Chapter 5 - The Reckoning at Blackwater Point"I always told you, Julian, you read too many old papers," Doyle said, his voice smooth and utterly calm as he stepped into the room, kicking the heavy door shut behind him.
Julian didn't flinch. In one fluid, practiced motion, he stepped slightly in front of Sadie, shielding her body with his own while his right hand slid toward the concealed drawer beneath his desk where his backup Sig Sauer rested.
"Don't do it, boss," Doyle warned, raising the pistol just an inch higher, the black barrel pointing squarely at Julian’s chest. "I've got forty years of institutional memory in this family. I know every dead drop, every offshore account, and every dirty judge in Massachusetts. You think a rookie like you can outgun twenty-three years of planning?"
"You killed my uncle," Julian said, his voice dropping into a cold, lethal register that made the air in the room freeze. "You took the fall and you blamed Marco so my father would hand you the keys to the empire."
"Marco was weak," Doyle sneered, his eyes hard. "He wanted to turn state's evidence. He wanted to walk away from the life and leave us all exposed to the feds. I just accelerated his retirement. And your father was too blind with grief to look at the security logs."
Doyle’s eyes shifted past Julian to Sadie, who stood frozen behind him.
"And you," Doyle muttered, shaking his head. "You just had to go poking around where you didn't belong, didn't you? A little housekeeping help from Worcester, thinking you could play detective."
"Leave her out of this, Michael," Julian warned, his fingers finally brushing the cold steel inside the desk drawer. "This is between you and me."
"Nothing is between just us anymore, Julian," Doyle said, his finger tightening slightly on the trigger. "Once I put a clean bullet through your heart and one through the little maid's head, I'll file the report. A disgruntled sister breaks in, a tragic shootout, and the Corsini empire falls right into safe, experienced hands. My hands."
Doyle started to squeeze the trigger.
Click.
It wasn't the sound of Julian’s gun clearing the drawer.
From the darkened corner near the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, a heavy bronze bookend came flying through the air with terrifying speed, catching Doyle squarely across the right wrist.
The suppressed pistol slipped from his numb fingers, clattering loudly against the hardwood floor.
Doyle cursed, spinning around, but before he could recover, a small, pink-jacketed figure came charging out of the shadows like a linebacker.
Brooke—who had apparently grown tired of waiting for tea in the kitchen and had wandered down the hall looking for her sister—slammed her full weight into Doyle’s stomach, driving him backward into the heavy oak bookcase. Books tumbled down in an avalanche of leather-bound volumes.
"Get away from my sister, you psycho!" Brooke shrieked, landing a surprisingly effective kick to Doyle’s shin.
It was all the opening Julian needed.
With blinding speed, Julian vaulted over the desk, closing the distance between them before Doyle could push Brooke away. Julian’s fist caught Doyle squarely on the jaw with a sickening crack, sending the security chief crashing to the floor, completely unconscious.
The room fell dead silent, save for Brooke’s heavy panting and the rain lashing against the windows outside.
Brooke stood over Doyle’s groaning form, brushing off her sweater, then looked up at Julian, who stood breathing heavily with his fists clenched.
May you like
She blinked, looked at Sadie, and then back at Julian.
"So," Brooke said brightly, adjusting her dyed hair. "Does this mean I still get the ten grand, or do I have to talk to the FBI?"
