Chapter 7 - Reckoning in the Courtyard
The morning air in the courtyard was crisp, filled with the scent of pine and damp earth.
Marcus was dragged out onto the gravel driveway by Marco and two enforcers, his clothes ruined, his face smeared with dust and sweat. He was thrown violently onto his knees in front of a row of idling black SUVs.
Lorenzo walked out onto the stone steps, looking down at him like a supreme court judge delivering a final, unappealable verdict. I stood a few paces behind him, holding a blanket-wrapped Leo against my heart, watching the climax of a nightmare I never thought I’d escape.
"Please!" Marcus sobbed, tears streaming down his face as he looked up at Lorenzo. "Just let me go! I’ll leave the state! I’ll never come back!"
"You're right about one thing, Marcus," Lorenzo said smoothly, sliding a pair of black leather driving gloves onto his hands. "You're never coming back. In fact, you're never going to see the streets of Tennessee again."
Lorenzo signaled to Marco, who tossed a heavy canvas duffel bag onto the gravel in front of Marcus. The bag unzipped slightly, spilling thick bundles of hundred-dollar bills across the stones.
"What... what is this?" Marcus stammered, staring at the money.
"That is every dime of the illegal loan you took from the Northside Syndicate," Lorenzo said coldly. "The loan you tried to pin on Chloe by forging her signature on the promissory notes. The loan that brought debt collectors to her doorstep while she was mourning her child."
Marcus’s jaw dropped. He looked up at me in sheer horror. "How did you... how did you know about that?"
"I own the Northside Syndicate, you idiot," Lorenzo stated plainly. "Every bookie, every loan shark, every criminal enterprise between here and the state line answers to me. You thought you were clever using her name as a guarantor? You were just signing your own death warrant."
Before Marcus could scream, Marco and the enforcers hauled him to his feet, slapped heavy steel zip-ties around his wrists, and shoved him into the back of the lead SUV.
"Where are you taking him?!" Marcus shrieked through the rolled-down window.
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"A very nice, very deep federal work camp in the middle of the Mojave Desert," Lorenzo replied calmly, leaning down to tap twice on the armored glass. "Where judges don't take bribes, and debt collectors play rough. Drive."
The convoy of black SUVs roared to life, kicking up a cloud of dust as they sped down the winding mountain road, disappearing into the Tennessee mist.
