Chapter 12
The van drove for what felt like hours.
I was scared.
But I was also angry.
And I remembered everything my father had taught me.
Stay calm. Observe. Look for opportunities.
I listened.
I counted turns.
I listened for sounds.
I tried to figure out where we were going.
Finally, the van stopped.
The men dragged me out.
They took the bag off my head.
We were in an old warehouse.
Dirty. Dark. Empty.
Marcus was standing there.
Richard's brother.
He looked like Richard. But meaner. Colder.
"Well, well," he said, smiling. "If it isn't Vincent Moretti's precious son."
He walked over to me.
He grabbed my face.
"You look just like him," he said. "Same eyes. Same arrogant expression."
He let go.
"Do you know why you're here?" he asked.
I didn't answer.
I just stared at him.
Marcus laughed.
"Tough kid," he said. "Just like your father."
He paced in front of me.
"Your father killed my brother," he said. "Richard. You remember Richard, don't you? The man who used to teach you discipline?"
He smiled.
"Well, now it's my turn to teach your father a lesson. He took something from me. So I'm going to take something from him. You."
He signaled to his men.
"Get the phone," he said. "Call Moretti. Tell him I have his son. Tell him if he wants to see him alive again, he'll come here. Alone. With five million dollars in cash."
One of the men pulled out a phone.
He called my father.
"Moretti," he said. "We have your son. If you want him back, you come to the old warehouse on 5th Street. Alone. With five million dollars. No cops. No tricks. Or the boy dies."
He hung up.
Marcus smiled at me.
"Now we wait," he said.
And wait we did.
For an hour.
Two hours.
I was scared.
But I was also ready.
My father had taught me how to escape. How to fight. How to defend myself.
I was waiting for my opportunity.
Finally, we heard cars pull up outside.
Marcus smiled.
"Showtime," he said.
The warehouse doors opened.
My father stood there.
Alone.
He was holding a bag.
"Let him go," my father said. His voice was calm. But dangerous.
Marcus laughed.
"Not so fast, Moretti," he said. "First, the money."
My father tossed the bag to him.
Marcus caught it.
He opened it.
He looked inside.
He smiled.
"Good," he said. "Now, about the other thing."
He pulled out a gun.
He pointed it at my father.
"You killed my brother," he said. "Now I'm going to kill you. And then I'm going to kill your son. And then I'm going to take over your empire."
My father didn't flinch.
"You're making a mistake, Marcus," he said.
"Am I?" Marcus said. "I don't think so."
He pulled the trigger.
But nothing happened.
The gun jammed.
Marcus stared at it, confused.
And that was my opportunity.
I had been working on the ropes holding my hands.
They were loose.
I pulled my hands free.
I grabbed the nearest man's gun.
I pointed it at Marcus.
"Let him go," I said. My voice was steady. Strong.
Marcus stared at me, shocked.
"You little—"
"Drop the gun," I said. "Or I shoot."
Marcus hesitated.
Then he dropped the gun.
My father moved fast.
He disarmed Marcus.
He knocked him to the ground.
And then...
The warehouse doors burst open.
Dozens of men in suits poured in.
Marco. My father's men.
They had been waiting.
They took down Marcus's men.
They tied them up.
My father walked over to me.
He pulled me into a hug.
"Are you okay?" he asked.
"I'm okay," I said. "Thanks to you."
My father smiled.
"Thanks to you," he said. "You were brave. You were smart. You did exactly what I taught you. I'm so proud of you."
Marcus was dragged away, screaming.
He would never hurt anyone again.
My father and I walked out of the warehouse together.
Into the sunlight.
Side by side.
May you like
Father and son.
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