Chapter 18 - The Sit-Down
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The abandoned cathedral in the South Side was a sprawling, decaying monument of gothic architecture. The stained glass windows were shattered, and the pews rotted in the damp night air. It was a fitting place for a funeral.
I walked through the heavy wooden doors alone. I wore a tailored black suit over a Kevlar vest, projecting the image of a businessman ready to make a deal.
Kolov stood near the ruined altar at the far end of the nave. He wasn't alone. Despite the rules of a parley, he had six heavily armed Russian thugs hiding in the shadows of the choir loft and behind the broken pillars.
"You came alone, Castellano," Kolov mocked, spreading his arms wide. "Very brave. Or very stupid."
"I didn't need an army to handle a dying man," I said, walking slowly down the center aisle, my footsteps echoing against the stone floor.
I stopped ten feet away from him.
"Do you have the deed to the ports?" Kolov demanded, holding out a greedy, expectant hand.
"I brought something else," I replied.
Kolov frowned. "What?"
I didn't reach for my pocket. I simply looked up toward the shadows of the choir loft.
"Marco. Now," I said quietly.
Kolov’s trap had been a joke. My men had infiltrated the cathedral three hours before the meeting. The six Russian thugs hiding in the shadows dropped to the floor simultaneously, silently neutralized by my elite loyalists waiting behind them.
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Kolov’s eyes widened in sheer panic as he realized his backup was entirely gone. He reached frantically for the heavy revolver tucked into his waistband.
He was too slow.
