Chapter 7 - The Judas Protocol
The peace of Beacon Hill was an illusion, and Damon knew it.
In the underworld, a vacuum never remained empty for long. The execution of Marco Vance and the financial ruin of the Marquetti empire had sent seismic shockwaves through the New England syndicate. While the street-level soldiers were terrified, the old-guard families from New York and Providence saw only an opportunity: Damon Kalas was distracted, tied down by a pregnant woman and an internal purge.
On a freezing Tuesday night in mid-November, Luc entered Damon’s private study on the third floor. He carried a tablet displaying encrypted communication intercepts.
“We picked up chatter on the Rhode Island frequencies,” Luc said, his voice flat and grave. “Leo Moretti’s younger brother, Salvatore. He’s been hiding in Providence since the spring.”
Damon didn't look up from his desk. “Salvatore was always a coward. He runs stolen car rings. He doesn't have the stomach for a war.”
“He doesn't,” Luc agreed. “But he’s not acting alone. Someone funded him with three million dollars two days ago. Wire transfer routed through an offshore shell company in the Caymans.”
Damon’s eyes narrowed. “Who owns the shell?”
“Arthur Marquetti,” Luc replied. “Celeste’s father. Before our foreclosure seized his personal accounts, he liquidated his private art collection and wired the cash south. He knows his family is finished in Boston. He wants revenge before he flees to Europe.”
Damon leaned back in his high-backed leather chair. The cold calculation settled over him like winter frost. “Salvatore bought mercenaries.”
“Twelve men,” Luc confirmed. “Ex-military contractors out of Virginia. Heavy weapons, body armor, night-vision gear. They aren't coming for the ports, Damon. They know you keep Adriana here.”
Damon stood up. His movements were slow, deliberate, devoid of panic. “When?”
“Intercepts suggest tonight. Between two and four in the morning. When the harbor fog is thickest.”
Damon walked to the corner of the study, unlocked a concealed steel gun safe built into the wainscoting, and began pulling out black tactical equipment.
“Where is Richard Vance?” Damon asked.
“Downstairs in the clinic suite,” Luc answered. “Monitoring Adriana. Her contractions started three hours ago. Mild, but regular. Vance says the baby is coming within the next twenty-four hours.”
Damon paused, a heavy magazine halfway into the receiver of a customized tactical carbine.
The child was coming tonight.
Amidst an assault by twelve armed contractors.
Damon slammed the magazine home with a sharp, metallic *clack* that rattled the crystal decanters on the side table.
“Move Adriana and Vance down to the sub-basement vault,” Damon ordered, his voice carrying the terrifying weight of absolute authority. “The door is four-inch hardened ballistic steel. Independent air filtration, separate power generator. Once they are inside, seal the time-lock for six hours.”
Luc looked at him sharply. “And you?”
Damon pulled a combat vest over his broad chest, strapping the velcro tabs tight.
May you like
“I am going to greet our guests on the lawn,” Damon said.
***
