Chapter 4 - The Confession of a Ghost
Julian did not reach for a weapon. He knew Damon too well; any sudden movement toward his belt would result in a .45 caliber bullet passing through his chest before his hand could clear his holster.
Instead, Julian slowly raised his hands, dropping his encrypted smartphone onto the carpeted floor.
“It wasn't personal, Damon,” Julian said, his voice eerie in its composure. “It was mathematics.”
“Mathematics?” Damon echoed, his voice dropping an octave, deadlier than a loaded barrel. “You put two bullets into the back of Eli’s head for mathematics?”
Julian let out a dry, bitter laugh that echoed softly down the empty service corridor. “You think you’re a god in this city, Damon. You think because you sit in your marble restaurant and collect protection fees from developers that you own Boston. But Kozlov has the ports. He has the judges. He has the federal prosecutor’s office in his pocket.”
Julian took a subtle half-step back, his back nearing the double doors that led to the kitchen.
“Three years ago,” Julian continued, “Kozlov found out about my daughter’s trust fund in Switzerland. He didn't threaten me, Damon—he threatened her. He sent me a video of her walking into her boarding school in Geneva with a red laser dot resting on her neck. He told me I had a choice: give him your distribution routes, or watch my daughter die on live television.”
Damon stared at him without a shred of pity. “You should have come to me. I would have brought her home in twenty-four hours.”
“You couldn't save Eli!” Julian spat, his composure suddenly shattering into ugly, desperate rage. “How were you going to save my daughter in Switzerland?! Eli found out about the leak. He caught me setting up the tracker on your car. He gave me twenty-four hours to turn myself in to you.”
Julian’s eyes filled with dark, twisted tears.
“I begged him, Damon. I fell on my knees in that garage in Everett. I begged Eli to think about my girl. But Eli... Eli was too good for this world. He said honor wasn't negotiable. He picked up his phone to call you. I had no choice.”
“You always had a choice,” Damon said coldly, raising the heavy pistol until the sights aligned perfectly between Julian’s eyes. “You chose to be a coward.”
“Shoot me then!” Julian yelled, spreading his arms wide. “Do it! But it won't change anything! Kozlov’s men aren't coming for St. Cordova, Damon. They knew you’d protect her here!”
Damon’s heart gave a sudden, violent thud.
“What did you say?”
Julian smiled—a terrifying, yellowed smile of a man who knew he was already dead.
“The photo I sent wasn't just to identify her,” Julian whispered. “It had GPS metadata attached from her phone... the burner phone she’s been using in Southie. Kozlov’s hit squad isn't in the alley, Damon. They’re already at the safehouse tunnel exit behind the hotel. They were waiting for her to step out.”
Damon didn't hesitate.
BANG.
The gunshot roared through the tight corridor like thunder. Julian collapsed onto the carpet, a single, precise hole through his right knee, screaming in agony as he clutched his leg.
Damon didn't kill him. Death was too easy.
“You’re going to stay alive until I get back,” Damon growled, stepping over Julian’s writhing body. “Because when this is over, you’re going to tell federal investigators everything Kozlov ever paid you for.”
Damon sprinted down the service hallway, bursting through the heavy exit doors into the pouring rain of the rear alleyway.
The night air was freezing, rain lashing against his face like needles.
Fifty yards down the cobblestone alley, near the dark entrance of the hotel’s subterranean parking garage, a black van was idling, its headlights cutting through the heavy mist.
Through the curtain of rain, Damon saw three men in heavy tactical coats surrounding the black Suburban.
May you like
Leo was on the ground, holding a bleeding shoulder, his gun kicked into the gutter.
And two large men were dragging a screaming, struggling Adriana toward the open doors of the van.
