CHAPTER 146: CHAPTER 141: UNWELCOME VISITORS II

3:58 PM

Marco heard the shouting from the hallway.

He’d parked his car three minutes ago, grabbed his briefcase from the passenger seat, and was halfway to Demien’s apartment when the sound reached him—young voice, male, angry, and Marco’s body moved before his brain caught up because that was Demien’s voice and Demien didn’t shout.

He ran.

The apartment door was closed but not locked, and when he burst through it his hand was already reaching for his phone to dial emergency services, and the scene that greeted him made his agent instincts fire on all cylinders:

Demien stood near the kitchen, face flushed, fists clenched at his sides.

Five strangers—three women, two men—backed against the far wall near the couch.

All of them looking at the door, they were looking at Marco.

"Who the hell are you?" Marco’s voice came out cold, in a professional tone. The tone he used with contract negotiations that went wrong. "And how did you get this address?"

The oldest man recovered first, he tried to smile. "We’re family, and who are you to—"

"I asked who you are." Marco stepped fully into the apartment, his six-foot frame filling the doorway, and he set his briefcase down carefully before pulling out his phone. "Names. Now."

"This is a private family matter—"

"This is my client’s private residence, and you’re trespassing." Marco turned to Demien without breaking eye contact with the strangers. "Demien. Do you know these people?"

Demien’s chest rose and fell quickly. His voice came out rough. "They’re... they were family. They haven’t been around since I was young."

That’s all Marco needed.

He switched modes instantly, No more questions. Pure action.

"Right. You have thirty seconds to leave this apartment before I call building security and the police." His voice carried zero emotion. Just facts. "After that, I file for a restraining order on behalf of my client, citing harassment and attempted extortion, and I personally ensure that every media outlet in Bergamo knows exactly who showed up at an eighteen-year-old footballer’s home uninvited trying to kill him."

"We didn’t ask for—"

"Twenty-five seconds." Marco raised his phone. "I have three lawyers on speed dial and all of them are very good. All of them are very expensive and I will personally fund every legal action necessary to keep you away from my client."

The round-faced woman’s voice turned shrill. "You can’t threaten us like—"

"Twenty seconds. I’m also taking photographs of each of your faces for security purposes and filing a report with Atalanta’s security team, which means you’ll be flagged at every stadium entrance in Italy." Marco’s thumb moved across his phone screen. "Fifteen seconds. Shall I also contact Isabella Walter and inform her that her family showed up at her son’s home without her knowledge?"

That broke them.

The oldest man moved first, heading for the door with quick steps, and the others followed like a herd breaking, the blonde woman grabbing her purse, the bearded man muttering something under his breath that Marco ignored.

Marco stepped aside to let them pass, his phone raised, camera active, and he took clear photos of each face as they shuffled out into the hallway.

"If you contact my client again through any means—phone, email, social media, in person—I will pursue legal action immediately. If you approach his mother, I will pursue legal action immediately. If you speak to the press about him, I will pursue legal action immediately." Marco’s voice followed them down the hallway. "Are we clear?"

No answer.

Just footsteps fading fast.

Marco waited until he heard the building’s front door close before stepping back inside and locking Demien’s apartment door. Three locks. He turned them all.

The apartment felt bigger suddenly.

Quieter.

Demien hadn’t moved from his spot near the kitchen. His hands were still clenched, his breathing still uneven, but his eyes tracked Marco with sharp awareness.

"You alright?" Marco asked.

Demien’s jaw unclenched slowly. He nodded once. "Yeah. I’m good."

"That was intense."

"I had a feeling they’d show up eventually." Demien’s voice steadied. "Just didn’t think it’d be today."

Marco studied him for a long moment. Most eighteen-year-olds would still be shaking. Would need time to process. But Demien’s composure was returning quickly—not forced, not fake, just... fast. Like he’d seen worse. Like he’d dealt with worse.

Mature for his age, Marco thought. Probably from everything he’s been through.

"Want some water? Coffee?"

"Coffee sounds good."

Marco moved to the kitchen, found the espresso machine, and started working while Demien sat down at the small table and let his shoulders drop, and neither of them spoke for a minute while the machine hissed and gurgled.

David Drinkwater’s consciousness settled back into the driver’s seat fully now, the adrenaline fading, and he assessed the situation with thirty-seven years of experience

Marco set two small cups on the table. The espresso was dark and strong.

They drank in silence.

After a moment, Demien spoke. "Thanks for showing up when you did."

"That’s what I’m here for." Marco’s voice carried genuine warmth. "Not just contracts. If you need security, if you need legal protection, if you need someone to scare off vultures—that’s part of the job. You know i am your uncle"

Demien smiled slightly. First time since opening the door. "You were very scary."

"years as an agent. You learn how to handle people who smell money." Marco finished his espresso in one shot. "They won’t be back. And if they try anything, you call me immediately. I mean it."

"I will."

Marco stood, brushed invisible dust off his slacks, then seemed to remember something. "Right. Almost forgot why I came here."

He grabbed his briefcase from where he’d set it down near the door, brought it back to the kitchen counter, and pulled out a thick stack of papers bound with a black clip.

The Adidas logo gleamed from the top page.

"The contract," Marco said simply. "Legal team has finished their review. Everything checks out. €115,000 base salary, €20,000 signing bonus, performance triggers for international appearances and major tournaments, injury protection clause, and—" He flipped to page seven. "—creative collaboration guaranteed. You get input on campaigns like you wanted."

Demien stood and moved to the counter, his hands steady now as he picked up the first page and scanned through the terms one more time.

The numbers looked surreal.

€115,000 for wearing boots and appearing in ads.

He flipped through the pages slowly. Section by section. Making sure nothing had changed from the negotiations.

It hadn’t.

Everything was there. Everything they’d agreed on.

Marco pulled a pen from his briefcase. It was a black and expensive-looking.

"Sign at each yellow tab and Initial green ones."

Demien took the pen.

It felt heavier than it should.

He found the first yellow tab on page three, set the tip against the signature line, and wrote his name: Demien Walter.

Seven more signatures followed.

When he finished the final page, Marco countersigned as witness, his own signature practiced and elegant, then carefully slid all the documents back into his briefcase and locked it with a soft click.

"I’ll courier these to Adidas first thing tomorrow morning," Marco said. "Money should hit your account within the week, maybe sooner if their accounting moves fast."

"Okay."

They stood there for a moment. The weight of what just happened—both the relatives and the contract—settling between them.

Marco didn’t offer a handshake.

Just clapped Demien on the shoulder it was Firm and Familiar. "Call me if they come back. Seriously."

"I will."

Marco grabbed his briefcase and headed for the door, but paused with his hand on the handle. "Almost forgot—one of my scouts called me this morning. Saw a young player at an U17 match in Turin and wants me to watch him play this weekend."

Demien raised an eyebrow. "So you’re adding more clients?"

Marco laughed. "Yeah, we need to expand, you know? Can’t just represent two superstar forever."

"Superstar?"

"Give it six months." Marco’s grin was genuine. "Alright, get some rest. You’ve got Napoli prep tomorrow morning. Gasperini won’t care if your family drama was exhausting."

"Yeah."

"See you, Demien."

"Bye, Marco."

The door closed with a soft click.

Demien turned all three locks. Checked them twice. Then stood in the sudden silence of his apartment while the adrenaline finally drained completely and left him hollow.

The couch still had an indent where the oldest man had sat.

The kitchen counter still smelled faintly of cheap perfume.

He walked to the sink, washed his espresso cup slowly, dried it, put it away

Then he moved to his bedroom, kicked off his shoes, and climbed onto the bed fully clothed.

The ceiling was white. Blank.

His phone buzzed once—probably his mom, probably asking about his day—but he didn’t reach for it.

Just lay there.

Breathing.

Processing.

Family.

The word still tasted wrong.

Ding.

The sound came clear and bright in his mind, cutting through the exhaustion and the aftermath and everything else.

The system panel materialized in his vision, glowing softly against the white ceiling.

「ACHIEVEMENT UNLOCKED」

A/N

Sorry for the late upload, had to solve some personal issue and yeah one of them was my girl breaking up with me anyways i will be uploading 5 extra Chapters and yeah the price for extra Chapters have reduced.

Thanks for the power stones and golden ticket support and yeah gifts too.