Soon my grief turned to anger. I had been going straight for many years, and this would prove to be my greatest test. Would I have to become the Devil again and avenge my son’s tormentors? I got my balaclava and headed for the woods to dig up the gun I had stashed there for a rainy day.

Like an SAS soldier going into action, I prepared for war. But as I was going through my mental checklist, I couldn’t stop thinking about Stephen’s life. Growing up, he had continually been in trouble. Signs of his criminal tendencies were there at an early age. For example, I remembered getting a call from my mate Brownie, complaining that Stephen and his mates had been caught on camera robbing his shop. Brownie sold American clothes. You know, the jeans round the arse and the big puffa jackets – ghetto fabulous. I got the CCTV footage off Brownie and paid for everything my son stole. Then, to keep him out of trouble, I gave him a security job on one of my sites. For that, he got a K-reg Renault 19, a petrol card and £350 a week. But he never turned up. Instead, he pulled stupid stunts. For instance, on one occasion he threatened a doorman with a gun. I had to say to the doorman, ‘Look, he’s my son. If you put him in jail, I’m duty and honour bound to do something to you, and I don’t want to. So I’m asking you to take £5,000 and drop the charges.’ Luckily he did. All Stephen’s life, he had me to protect him from harm – and now this. Waves of guilt washed over me.

Apparently, three individuals – two on mountain bikes and one hiding in the bushes – had laid in wait to murder him. They had ambushed him and shot him. Now I had to make the biggest decision of my life. I had the power to plunge the ghetto into war over this and kill those responsible – blow their houses up and kidnap their kids. I even knew their families. They were decent folk who just sold a bit of weed. But it didn’t matter. Now they were going to get it.

Within hours, my mate Marsellus, who was now out of jail, tracked down Stephen’s aggressors. He phoned me and wanted to know what he should do with them. I could hear the yells and screams in the background. It was obvious that they’d already been seriously interviewed.

I took a deep breath. My whole future hung in the balance. Then, without flinching, I said, ‘Hand them over to the police.

What?’ He couldn’t believe it. He continued, ‘I’m reluctant to do that.

Let the authorities deal with them. There has been enough hurt and killing. It’s got to stop.

Marsellus pleaded, ‘I don’t want to do it, but, OK, I’ll do it for you, Stephen.’ He then delivered the culprits to the police station. That was when I knew I had truly turned a corner. I couldn’t believe it myself. A huge feeling of relief washed over me.

Then, as if rewarded by God himself, a miracle happened. Stephen’s mum phoned me up. ‘He’s alive,’ she said. ‘The wound is superficial.

Stephen was alive! Luckily, he’d noticed movement in the bushes and had been alert enough to flee the situation, escaping with a bullet in the ass. I couldn’t believe it. There is a God!

Eventually, I got hold of Stephen and warned him, ‘No retaliations. No revenge. No more violence.

At that point, I knew I had finally exorcised the Devil from my life.