“I’ll do my best.”
The line goes dead, and I end the call. It was hard enough to make Ghost stay behind. The moment I told him what was going on, he was ready to ride out with me. But this was something I had to do alone. This was something I needed to handle.
Pressing the steering wheel to make a call, I look for one number. The moment it rings once, the line is answered.
“Niccolo, what’s wrong?” Ms. Rose asks immediately. I guess she could sense it in the air.
“Put my son on the phone.”
She’s silent for a second, but the rustling through the speaker tells me what I need to know.
“He’s here.” Her voice comes through over my son's heavy breathing.
A smile graces my face as I listen to him pant. “Hey, my man.”
“Dadaddadadda.”
I fight the burn in the back of my throat. My eyes water as tears threaten to fall.
“I want you to know that I love you, kid. More than anything in this world. You and your mother are the two most important people in my life.”
I have to swallow to fight down the emotion.
“It always bothered me I never got to talk to my father before he died. I want you to know that no matter what happens, I wouldn’t change a thing.
“And I’m not worried about what will happen to you, because you have the best fucking village around you. Your uncles will make sure you grow into a smart, strong man. Your godfather will teach you how to handle yourself, and Ms. Rose and your papa will teach you the love and kindness you need to be a great husband and father someday.”
To think I may not be alive to see my son grow up into a man breaks something in me I never thought I could feel.
When I saw Tiffany at that club, I never would have thought that I could have all this. I wanted it, don’t get me wrong, but wanting something and actually having it are two completely different things.
Clearing my throat, I finish my conversation with Noah. “You won’t remember this when you’re older, but I hope you will understand how much I love you.”
Ms. Rose comes back over the phone. “What do you need from me?” she asks with determination in her voice.
“Take care of my son and, if all goes well, my wife.”
She’s silent for a second. “Bring her back to me, Niccolo.”
“With everything in me,” I say before disconnecting the call.
I pull up to Weberman’s dock. Back in the 90s, this was a bustling fishing village. You could come out here and get your fresh seafood. There were vendors with the catch of the day filets waiting for your purchase. Boats would surround this dock, with fisherman bringing their haul ashore. And at the end of the dock was Weberman’s processing mill.
Overfishing and some quality issues caused the place to shut down in the mid 2000s leaving this old processing mill behind. Climbing out of my suburban, I make my way over to the pier. There is nothing but the call of seagulls and the sound of the lake hitting the shores and sides of the pier.
A tall man in dark jeans and a clear drug problem steps out the doors of the old mill, a large gun aimed at my head.
“Toss your weapon to the ground,” he shouts.
I don’t hesitate, going into my back and taking a gun out of my holster. I hold the handle up and then toss the weapon to the side.
He walks up to me; the gun still aimed at my head. He uses one hand to pat my right side and then down to my leg. I stiffen for a second.
When he steps back, he tosses his head to the side, indicating for me to walk. I follow his direction, heading toward the mill.
The moment I step inside, I scan the area. I spot that bitch Ezra leaning against a large metal drum. He has a gun down at his side. Marissa is standing in front of a large opening. Other than those two, I don’t see anyone else. Not even Tiffany.
Whimpering from above draws my attention upward, and the moment I do, pure rage rushes through me.
