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“What do you mean,you don’t want me to come with you at all? I was just going to wait in the car.” Antonio says, looking upset.
“No, honestly, I appreciate everything you are doing for me - but this is something Ihaveto do on my own.” I shift from one foot to the other. I don’t want him to think I'm ungrateful, but I need to have my strength. If he is there with me, I'll just lean into his strength.
He closes his eyes for a moment and then nods. When he opens them and looks at me, his features are softer. “I get it. I understand. But, Seraphina, you keep your phone on you at all times, and if I call, you answer. No exceptions.”
“I will.”
“I'll get Arton to drop you off at the location where you are meeting him. He is someone I trust. I don’t like this, though. I had planned to at least drive you there myself.”
“I was hoping I could just drive?” I pull my mouth tight, knowing that I'm pushing my luck a bit.
“You want to drive there alone?” He is shocked.
“Yes, Antonio. I can drive,” I laugh.
“Fuck me, you are really going to make me worry, aren’t you? Fine, here, take my keys. I'll message you the location so you can follow the maps. There will be a man waiting there for you; he is going to monitor you and will be if you need help.”
I take the keys from him, grateful that he is letting me do this.
“Fuck, I don’t like this.”
“I'll be alright.”
“I know. I know you will be fine. I just thought - anyway - it doesn’t matter. Go, they are ready for you.”
I stand on my tiptoes to kiss him, and he holds me for a moment. I can tell he is not happy about this at all. He is battling by allowing me independence and following me there.
“Antonio, I'll be fine. If anything at all happens, I'll call you right away.”
He nods. “Good.”
I leave the penthouse and rush down to the basement parking.
Punching the location onto the map, I see it's right on the docks. What a strange place to meet with my father. Anyway, it doesn’t matter where it happens. I just want to get there - and get this over with.
I'm nervous and excited, tense and eager. In fact, there are so many emotions rushing through me right now, I just feel overwhelmed.
I'm standing in front of a container right alongside the water. Behind this door, my father is waiting. My stomach knots and churns. I take a deep breath and push the metal door open.
My eyes take a moment to adjust to the light. It isn’t dark; there is lighting overhead, but compared to the bright sunlight outside.
I stare at the man in the back of the container. He is tied to a chair, his head is hanging forward on his chest.
My heart hammers. He looks up at me with pain on his face.
He has been beaten, his lip is split and bleeding, his eye is swollen and blue, and he looks exhausted.
I was not expecting this.
For some reason, though, it doesn't bother me in the least.
“Marcus Moretti,” I say his full name, and his eyes narrow toward me.
“Who are you?” his hoarse voice whispers. He clears his throat and asks again. “Who are you, girl? What am I doing here?”
I step toward him, picking up the chair that is against the side wall of the container and placing it in front of him. I sit down, staring at his face. My father’s face.
I stare at him for a long time before I answer.
