Chapter 7 - The Battle in the Courtyard
We hit the wet slate pavers of the courtyard beneath a torrent of cold Boston rain.
My weapon skittered across the wet stone, vanishing beneath the iron bench near the garden fountain. Julian rolled over, driving a heavy tactical knife from his boot sheath toward my throat.
The steel blade gleamed under the yellow security lights of the estate.
I caught his wrist with both hands, the point of the nine-inch blade hovering two inches above my right eye.
"You always were the favorite, Roman!" Julian spat, his face contorted in a mask of blood and rain, applying his full body weight to push the blade down. "Father left you the estate! He left you the family name! He left me nothing!"
"He left you his trust, Julian!" I roared, my muscles straining against his grip. "And you traded it for Moretti’s table scraps!"
I twisted my hips ninety degrees, using a classic close-quarters combat pivot, redirecting his momentum. Julian stumbled forward over my chest, slamming face-first into the cold stone rim of the fountain.
The knife dropped into the shallow water with a splash.
I scrambled onto my knees, grabbing Julian by his collar, dragging him out of the fountain water and driving my fist into his scarred jaw once, twice, three times until his grip went limp.
I pinned him against the stone masonry, gasping for air, the rain washing the blood from my knuckles down his charcoal suit.
Behind us, the heavy oak courtyard doors opened.
Marco stepped out into the rain, staggering slowly, clutching his chest where my three rounds had dented his Kevlar vest. In his right hand, he held a high-caliber revolver aimed straight at my spine.
"It's over, Roman," Marco coughed, spitting blood onto the wet slate. "I've got six men from the Moretti crew parked down on Beacon Street. They're coming up the driveway right now."
I didn't let go of Julian’s collar. I looked Marco in the eyes through the falling rain.
"Fifteen years, Marco," I said, my voice cutting through the storm. "I paid for your daughter's medical treatments in Zurich. I gave your brother his own territory in Southie. And you sold me to a ghost."
Marco’s finger tightened around the revolver’s trigger. His eyes showed a momentary flicker of shame, but his survival instinct won out. "Business is business, Boss."
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Before Marco could press the trigger, two heavy headlights illuminated the courtyard from the iron perimeter gates.
A black armored SUV smashed through the ornamental iron security gates at forty miles an hour, tearing up the wet lawn, its heavy front bumper slamming directly into Marco's side.
