Chapter 9 - THE COURTYARD STANDOFF
The courtyard was lit by blinding floodlights mounted on the roofs of three armored personnel carriers.
Forty armed men stood in a semicircle, assault rifles raised. In the center stood Don Lorenzo Castiglione—an aging, silver-haired patriarch wrapped in a tailored cashmere overcoat, flanked by Dr. Trevor Ashford, who had evidently been freed during the early chaos of the estate breach.
Nathan and I walked out of the laboratory entrance, our hands empty.
"Look at you, Nathan," Castiglione sneered, lighting a thick cigar with a gold lighter. "The great king of the docks, reduced to a desperate father scurrying through chemical labs like a rat."
"This war was between us, Lorenzo," Nathan said, his voice echoing across the wet tarmac. "Bringing my children into it crossed a line our families haven't crossed in eighty years."
"There are no lines in survival," Castiglione said coldly. "Your sons die today. You die today. And tomorrow, the Castiglione family takes control of every harbor from Boston to Atlantic City."
Dr. Ashford stepped forward, a vicious smile playing on his lips. "I told you to remember your place, Miss Mitchell. Now, you’ll die alongside your employer."
I smiled back. A genuine, relaxed smile.
"Doctor, for a man with a medical degree, your grasp of spatial awareness is remarkably poor."
Castiglione frowned. "What is she babbling about?"
"Look up, Lorenzo," Nathan said.
From the dark, rainy skies above the industrial complex, the deafening roar of four twin-rotor military-grade helicopters cut through the clouds.
High-powered searchlights snapped on, blinding the Castiglione mercenaries.
Red laser targeting dots blanketed the chests of every single shooter in the courtyard.
From the shadows of the surrounding warehouses, dozens of heavily armed federal tactical agents and Coleman enforcers surged forward in perfect synchronization.
"Federal Bureau of Investigation! Drop your weapons!" a voice boomed over a loudspeaker.
Senator Sterling stepped out from behind the lead tactical vehicle, flanked by the Deputy Director of the FBI.
"Lorenzo Castiglione," Senator Sterling called out. "You are under arrest for domestic terrorism, chemical weapons trafficking, and conspiracy to commit murder."
Castiglione’s cigar fell from his mouth. "Sterling?! You corrupt bastard! We had a deal!"
"Our deal expired the moment you attempted to use chemical weapons on American soil, Lorenzo," Sterling said cleanly. "Nathan handed over every financial record, every offshore ledger, and every recorded phone call you ever made."
The mercenaries, realizing they were outmatched by federal task forces, threw their rifles to the ground and knelt with their hands behind their heads.
Dr. Ashford tried to run toward the side alley, but I surged forward, cutting him off with a sweeping kick that sent him crashing into a puddle of rainwater. I planted my foot on his chest, pinning him down just as federal agents moved in with zip-ties.
"Remember your place, Doctor," I whispered into his ear.
Ashford could only sputter in terror as the cuffs clicked around his wrists.
May you like
Nathan walked up to Castiglione, who was being forced to his knees by two federal agents.
Nathan leaned down, staring into the old don's eyes. "My sons will grow up. They will run this city. And you will spend the rest of your miserable life rotting in a supermax cell."
