan here."

Miles’s gaze didn’t flicker."Did he say anything?""Not yet, boss."

Miles’s lips curled faintly."He will now."

They walked to the far end of the factory, where a single hanging bulb dangled in the center of a large, empty room. Miles flipped the switch. The light buzzed to life, swaying slightly, casting flickering shadows on the walls.

In the middle of the room—Jehan.

Hands bound to a steel chair.Shirt torn, sweat glistening on his face.He looked up—and froze.

Terror overtook his entire body as he saw the silhouette step into the light.

"Please," Jehan stammered. "I... I’m sorry. I didn’t ... about Flora."

Miles tilted his head slightly, expression unreadable. He stepped closer, and his voice, though quiet, hit like a hammer.

"That’s the funny part..." Miles said, his eyes glinting. "I haven’t even asked anything to you yet."

Jehan trembled, the chair creaking under him.

"It was the Old Master," Jehan blurted. "I worked under him... all this time. He said dealing with Graveyard people... was harmful. That we should stay out."

Miles walked behind him, slow, deliberate steps. The air around him grew heavier.Darkness seemed to follow him like a second skin.

"See..." Miles said softly, "torturing people—it’s not really my cup of tea. I believe in instant death."

He stopped walking. His tone dropped, cold as steel.

"So I’ll give you three seconds to cooperate. Or I’ll feed your head to my dogs."

Jehan gasped, heart racing.

Miles knelt down next to him."I don’t like counting," he whispered."So your time starts... now."

With lightning speed, Miles flicked his wrist.

A knife flashed through the air.

It whistled past Jehan’s face, slicing his cheek with a hair-thin cut——and struck the wall behind with a hard THUNK, vibrating where it lodged into the concrete.

Jehan screamed.

"I—I’ll talk!" he cried, the fear melting his resistance."I’ll speak, just—please—don’t kill me!"

Miles stood back up, towering over him. His voice was calm now.

"Good," he said.

He stepped closer, locking eyes with the trembling man.

"I only have one question..."

Silence.

Then, with all the weight of the night behind it:

"Where is the Old Master?"

The air in the dimly lit warehouse was thick with tension. Flickering fluorescent lights buzzed above, casting fractured shadows across the cracked concrete floor. Jehan sat slumped in a metal chair, wrists trembling, sweat tracing down his brow like silent confessions. His life dangled on a knife’s edge — speak, and he risked the wrath of the Old Master. Stay silent, and Graveyard would ensure his last breath came before morning.

Caught between two devils, Jehan made his choice.

"I don’t know where the Old Master is right now," he said, voice dry, cracking under pressure, "but I know his base of operations."

Miles stood in the shadows, arms folded, his face unreadable. His deep voice cut through the silence like steel.

"Where?"

Jehan hesitated. His lips quivered before words stumbled out. "The ocean. The Pacific."

Miles stepped forward slowly, the echo of his boots unnerving in the hollow chamber.

"He has a ship," Jehan continued, swallowing hard. "The size of an aircraft carrier. Floating fortress. It’s where he runs everything... his entire network."

Miles raised an eyebrow. "For himself?"

Jehan shook his head. "No... He’s working for someone. Someone bigger."

Miles’s gaze narrowed. "Someone?"

Jehan looked down, shame flooding his features. "He has a boss. A man who stays behind clean curtains. Never seen him. No name, no face. Just... power. Money."

Miles gave a quiet scoff, almost amused. "A man hiding behind the curtain cannot give the Old Master his influence."

Jehan nodded weakly. "You’re right. The money comes from the boss. But the influence... it’s all the Old Master’s. He has ties to the Island."

Miles exhaled sharply, the name rolling from his lips like a curse. "The Island."

Jehan’s eyes darted up. "I know that you know. Graveyard know about it."

He leaned forward slightly, voice dropping to a whisper, "No one in the underworld crosses the Island. Their rules... they overwrite everything. Even the Old Master bows to them."

Miles stared into space, expression hardening.

Jehan pressed on. "But they don’t interfere. Not unless it’s their people involved."

Miles tilted his head. "Then what makes the Old Master one of theirs?"

Jehan hesitated, then muttered, "Rumor is... he married into it. Some say he’s the son-in-law of someone powerful on the Island."

For a moment, silence. Then Miles burst into a dry, humorless laugh — cold and bitter.

"Bloody son-in-law," he echoed, shaking his head.

He leaned in, eyes locked on Jehan’s. "Let me tell you something. The influence you’re so afraid of? It’s hollow. The Island doesn’t care about outsiders. Not even if he married in."

Jehan frowned, confused. "How can you be so sure? Like you’ve been there."

A sly smile played on Miles’s lips.

"In a way..." he said, voice playful but laced with threat. "I have captured the Island’s Prince and Princess."

Jehan blinked. "What...?"

But Miles didn’t explain.

"Coordinates," he said calmly.

Jehan scrambled for a pen and notepad, hastily scribbling down a string of numbers.

Miles took the slip of paper and turned toward the exit. The metal door loomed ahead like a gate to judgment.

Jehan’s voice trembled behind him. "W-what about me?"

Miles paused, looked to a nearby figure — a man standing silently in the shadows, expression blank, posture soldier-straight.

Miles gave a small nod. "Our Graveyard friends are still in the city. Send them the gift."

Jehan’s eyes widened. "No... no, please—!" he shouted, struggling against the chair, panic rising in his chest.

The door creaked open. Cold air flooded in.

Miles didn’t look back.

Miles sat in the driver’s seat, the engine humming softly beneath him. The city lights painted streaks across the windshield, but his thoughts were far from the concrete maze outside.

He exhaled deeply.

"Fake influence. Money. Power..."

His knuckles tightened on the steering wheel.

"Old Master... you’re just a puppet, aren’t you?" he muttered, voice laced with quiet fury. "How many more days can you hide from me?"

His eyes narrowed, calm but lethal.

"I’ll pull you by the strings myself."

He unlocked his phone, pressed a familiar number.

Monica answered almost instantly.

Monica: "Boss."

Miles: "I just sent you a set of coordinates. I want a full sweep. Everything—past ships, satellite activity, communications—deep level."

Monica: "Got it. I’ll get on it right away."

He paused.

Miles: "And Monica... one more thing."

Monica (curious): "Hmm?"

Miles: "What happens when a son-in-law of the Island dies?"

Monica let out a soft chuckle on the other end.

Monica: "The widow marries someone else."

Miles laughed, cold and amused.

"Good to know."

He leaned back in the seat, eyes glinting with strategy.

Miles: "Send a message to the Narcotics Bureau at Star Harbor."

Monica (suddenly serious): "Boss?"

Miles: "I want headlines by tomorrow morning—news of a drug factory exposed at Star Harbor, names of every corrupt official involved. I want it all out. Let’s see how the winds at sea react to a storm on shore."

Monica: "Are you sure? That’s going to rattle some high places."

Miles: "Exactly. Shake the tree. Let the fruits fall."

He added, calmly but firmly:

Miles: "Also, let the underworld know... Graveyard captured Jehan Mullins."

Monica (smirking): "It’s going to be fun to watch."

The call ended.

Later that night, Miles arrived at his safe house, nestled quietly in the outskirts. The city’s chaos couldn’t reach here—the silence was almost medicinal.

He sat down, dimmed the lights, and dialed another number. The one he cared most about.

After a few rings, a familiar voice answered.

Elena (worried): "Miles? You didn’t call the whole day. You made me worry for nothing."

Miles (softly): "Sorry, Mom... I’ve been busy. I’m here to inspect the jewelry chain we acquired recently."

He smiled faintly, his voice warming.

Miles: "Would you like some gemstones?"

Suddenly, a tiny voice jumped into the call:

Hope (excitedly): "Big brooo! Can you bring me a big diamond?!"

Miles burst into a rare, genuine laugh.

Miles: "If my little sister wants a big diamond... I’ll bring you the biggest one I can find."

Elena (scolding gently): "Don’t encourage her, Miles. She’s just teasing you."

Hope (giggling): "Yes, big broo, I was just joking! Bring me something more beautiful instead!"

Before he could reply, Asher chimed in with his own mischievous tone:

"How about a beautiful sister-in-law?"

The room on the other end erupted in laughter.

Miles smiled quietly, leaning back, phone still to his ear. In this fleeting moment, there was no war, no blood, no underworld—just warmth, and voices that made the night feel lighter.

They talked long into the evening—about nothing, about everything.

And somewhere between their laughter and chatter, the night passed peacefully.