Chapter 9 - The Clearing of Accounts
The rain hammered against the roof of the trapped van as Liam O'Connor’s face turned the color of ash.
“It’s a setup!” Marcus Marquetti shrieked, scrambling toward the rear doors of the van in absolute panic. “He knew! He knew everything! We’re dead! We’re dead!”
“Shut up!” Liam roared, grabbing Marcus by his collar and shoving him toward the side door. “Take your gun and shoot your way out!”
“No! Please!” Marcus wept, trembling uncontrollably.
Outside, the heavy footsteps of Syndicate enforcers closed in around the perimeter.
BANG! BANG! BANG!
A brief, chaotic burst of gunfire erupted as three of Liam’s men tried to fight back from inside the second van. They were instantly neutralized by Syndicate snipers positioned on the rooftops. Within ninety seconds, all resistance was utterly extinguished. The alleyway fell silent, save for the hum of idling engines and the splash of heavy rain.
Damon walked through the steam and smoke, his leather boots crunching over broken glass and wet brass shell casings.
Dominic Vance stepped beside him, kicking open the side door of Liam’s van, dragging Marcus Marquetti out into the street by his neck, slamming the disgraced hotel tycoon onto his knees in the mud.
“Please! Damon! Don't kill me!” Marcus sobbed, bowing his head to the wet asphalt. “It was O'Connor! He forced me! He threatened my daughter! I had no choice!”
Damon didn't even look down at him. “Take him to the federal prosecutor’s office, Dominic. Hand over all the wiretap recordings of his bribery and treason. Let him spend the rest of his miserable life in a federal prison.”
“No! Please! Not prison!” Marcus screamed as two guards dragged him away into the rainy night.
Damon stepped up to the open driver’s side door of the lead van.
Liam O'Connor sat inside, bleeding from a shrapnel wound on his arm, his hands clutching a empty handgun, his breathing ragged and shallow. He looked up at Damon, seeing the cold, absolute judgment in the younger man’s steel-gray eyes.
“You always were a arrogant bastard, Calas,” Liam spat through bloody teeth, coughing violently. “You think you own this city?”
“I don't care about the city,” Damon said smoothly, raising the silver Colt .45, lining up the front sight directly between Liam’s eyes. “I care about my brother.”
Liam’s eyes widened in sudden, terrifying realization. “Eli Voss...”
“He sent his regards,” Damon whispered.
BOOM.
The single gunshot echoed across the silent docks, cutting off Liam O'Connor’s breath forever.
Damon lowered the silver pistol, turning his back on the van as Dominic stepped up beside him with an umbrella.
“Clean the street,” Damon ordered calmly, wiping a drop of rain from his cheek. “Make sure there’s nothing left for the morning news.”
“Yes, boss,” Dominic replied, bowing his head with deep respect. “And where are you going?”
May you like
Damon looked north toward the bright, distant lights of Beacon Hill, a rare, warm expression softening his dark features.
“I have a promise to keep,” Damon said.
