Chapter 9 - Burn the EmpireVictor Sloane did not attack again.
That was worse.
The Falcones understood violence.
Waiting was different.
Three days.
Five.
Ten.
Nothing.
Roman doubled security.
Declan stopped sleeping.
Gabriel disappeared nightly, hunting rumors.
Maeve watched the house slowly become a prison.
She hated Sloane for that more than anything.
He had not needed another bullet.
Fear was doing his work.
On day twelve, Maeve called a family meeting.
Nobody called it that.
Maeve did.
Breakfast.
7:00 a.m.
Attendance mandatory.
Roman arrived first.
Declan second.
Gabriel appeared at 7:06.
Maeve pointed at the clock.
“You’re late.”
“We’re being hunted by an international fixer.”
“Breakfast remains at seven.”
Gabriel sat.
Maeve placed food in front of them.
Then she sat.
“We’re leaving.”
Roman froze.
“What?”
“The manor.”
“No.”
Maeve ignored him.
“Sloane expects us here. He knows the security. He watches the gates.”
Declan understood first.
“You want to draw him out.”
“No.”
Maeve looked at Roman.
“I want to stop playing his game.”
Gabriel leaned forward.
“Where do we go?”
Maeve smiled.
“My old neighborhood.”
Roman stared at her.
“That is the worst security proposal I have ever heard.”
“Exactly.”
Nobody expected the Falcone brothers to hide in a two-bedroom apartment above a laundromat.
Maeve’s old landlord nearly fainted when Roman arrived.
For forty-eight hours, the most feared criminal family in the city lived like ordinary people.
Declan slept on the couch.
Gabriel complained about the shower pressure.
Roman discovered parking meters.
Maeve had never been happier.
Then Sloane made his mistake.
He contacted Roman.
Not Maeve.
“You’re losing control,” Sloane said.
Roman put the call on speaker.
“Perhaps.”
“You abandoned your fortress.”
“Yes.”
“For her.”
Roman looked at Maeve.
“No.”
Maeve smiled.
Sloane continued.
“Give me the archive copies.”
“They’re distributed.”
“Then retrieve them.”
“Impossible.”
Silence.
Sloane’s voice became colder.
“Everything you built will burn.”
Roman looked around Maeve’s tiny apartment.
The peeling paint.
Cheap table.
Four mismatched chairs.
He smiled.
“You still don’t understand.”
“What?”
“The empire isn’t the thing I’m protecting anymore.”
Maeve stopped breathing.
Sloane hung up.
That night, Apex Logistics headquarters caught fire.
Nobody died.
Roman watched the footage silently.
Millions burned.
Records.
Offices.
Infrastructure.
Declan swore.
Gabriel looked sick.
Maeve looked at Roman.
He simply said:
“Let it burn.”
Sloane expected retaliation.
None came.
Instead Roman accelerated the restructuring.
Accounts were frozen.
Illegal routes abandoned.
Captains were given choices.
Legitimate employment.
Retirement.
Or departure.
Some left.
Some stayed.
The Falcone Syndicate began disappearing.
Sloane panicked.
A man cannot control an empire that no longer exists.
Then Gabriel found him.
Not physically.
Financially.
Sloane had transferred money through one shell company.
The company owned a property.
An old courthouse outside the city.
Roman wanted an assault.
Maeve refused.
“No more war.”
“He tried to kill you.”
“And killing him fixes what?”
Roman had no answer.
They gave the location to federal authorities.
Anonymous tip.
Evidence attached.
Sloane was arrested at dawn.
No shootout.
No heroic execution.
No blood.
Just handcuffs.
For Declan, that was almost disappointing.
For Roman, it was liberation.
For Maeve, it was enough.
Sloane’s arrest triggered investigations across three states.
Corrupt officials resigned.
Others were indicted.
The Falcone archive became evidence.
Roman negotiated.
It took months.
Apex paid enormous fines.
Roman surrendered assets connected to criminal proceeds.
Several captains went to prison.
The brothers avoided prosecution for the worst historical crimes because evidence was incomplete, compromised, or exchanged under cooperation agreements.
It was not clean.
Justice rarely was.
But the empire ended.
One rainy afternoon, Roman stood outside Falcone Manor.
Maeve joined him.
A real estate sign stood beside the gates.
FOR SALE.
“You’re selling it?”
“Yes.”
Maeve stared.
“Why?”
Roman looked toward the massive gray structure.
“This house taught us how to survive.”
His eyes found hers.
“You taught us how to live.”
Maeve swallowed.
Roman handed her the original brass keys.
The same keys Mrs. Hess had thrown onto the counter on Maeve’s first day.
“What am I supposed to do with these?”
“Whatever you want.”
She looked at the house.
The place where she had arrived with twelve dollars.
Where she had scrubbed blood.
Where three monsters had eaten potatoes.
Where bullets had broken windows.
Where something resembling a family had formed.
Maeve closed her hand around the keys.
“Don’t sell it.”
Roman frowned.
“What?”
“Give it away.”
“To whom?”
May you like
Maeve smiled.
“I have an idea.”
