Chapter 5 - The Gathering Storm at the GatesHaving the ledger didn't solve our problems; it merely painted a target on our backs.
Word travels fast in the Boston underworld. Within forty-eight hours of the ledger’s discovery, the delicate truce holding the city’s criminal syndicates together began to fracture. Rival bosses—men who had spent years waiting for the Falcone family to implode—realized the missing accountability records had surfaced inside Falcone Manor.
It was a rainy Thursday evening when the perimeter alarms tripped.
I was in the kitchen, helping Gabriel prep dinner—by which I mean I was chopping onions while he stood nearby pretending to supervise, occasionally stealing slices of cheddar cheese from the cutting board.
Suddenly, the overhead lights flickered, buzzed, and died.
The backup emergency generator kicked in three seconds later, bathing the manor in a sickly, amber-tinted glow.
Gabriel’s lazy smile vanished instantly. He dropped the piece of cheese, his hand sliding beneath his blazer to grip the black steel grip of a Sig Sauer pistol tucked into his shoulder holster.
“stay here, Maeve,” Gabriel ordered, his voice dropping into a hard, military cadence.
“Like hell I will,” I said, dropping my knife. “My sister’s room is on the second floor, and my room is down the hall. I’m not hiding under a table waiting to see who’s shooting up the house.”
Before Gabriel could argue, the heavy oak double doors of the kitchen burst open.
Roman and Declan strode in, both armed, their faces carved from granite. Roman’s eyes locked immediately onto mine.
“They’re at the gates,” Roman said, his voice flat and dangerous. “Dante Maroni’s enforcers. They think we’re vulnerable because the ledger was recovered. They want it back, and they want us dead.”
“How many?” Declan asked, chambering a round in his shotgun with a sharp, metallic clack.
“At least two dozen,” Roman replied. “They breached the outer security wall using an explosives truck. They’re coming up the drive.”
My heart hammered against my ribs, but the paralyzing panic I had expected didn't come. Instead, a cold, hard resolve took over. For twenty-four years, my family had been hunted by these ghosts. I was done running.
“Listen to me,” I said, stepping between Roman and Declan.
Both brothers stared at me in stunned silence.
“Maroni’s men don't know the manor’s layout,” I continued quickly. “They’re expecting a fortified mafia estate with guards at the front doors. They aren't expecting the service tunnels behind the pantry or the old dumbwaiter shaft that leads directly to the security control room.”
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Roman’s eyes widened with sudden, sharp realization. “You cleaned the service wing. You mapped the internal routes.”
“I’m a maid, Mr. Falcone,” I retorted, grabbing a heavy iron fireplace poker from the rack by the stove. “I know every square inch of this house better than you do. Give me a radio, put Declan on the eastern flank, and let’s show Maroni what happens when you interrupt dinner prep.”
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