Episode Two
A large, hairy hand slowly lifted the newspaper from the table. The headline on the front page hit hard, its weight lost on no one but him.
"Shit," he muttered.
Reaching for his spectacles, he puffed his pipe with frustration. "It's like I'm back in 1949…" His eyes drifted to the old snuffbox on the table. "Andrew, I didn't raise you to be a dullard. Can't you help an old man with shaky hands?"
Andrew rushed over and gently handed him the box. "Papa, I didn't want to upset you. You haven't taken your meds in over two hours. Why are you doing this to yourself?"
"I want you to remember something, none of this is your fault. I made my choices. If life gives you even the smallest chance to do better, take it. Don't follow the foolish path I walked."
"Come on, Papa. Enough with the sad talk. We're going to make it. No matter how long it takes."
The old man rubbed Andrew's cheek with one rough hand. "I want you to know, I love you. Always."
"I love you more, Grandpa." Andrew pulled the food tray closer.
"I don't have an appetite, son."
"Please, Grandpa. Don't let the food go to waste. I worked all night to scrape together money for it."
The old man coughed harshly, reaching for Andrew's hand.
"Alright, son. I'll eat. On one condition."
"What's that, Grandpa?" Andrew's eyes filled with curiosity.
"You…" he coughed again, weaker this time. "You have to eat with me."
Andrew chuckled. "Of course, Grandpa. You know I hate eating alone."
Suddenly, footsteps echoed outside. Five burly men entered, surrounding the old man.
Rodriguez sneered. "Well, look at this old ape. Pretending to be a saint." The others laughed crudely.
"Who are you guys?" Andrew asked, his voice full of innocence.
Rodriguez bent closer, pressing the cold barrel of a gun to the boy's forehead. "We're Santa Claus and Father Christmas."
Andrew flinched.
"Your old man here owes us a lot of money. And he's refused to pay up."
"Rodriguez, leave the boy out of this," the old man said, voice low but urgent. "I'll give you the damn papers. Just give me some time."
Rodriguez stood up, the gun now aimed at the old man's forehead.
"No, please!" Andrew cried, falling to his knees. "Please don't! I'm begging you!"
Sweat poured down his face.
Rodriguez grinned. "Oh, Duke. Your son's pretty shaken. Can't you do anything?"
"I swear, Rodriguez, if you hurt my son...."
A gunshot cracked through the air.
Blood spilled across the floor.
Andrew's eyes widened, his mind fracturing under the weight of what just happened. His mouth opened, but no words came.
---
Later that night…
The air was cool, the stars scattered across the navy-blue sky. The moon's silver glow bathed the world in a ghostly light, even as the city's skyscrapers glimmered like sentinels of steel and glass.
Maxwell's car sat quietly in the garage of the Predator Brands Winery, part of the vast Cruise family empire. He watched the employees on the CCTV, monitoring the night's operations.
His phone buzzed.
"Hello, Don Emilio."
"How's the wine business?"
"Running smoothly, sir. I got word that Quan Chin from China is considering an investment."
"Excellent. Your partner is on his way."
"Really? I haven't seen him in five years. How's he doing?"
Just then, a car's headlights cut across the garage—sleek, modern, unmistakable.
A Mercedes-Benz Biome.
"Ethan?" Maxwell stepped forward, smiling warmly. "You son of a gun. I've been thinking about you a lot lately."
"I missed you too, Max. But let's catch up later. I've got to check on my sister."
"Of course. My driver's on his way. After he arrives, you can head out. Don Emilio just wants you to visit more often."
"Tell him I'll try."
Maxwell reached into his coat and handed Ethan a set of keys. "For your new place in Chinatown."
"I appreciate it. I'll wait."
Maxwell's car rolled away.
Fifteen minutes later, another car pulled up.
"You must be the driver," Ethan said.
"Yes, sir. Maxwell asked me to inform the workers to shut down by 10 PM. Big day tomorrow."
As the car cruised toward Chinatown, the driver made a call. "Boss, everything's set."
---
25 minutes later...
Maxwell's car returned toward the company gates.
Then
An explosion!
Flames consumed the building.
Maxwell jumped from the car. "Shit! Goddamn it!"
---
Don Emilio's Mansion
"I knew something was off about that chauffeur," Ethan said.
"The Montenegros just declared war," Emilio growled. "We have to respond. With fire."
"I checked the CCTV. He left 10 minutes before the blast," Maxwell added.
"Motherfucker!" Emilio roared, kicking a chair. "They'll regret this. I swear it."
"I'll handle it, boss," Ethan said. "Time to remind them who they're dealing with."
---
A dilapidated building…
A van screeched to a halt. Two thugs dragged Andrew out like luggage.
Rodriguez grinned as he led him into a decrepit hall.
"Listen, ugly. Your grandpa was a worthless man. But I'll find a way to make you useful."
Andrew spat in his face.
Rodriguez froze. Then slowly wiped it off. He laughed.
"I knew I picked right. You've got some fire. You'll make this fun."
He slapped Andrew hard.
"Vic!"
"Yes, boss?"
"Take this brat to the basement. Let him face the music."
As Andrew was dragged off, the door creaked again.
"Nathan, my boy," Rodriguez said.
"Work good?" Nathan asked flatly.
"You ask that too much. Sit. Eat."
Rodriguez passed him bread and salad.
"The guy, Packer...is done?"
Nathan nodded. "That bitch got what he deserved."
"And the money?"
Nathan's eyes darted nervously. The heat of the day still clung to his skin.
"You bastard," Rodriguez snapped. "I told you! Burn their fucking house and bring me every scrap of paper. This year, every idiot who owes me will pay."
"Dad...."
"Shut it. Get your lazy ass back there. And bring the money before someone else grabs it."
"Yes, Dad."
"Take the boys. Get it done. Don't come back empty-handed."
Nathan turned to leave. Rodriguez chewed on a chicken leg, eyes following his son out.