Chapter 3 - THE FATHER'S WATCH
The streetlights bled into long, yellow streaks across the windshield. Luca’s chest felt as if heavy iron bands were wrapped tightly around his ribs. Every shallow breath was a battle.
He stared at the tarnished gold watch in his hand, his thumb weakly tracing the familiar engraving on the back: Family above all.
“The antidote,” Luca gasped, his voice barely a rattle in his throat. “Elena... please.”
Elena’s face was a mask of sheer agony. Tears streamed down her cheeks, mingling with the rain that blew in through the shattered side window.
“If I give it to you,” she cried, “Vincent’s men will kill Leo. They’re watching me. They have a tracker on my phone.”
“If I die...” Luca wheezed, his chin dropping to his chest, “Vincent controls... everything. He’ll kill... you and your boy anyway. No loose ends.”
She knew he was right. The mafia didn't leave witnesses, especially not civilians they had coerced into assassination plots. But a mother’s instinct was a powerful, blinding thing.
“Check the watch,” she sobbed, steering the SUV into a dark, abandoned industrial park. “Vincent said… he said everything I needed to know was in the watch.”
Luca’s fingers were going numb. He fumbled with the delicate latch. It slipped twice before his thumbnail finally caught the edge. The gold casing popped open.
Inside, the clock face had been ripped out. In its place lay a tiny glass vial filled with a clear liquid, and a small, folded photograph.
Luca’s eyes widened. He managed to pull the photograph out.
It was faded, edges worn. A picture of a young girl, maybe ten years old, standing next to a teenage Vincent.
“You’re… Vincent’s sister?” Luca breathed, the betrayal twisting the knife deeper into his gut.
Elena slammed on the brakes. The SUV skidded to a halt inside an empty, rusted warehouse. She killed the engine, plunging them into darkness save for the dashboard lights.
“Half-sister,” Elena said bitterly, unbuckling her seatbelt. “I haven't seen him in twenty years. Not until he showed up at my apartment three days ago and took Leo.”
She reached across the console and snatched the watch from Luca’s trembling hands. She pulled the tiny glass vial out. It had a self-injecting needle attached to the cap.
“He hates you, Luca,” she whispered, holding the vial. “He told me to let you suffer. To let you beg for this.”
“Then why…” Luca’s eyes rolled back, his body convulsing slightly. “Why didn't he… just kill me himself?”
“Because he wanted Marco to watch you die,” Elena said. “He wanted your brother to see the empire crumble.”
Luca couldn't hold his head up anymore. The darkness was pulling him under. The sound of his own ragged breathing filled the silent car.
He thought of his empire. The blood spilled to build it. The brother he thought he had mourned. The father whose legacy he had tried to protect, only to realize his most trusted friend had orchestrated its collapse.
“Elena…” Luca whispered, his eyes closing. “Save… your son.”
He let go. He stopped fighting the paralysis. If his death bought an innocent child’s life, perhaps it was the only righteous thing he had done in fifteen years.
Suddenly, a sharp pain bit into his thigh.
Luca gasped, his eyes flying open.
Elena had slammed the injector through his slacks.
“I’m not a murderer,” she sobbed, pulling the empty vial away. “And neither is my son.”
Almost instantly, fire rushed through Luca’s veins. It was agonizing, like boiling water replacing his blood. He screamed, his back arching off the leather seat, his hands clawing at his chest.
He coughed violently, hacking up dark blood onto the floorboards, but suddenly, his lungs expanded. A huge, shuddering breath filled his chest.
He fell back against the seat, panting, sweating profusely, but alive. The paralysis was melting away, leaving behind a profound, aching weakness.
“You… you saved me,” Luca breathed, looking at her in awe.
Elena wiped her face with the back of her hand, her expression hardening into stone. “I saved the only man who has enough power to get my son back.”
Luca slowly sat up. He flexed his fingers. The strength was returning, alongside a cold, calculating fury. Vincent had played them all. He had weaponized Marco’s grief and Elena’s child.
“Where is he?” Luca asked, his voice steadying. “Where is Vincent keeping your boy?”
“At the old railyard,” she said, her voice shaking again. “Warehouse 4. But it’s a fortress, Luca. You have no men. You’re weak. We can't just drive in there.”
“We’re not going alone,” Luca said, pulling his phone from his wet jacket. The screen was cracked, but it still worked.
“Who are you calling?” Elena asked, panic rising. “Vincent controls your men now! They’ll kill you on sight.”
“I’m not calling my men,” Luca said, staring into the dark warehouse.
He dialed a number that had been burned into his memory fifteen years ago. A number he hadn’t called since the night of the funeral.
The phone rang twice. Then, a click.
“You’re dead, Luca,” a deep, gravelly voice answered.
“Not yet, Marco,” Luca said, staring at the faded photograph of young Elena and Vincent. “But Vincent is. He played you, brother. He played us both.”
Silence on the other end of the line.
“Listen to me,” Luca said, his tone urgent. “I have proof. Fifteen years ago, Vincent forged those wire transfers. He ordered the hit on you, not me. And right now, he’s holding an innocent seven-year-old boy hostage to cover his tracks.”
Marco laughed, a dark, terrifying sound. “You expect me to believe you?”
“I don't care if you believe me,” Luca snapped. “I’m going to the railyard to get the boy. You can meet me there and put a bullet in my head, or you can come see the truth for yourself.”
Luca hung up. He looked at Elena.
“Drive,” he said.
Before Elena could start the engine, a blinding spotlight flooded the warehouse.
Tires screeched as three black SUVs blocked the only exit. Heavily armed men poured out.
And walking through the center, adjusting his wet suit jacket, was Vincent.
He wasn't smiling anymore.
“You shouldn't have given him the antidote, Elena,” Vincent’s voice echoed through a megaphone. “Now I have to mail your son to you in pieces.”
Elena screamed, reaching for Luca’s gun.
But Luca grabbed her wrist. He looked out at the army surrounding them, then down at the floorboard.
“Don't shoot,” Luca whispered.
“Are you crazy?!” she cried. “He’s going to kill us!”
Luca pointed to the floor. Next to the empty glass vial lay the heavy silver cross Marco had been wearing.
It hadn't been on Marco in the alley. It had fallen in the back seat when Marco grabbed Elena in the kitchen.
And wrapped around the chain was a blinking red light.
A GPS tracker.
Luca looked up, a grim smile touching his lips. “Vincent thinks he cornered us.”
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The roar of a heavy engine echoed from the back of the warehouse.
“He doesn't know what’s behind him.”
