Chapter 6 - The Fortress in Brookline
The rain turned into a downpour as the black Suburban tore through the winding, tree-lined roads of Brookline—one of Boston’s wealthiest, most secluded suburbs.
In the backseat, Adriana was wrapped in a thick wool blanket, a warm thermos of tea in her hands. Leo sat beside her, his shoulder bandaged tightly with a field dressing Michael had applied while driving.
Up front, Damon sat in the passenger seat, operating a encrypted tactical radio.
“Marcus,” Damon spoke into the mic. “Is the perimeter set?”
A static-heavy voice came through the speaker. “We’ve got all six gates locked down, Damon. Kozlov’s private security team has no idea we’re here. But he’s got at least twelve armed men inside the manor. It’s a castle, boss. Reinforced steel doors, bulletproof glass.”
“He can have a moat and dragons for all I care,” Damon replied coldly. “Keep the perimeter sealed. No one leaves that estate alive unless I say so.”
He clicked off the radio and turned in his seat to look at Adriana.
She was watching him quietly, her pale face illuminated by the passing streetlights. The terror in her eyes had begun to fade, replaced by a strange, quiet solemnity.
“Damon,” she said softly, her voice barely carrying over the hum of the engine. “Why are you doing this? You could take me away... you could hide us anywhere in the world. You don't have to burn down the city.”
Damon looked at her, his dark eyes softening for a brief second.
“Because as long as Kozlov breathes, you will always be looking over your shoulder,” Damon said. “Eli spent his life protecting people because he believed in peace. I spend my life fighting because I know peace is something you have to win with iron.”
He reached into his pocket, pulled out a small leather pouch, and handed it to her.
She opened it. Inside was Eli’s wedding ring—the simple gold band that had been recovered from his office desk after his death.
Adriana pressed the ring to her lips, a fresh tear escaping her eye.
“I thought it was lost,” she whispered.
“I kept it in my vault,” Damon said. “I was waiting until I found you.”
The Suburban slowed down, turning off the main road onto a long, dark driveway flanked by high wrought-iron fences and mature oak trees. At the end of the drive stood Kozlov’s estate—a massive, limestone mansion lit by amber floodlights, gleaming in the storm like an impenetrable fortress.
The heavy iron entry gates were swung wide open.
Michael brought the SUV to a halt fifty yards from the main entrance.
“Gates were unlocked when we pulled up, boss,” Michael noted, his hand tightening on the steering wheel. “It’s a welcome mat. He knows we’re here.”
“He expects me to come alone,” Damon said, checking his pistol’s magazine one last time. “Stay in the car with Adriana and Leo. If anyone approaches this vehicle who isn't me or Marcus, shoot through the glass.”
“Damon, wait!” Adriana called out as his hand touched the door handle.
He paused, looking back over his shoulder.
She reached out and touched his hand—the same hand that had held a gun three minutes ago, now warm and gentle against her skin.
“Bring yourself back,” she said simply. “Eli loved you like a brother. Don't make his memory a tragedy.”
May you like
Damon gave a single, slow nod.
He stepped out into the pouring rain, racked the slide of his Kimber .45, and walked up the stone steps of the estate alone.
