The Prison Project (by Bethany Donaghy) novel Chapter 83

Coban’s POV

I didn’t move.

Didn’t blink.

Just stared back at him with that same expression I’d spent years perfecting – flat, unimpressed, unreadable.

The one he used to call a mask for cowards.

“I’m not here to play catch–up,” I said after a long silence. “So say whatever the hell you came to say.”

His eyes gleamed, amused. “Always so direct. That’s your mother in you. She never has much patience for small talk either.”

I felt my jaw twitch, just slightly. He knew what buttons to press, and he liked testing how close he could get to pushing them all the way in.

I didn’t give him the satisfaction of a response.

“You two fighting again I assume?” I state the obvious, as he breathes out heavily, almost bored.

“She’s a bitch to me on a good day.” He retorts, as I scowl.

I tried desperately not to snap. I always favoured my mother over the two of them, although she was just as crazy as he was a true match made in heaven they say…

He gave a slow, calculated smile. “Okay fine… Business talk, then.”

He leaned back, crossing one leg over the other like he had all the time in the world.

“You’re doing well in the program, from what I hear. The warden’s report was surprisingly optimistic when I spoke to him.” He hums, as I roll my eyes.

“You reading up on me now? It’s only been a week…” I point out, unamused.

‘I read up on everything that has my name attached to it.” He defends, reminding me that as much as I hated it, I was his son. Always would be.

I scoffed. “You think I’m still your legacy? After I got landed in here and you did shit about it?!” I snap, unable to hold back my words.

“You are,” My father drawled back without hesitation. “Whether you like it or not. You’re still my son. Born in to this life. Still a Santorelli. And if this project works in your favour, if you succeed, then you’ll carry that name back into the real world. We can rebuild from there. You know I done my best with the trial…” He attempts before I cut him off.

I stared at him, almost stunned by the delusion. “Bullshit! You set me up to spend time in here and for what? To toughen me up? To teach me a lesson? What was it this time?!” I demand to know, as he just stares, taking a moment to answer.

“Careful,” he said, the calm in his voice beginning to fray.

“What was the reason?!” My tone comes sharp, but he doesn’t flinch.

“You were out of control out there! Too cocky! This place will do you some good!” He states firmly, palm coming down on the table suddenly.

So that’s it…

He didn’t like that I was getting ahead of him…

“You would’ve ended up in a body bag if I didn’t do something to tame you!” He leans forward and grits out at me, as I shake my head.

“Great parenting.” I spit back…

There it was.

The smallest crack in his mask.

His nostrils flared, eyes hardening for just a second before smoothing back over like marble. “Dramatic and unnecessary.” He comments swiftly, leaning back to compose himself.

He tapped his fingers once on the table, slow and deliberate.

“I came here today to make you an offer,” he said. “One you’d be smart to hear.”

I leaned back, crossing my arms. “This should be good.”

“There are people watching this project closely. Investors. Political figures. The kind of people who could make your file disappear if they saw potential in you again.”

I frowned. ‘What do you mean again?”

“She’ll leave you,” he said flatly. “Once she has her money.”

I leaned down, my face inches from the glass divider.

“Just remember, if she breaks the rules… if she turns on you, or slips up, or makes them question your reform, you won’t just be back in that cell.” He paused, buttoning the lapels of his suit. “You’ll rot in it.”

He gave a slight nod to the guards and turned without another word.

I watched him go, my fists clenched so tight the skin over my knuckles had turned white.

I hated him.

Not just for what he’d done to me.

But for the fact that, deep down, some part of me was still terrified he was always right.

The door slammed behind me with a heavy bang, locking my father on the other side.

But I still felt him.

His voice, his scent, the chill that came with his presence it clung to me like oil I couldn’t scrub off.

I walked stiffly down the hallway, ignoring the guard’s quiet glances, them all knowing who I had just been to see…

This was what he did… he didn’t need weapons. He used words like razors. Cut deep and watched you bleed.

And the worst part? He always knew exactly where to aim.