Chapter 9 - The Purge of the Traitors
The atmosphere in the subterranean vault snapped into battlefield readiness.
Dr. Vance and the technicians cowered into the corners, while Wesley calmly walked to a weapons locker disguised behind a row of tool racks. He punched in a code, the steel door popped open, revealing an armory of military-grade firearms.
Wesley retrieved a customized black automatic pistol, checked the chamber with a crisp snap of the slide, and tucked it into his holster.
“Rowan,” Wesley commanded over the radio. “Open the outer gates.”
“Boss?” Rowan answered, clearly startled. “There are twelve of them. All heavy hitters.”
“Let them in,” Wesley said with absolute calm. “Guide them directly to the lower courtyard. Seal the perimeter behind them.”
He ended the transmission and turned to Cora.
“Stay here,” Wesley said gently. “This room is reinforced with ten-inch ballistic plate. You are safe.”
“No,” Cora said, stepping forward. Her jaw was set, her eyes fierce. “Dominic Cain signed the execution order for my husband. I am not hiding in a box while you finish Julian’s fight.”
Wesley studied her for a long moment. He saw no fear in her eyes. The bruised, exhausted girl who had served him red wine at Il Farro had transformed into an avenging fury.
He unholstered a small, sleek snub-nosed revolver from an ankle holster and offered it to her, handle first.
“Safety is on the left,” he said. “Don't hesitate.”
Cora took the weapon. The cold steel felt natural in her grip.
They took the private elevator up to the mansion's carriage house, emerging onto the second-floor mezzanine overlooking the vast, cobblestone courtyard. Below them, heavy iron carriage doors ground shut, locking three black SUVs inside the high-walled enclosure.
A dozen men in tactical gear stepped out, assault rifles held at the low-ready.
Leading them was Dominic Cain. He was five years younger than Wesley, with the same sharp jawline and dark hair, but his eyes were filled with the reckless, arrogant greed of a man who believed he was untouchable.
“Wesley!” Dominic shouted, his voice echoing off the high stone walls. “Come out, big brother! We felt the seismic pulse from two miles away! You cracked Donnelly’s toy, didn't you? Bring out the ledger, and maybe I let you retire to Florida!”
Wesley stepped out onto the mezzanine railing, illuminated by the harsh spotlights mounted on the courtyard walls.
“You shouldn't have come here, Dominic,” Wesley said smoothly.
Dominic laughed, raising his submachine gun. “You’re finished, Wes! The Council knows you’ve been hoarding the city’s assets. When I show them the Valenti ledger, I take the seat!”
“You won't show them anything,” Wesley replied.
From the shadows of the mezzanine, Cora stepped forward, standing directly beside Wesley. In her hand, she held the mylar-sealed contract, holding it out over the railing where the floodlights caught the dark ink and the crimson wax seals.
Dominic’s laughter died in his throat. His face paled instantly.
“Where did you get that?” Dominic stammered.
“You signed your own death sentence two years ago, Dominic,” Cora’s voice rang out across the courtyard, clear, cutting, and filled with righteous fury. “When you hired the hit on Julian Donnelly.”
“Kill them!” Dominic shrieked to his men, raising his weapon. “Kill them both!”
Before Dominic’s men could even shoulder their rifles, the darkness around the courtyard perimeter came alive.
Rowan and twenty of Wesley’s elite guards appeared along the high parapets, weapons aimed down into the courtyard.
A single volley of precision fire tore through the engines and tires of the three SUVs, turning them into useless scrap in two seconds. Dominic’s men froze, realizing instantly that they had walked into a fatal crossfire. Every single one of them was covered by three laser sights.
“Drop your weapons,” Rowan’s voice boomed from the shadows. “Or you die where you stand.”
One by one, the mercenaries tossed their rifles onto the wet cobblestones, raising their hands in surrender.
Dominic stood alone in the center of the courtyard, clutching his gun, his eyes darting frantically from wall to wall. He looked up at Wesley, then at Cora.
“Wes… Wes, wait! We’re blood!” Dominic begged, dropping his gun. The weapon clattered against the stones. “It was business! The Valentis offered me half the eastern seaboard! I had to take the deal! You would have done the same!”
“No,” Wesley said, his voice flat and devoid of mercy. “I protect what is mine. You killed an innocent genius for a scrap of paper, Dominic. And you brought dishonor to our name.”
Wesley turned to Rowan on the wall. “Take him to the harbor cells. Let the Syndicate Council read the ledger. They will decide his punishment before the tide comes in.”
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As Rowan’s men descended into the courtyard to secure the prisoners, Dominic was dragged away, his screaming pleas echoing into the rainy night until the heavy iron doors slammed shut once more.
***
