Chapter 11 - The Seattle Docks
"We're coming!" I screamed into the phone, but the line had already gone dead.
I dropped the phone on the metal table, my vision blurring with panic. "They took him, Vincent. They took Anthony."
Vincent didn’t waste a second. He slammed the leather folder shut, shoved it into his coat, and grabbed my hand. "Matteo’s men won’t drive him across the country. They’ll fly him. Or ship him."
"Ship him?" I asked as we sprinted out of the bank vault.
"The Seattle Port," Vincent said, tossing the vault manager a stack of cash as we ran past the lobby. "Matteo just gave us the deed to it. He already controls the shipping lanes here. They’ll put Anthony on a private freighter headed to New York through the Panama Canal. It’s untraceable."
We jumped into our rental car. Vincent drove like a madman, tearing through the rain-slicked streets of Seattle, running red lights, his face set in a terrifying mask of lethal focus.
"If they hurt him..." I choked out, gripping the dashboard.
"They won't hurt him," Vincent assured me, though his knuckles were white on the steering wheel. "He's their golden goose. But if they get him on a boat into international waters, we’ll never see him again."
We reached the port thirty minutes later. It was a massive, sprawling industrial maze of towering cranes and thousands of stacked shipping containers.
"Where do we even look?" I asked, overwhelmed by the sheer scale of the docks.
Vincent pulled the car behind a stack of rusted containers and killed the engine. He reached under his seat and pulled out the heavy revolver he had kept since Chicago.
"Matteo uses private logistics companies," Vincent said, checking the cylinder. "Look for a black warehouse. No logos. Heavily armed private security."
We moved on foot through the pouring rain, slipping between the towering rows of steel containers. The smell of salt and diesel fumes hung heavy in the damp air.
Finally, near Pier 42, we saw it.
A massive, unmarked warehouse. Two black SUVs were parked outside, with four men in dark raincoats standing guard, holding automatic rifles.
Beyond the warehouse, a large private freighter was preparing to cast off.
"They’re moving him to the ship," Vincent whispered, pulling me behind a concrete barrier.
"There are too many guards," I panicked. "Vincent, you only have six bullets."
Vincent looked down at the leather folder tucked in his coat. "I don't need bullets. I have the deed."
He stood up from behind the barrier, raising his hands in the air.
"Hey!" Vincent shouted into the rain, stepping out into the open.
The four guards instantly raised their rifles, aiming red laser sights directly at his chest.
"Don't shoot!" Vincent yelled, walking slowly toward them. "I'm Vincent Moretti! I want to speak to the captain of that vessel!"
One of the guards tapped his earpiece. A moment later, the warehouse doors slid open.
A tall man in a tailored suit walked out, shielded from the rain by an umbrella held by a subordinate. I recognized him from the chapel.
It was Matteo Lucchese’s top lieutenant.
"Vincent Moretti," the lieutenant smiled coldly. "I heard you survived Chicago. You're a long way from home."
"I'm standing on my own property," Vincent said calmly.
The lieutenant laughed. "Your property? You have nothing left, Moretti. Your empire burned."
Vincent reached into his coat. The guards tensed, but Vincent slowly pulled out the leather folder. He tossed it onto the wet pavement at the lieutenant’s feet.
"Check the signatures," Vincent said. "Matteo put the port in Anthony's name. As his legal proxy, I just signed it over to myself. I own this port. I own the cranes. I own the warehouse. And I own the freighter you're trying to put my son on."
The lieutenant frowned. He picked up the folder, shielding it from the rain, and flipped to the signature page.
His face dropped.
"Call the harbormaster," Vincent challenged. "Call the Seattle police. This is private property, and you are trespassing. Release my son, or I will have this entire port locked down by the Coast Guard in five minutes."
The lieutenant glared at Vincent. "You think a piece of paper stops the Lucchese family?"
"No," a new voice echoed from the shadows of the warehouse.
Anthony walked out into the rain.
He wasn't bound. He wasn't crying.
He was holding a gold signet ring in his hand.
"But I do," Anthony said, his voice hard, mature, and completely devoid of fear.
He walked past the armed guards and stood beside Vincent.
Anthony held up the heavy gold ring. It was the Lucchese boss ring. The one Matteo had worn in Chicago.
"I took a call from my uncle Matteo ten minutes ago," Anthony said loudly, addressing the lieutenant. "He told me he sent his men here to escort me to New York safely. He also told me he gave me the authority to run the West Coast."
The lieutenant looked nervous. "Yes, young boss."
"Good," Anthony said. He slipped the heavy gold ring onto his own finger. It was slightly too big, but the weight of it was undeniable.
"My first order as boss," Anthony said, his eyes burning with an intense fire. "Is that the Lucchese family leaves my parents alone. Forever. We are going back to Montana. If I see a single New York suit within a hundred miles of my cabin, I will sign this entire port over to the Feds. Do you understand?"
The lieutenant stared at the seventeen-year-old boy, completely stunned by the sheer authority radiating from him.
Slowly, the lieutenant bowed his head.
"Yes, boss," he muttered.
He signaled the guards. They lowered their weapons, climbed into the SUVs, and drove away into the rainy night.
Vincent looked at Anthony, his mouth slightly open in awe.
"How did you get Matteo's ring?" I gasped, running forward and hugging my son fiercely.
May you like
Anthony hugged me back, then looked at Vincent with a small, proud smile.
"Grandma lifted it off Matteo during the chaos at the chapel," Anthony revealed. "She mailed it to the cabin yesterday. Said I might need it to prove a point."
