3: Chains of the King
1003 Words
He smells like cedar and ice. Expensive. Dangerous.
Dimitris Kostas stands at the edge of my hospital bed, a statue carved from gray stone and wrapped in a three-piece suit that probably costs more than the building I live in.
The guards behind him are frozen, their heads bowed. They’re terrified of him. I can feel it radiating off them in waves. And if men who can kick down solid wood doors are scared of this man, what chance do I have?
"Who are you?" I whisper. My voice is shaking, betraying the bravado I'm trying to cling to. "Why do you have my eyes?"
"Because I gave them to you," he says. His voice is deep, vibrating through the sterile air like a low cello note. It’s not a warm voice. It’s the voice of a man used to giving orders that end lives. "I am Dimitris Kostas. And you are Alina Kostas. My daughter."
"No." The word bursts out of me, wet and desperate. "That’s a lie. It’s some kind of sick joke." I try to scoot back, but the pain in my ribs slams me against the mattress. "My parents died in a fire. I’ve seen the police report. I was in foster care. I’m nobody."
"You were stolen," he corrects, stepping closer. He invades my space, his shadow falling over my legs. "Twenty years ago. Taken from the garden of my estate while your nurse turned her back for thirty seconds."
"Stop it," I gasp. "I don't want to hear this."
"You need to hear it." He reaches into his jacket pocket. No weapon. Just a thick, cream-colored envelope. He tosses it onto the bed. It lands on my legs with a heavy thud. "Open it."
I don't want to touch it. I want to throw it at his face. But my hands are trembling as I reach for the paper. I pull out a stack of photos.
The first one is a toddler. Sitting on a velvet chair. Smiling. She has dark curls. And bright green eyes.
I flip to the next one. The same girl, running through a rose garden. She has a small, crescent-shaped birthmark on her left forearm.
My breath hitches. I drop the photo. My hand goes to my left arm, fingers tracing the exact same mark hidden under my hospital gown.
"I see you remember the mark," Dimitris says softly. "We never released that detail to the press. Only the family knew."
"This... this could be faked," I stammer, tears burning my eyes. "Photoshop. Deepfakes. I don't know."
"And the DNA?" He pulls a second paper from the envelope. "A 99.9% match to the Kostas bloodline. You can’t fake biology, Alina."
I stare at the numbers. The charts. It’s gibberish to me, but the name at the top is clear. Alina Kostas.
"My life..." I choke out. "My job at the diner. My apartment. Elena..."
"Gone," he interrupts. "Your lease has been terminated. Your debts paid. Your employment ended."
"You did what?" Rage sparks in my chest, hot enough to burn through the fear for a second. "You can't just erase my life! I worked for that apartment! I worked for every dime!"
"You were scraping by," he says dismissively. "Surviving. A Kostas does not survive. We rule." He clasps his hands behind his back. "You are coming home to the estate. Today."
"I'm not going anywhere with you," I spit. "I don't care who you are. I'm an adult. I'm twenty-three years old. You can't just take me."
"I can do whatever I want."
"I'll call the police!" I scream, the sound tearing at my throat. "I'll scream until every doctor in this hospital comes running! You can't kidnap a grown woman!"
Dimitris laughs. It’s a dry, hollow sound. Devoid of humor. "The police?" He shakes his head, looking at me with something like pity. "My dear child. Look around you. Who do you think cleared this floor? Who do you think ensures the cameras in the hallway are turned off?"
He leans down, his face hardening.
"I own the police. I own the judges. I own this city. There is no one coming to save you, Alina. Because in their eyes, you have already been saved."
I stare at him, horror dawning cold and heavy in my gut. He’s not crazy. He’s untouchable.
"You're a monster," I whisper.
"I am a father who has spent twenty years hunting for what was stolen from him," he says. "And I am done hunting."
He signals to the guards. "Prepare her for transport. If she cannot walk, carry her."
"Don't touch me!" I scramble back, hitting the headboard. "I won't go!"
Dimitris moves. He’s faster than an old man should be. In a blink, he’s leaning over me, his hands gripping the metal rails of the bed, boxing me in. His expensive cologne—cedar and gunpowder—fills my nose, choking me.
He brings his face inches from mine. I can see the hard lines around his mouth. The absolute, unyielding resolve in those green eyes that mirror my own.
"You think this is a negotiation?" he whispers. His voice is low, lethal. "It isn't."
He reaches out, his thumb brushing a stray tear from my cheek. His skin is rough. Warm. The touch makes me flinch.
"You are not just my daughter, Alina. You are the key to the future of this empire. The piece on the board that changes everything."
His hand slides from my cheek to grip my chin, holding me in place. His fingers are like steel bands.
"I have buried men for looking at you wrong. I have burned down cities to find a trace of you. Do you really think I will let you walk out of here to serve coffee to strangers?"
He releases me and straightens up, his shadow swallowing me whole.
"I won't lose you again," he says, turning his back on me. "Even if I have to chain you to this family myself."
- Writer
