Chapter 5 - The Woman Behind the Falcone ThroneFalcone Manor reopened eleven days later.
The west wing remained sealed behind plastic sheeting.
Three windows were still boarded.
Bullet holes scarred the stone around the kitchen.
Maeve refused to have all of them repaired.
Roman noticed.
“You missed one.”
Maeve stood in the kitchen doorway.
A bullet had struck the brick beside the pantry, leaving a small crater.
“I didn’t miss it.”
“You want it left?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Maeve looked at the mark.
“Because pretending nothing happened doesn’t make it disappear.”
Roman understood that better than she knew.
He left it.
The new security system was excessive even by Falcone standards.
Steel shutters.
Independent generators.
Motion sensors.
Thermal cameras.
Two security teams.
Maeve vetoed the armed guard Roman attempted to station outside her bedroom.
Roman relocated him twenty feet down the hallway.
Maeve discovered him at midnight.
The next morning she moved the man’s chair outside Roman’s room.
Roman found it there.
No one discussed the matter.
The investigation into Mrs. Hess’s murder stalled.
That bothered Maeve.
She began examining everything.
Invoices.
Employment records.
Security invoices.
Insurance payments.
Nothing escaped her.
At first Roman tolerated it.
Then he began asking her questions.
“Why did fuel expenses increase fourteen percent?”
“Because your drivers idle armored SUVs for forty minutes while waiting for you.”
“Why did our insurance premium double?”
“Because apparently insurers dislike explosions.”
“Why are we paying six thousand dollars monthly for imported mineral water?”
“Because Gabriel is an idiot.”
From the other side of the room:
“I heard that.”
“Good.”
The estate changed around her.
More importantly, the organization changed.
Captains who once ignored staff began greeting Maeve by name.
Men twice her age stopped swearing when she entered meetings.
Nobody called her “the maid.”
Not anymore.
Maeve hated the new title they whispered instead.
The Queen.
The first time she heard it, she nearly fired someone.
“You cannot fire one of my captains for calling you a queen,” Roman said.
“Watch me.”
Gabriel found the entire situation delightful.
Declan did not.
“Queen makes you sound like property,” he said.
Maeve looked at him.
That surprised her.
Declan shrugged.
“You’re not.”
Something had changed between them since Corrado.
Declan still hovered.
But he had learned to stop himself before touching her.
He asked now.
Not verbally.
His hand would pause.
Maeve would nod.
Only then would he close the distance.
For a man raised in violence, permission was a language he was learning painfully late.
Maeve noticed.
She appreciated it more than she said.
Gabriel’s affection was different.
He appeared.
Everywhere.
If Maeve worked late, coffee materialized beside her.
If she forgot lunch, sandwiches appeared.
When nightmares woke her at three in the morning, Gabriel somehow always seemed to be sitting in the dark kitchen.
He never asked what she had dreamed.
He simply made tea.
Roman remained the hardest.
He loved through infrastructure.
New tires appeared on Chloe’s car.
Maeve discovered her retirement account had been fully funded.
The manor’s employment contracts suddenly included comprehensive healthcare.
She confronted him.
“You cannot solve emotions with spreadsheets.”
Roman looked genuinely confused.
“Why not?”
That argument lasted forty minutes.
Then Chloe came to dinner.
She had never visited Falcone Manor.
Maeve had resisted.
But hiding the brothers from her sister had become ridiculous.
Chloe arrived wearing a red coat and carrying a supermarket cheesecake.
She walked into the foyer, looked at the marble staircase, and whispered:
“Holy crap.”
Maeve hugged her.
“You look good.”
“I feel good.”
Chloe held up the cheesecake.
“I brought dessert.”
Gabriel appeared.
He looked at the plastic container.
Maeve pointed at him.
“Whatever you are about to say, don’t.”
Gabriel smiled charmingly.
“I was going to say it looks wonderful.”
“You were going to insult it.”
“Absolutely.”
Chloe laughed.
Within twenty minutes, she adored him.
Declan terrified her initially.
Then she discovered he secretly watched baking competitions.
Roman was the problem.
Chloe studied him throughout dinner.
Finally she placed down her fork.
“You’re the one who threatened my hospital.”
Roman calmly drank his wine.
“Yes.”
Maeve closed her eyes.
Chloe considered him.
“Thank you.”
Roman stopped.
Nobody thanked Roman Falcone for threats.
Chloe continued.
“But if you ever make my sister cry, I’ll poison your breakfast.”
Declan choked on his drink.
Gabriel laughed so hard he had to leave the table.
Roman stared at Chloe.
Then at Maeve.
Maeve shrugged.
“Family trait.”
Something softened in Roman’s face.
Dinner continued.
For one evening, the Falcone brothers experienced something none of them had known in years.
A family table.
Not soldiers.
Not lieutenants.
Not business.
Family.
Then Chloe went to the bathroom.
Maeve was clearing dishes when she noticed Declan looking through the front windows.
His posture changed.
“What?”
He did not answer.
He opened the door.
A black sedan was parked beyond the gates.
Engine running.
No headlights.
Roman stood immediately.
Gabriel’s hand disappeared beneath his jacket.
Maeve’s stomach tightened.
The sedan pulled away.
Security checked the road.
Nothing.
But the following morning, an envelope appeared at the dialysis clinic.
Chloe’s name was written across the front.
Inside was a photograph.
Maeve and Chloe leaving Falcone Manor.
On the back:
ASK YOUR SISTER WHAT HER NEW FAMILY COST.
Maeve read the message once.
Then walked into Roman’s study.
Roman saw her expression.
“What happened?”
She threw the photograph onto his desk.
Declan and Gabriel arrived minutes later.
Nobody spoke.
Finally Roman said:
“Chloe moves here.”
Maeve opened her mouth.
Roman raised one hand.
“Not forever. Until this ends.”
Maeve hated that he was right.
She hated the fear more.
That afternoon Chloe moved into the east guest room.
Two guards followed her everywhere.
Maeve expected complaints.
Instead Chloe unpacked.
“This place has heated bathroom floors.”
“Chloe.”
“I’m just saying. If criminals are going to threaten me, I appreciate luxury.”
Maeve laughed despite herself.
But that night she did not sleep.
At 2:14 a.m., she walked downstairs.
Roman sat alone in the kitchen.
No suit.
No tie.
Just a black shirt with the sleeves rolled up.
He looked tired.
“Couldn’t sleep?” he asked.
Maeve sat opposite him.
“No.”
Roman poured coffee.
She pushed it away.
“If Chloe dies because of me—”
“Stop.”
“Roman.”
“No.”
His voice was firm.
“This is not because of you.”
“They’re using her because of me.”
“They are using her because they are cowards.”
Maeve stared at the table.
Roman reached across it.
His hand stopped before touching hers.
He waited.
Maeve noticed.
Even Roman was learning.
She turned her palm upward.
His fingers closed around hers.
Warm.
Steady.
“You’re allowed to be afraid,” he said.
Maeve swallowed.
“I don’t know how.”
“Yes, you do.”
Her eyes lifted.
“You simply don’t know how to be afraid while somebody else is there.”
That struck deeper than she expected.
Maeve looked away.
Roman tightened his hand.
“You’re not alone anymore.”
She had heard variations of those words.
But this time she believed them.
A phone rang upstairs.
Then another.
Footsteps thundered through the hall.
Gabriel appeared.
All softness had disappeared.
“We found the car.”
Roman stood.
“Driver?”
“Dead.”
Maeve’s stomach turned.
“And?”
Gabriel looked at her.
“There was something in the trunk.”
Roman’s expression hardened.
“What?”
Gabriel placed a small object on the counter.
A brass key.
Maeve recognized it.
Mrs. Hess’s master key.
Attached to it was a paper tag.
One handwritten word.
HOME.
Maeve stared.
Mrs. Hess had not betrayed them.
May you like
She had left something behind.
And whoever killed her was telling them where to look.
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