The Last Door on the Cliff
Chapter 14 - The Last Door on the Cliff
For one second, nobody understood.
The boardroom had too many people in it. Lawyers, board members, security, enemies pretending to be neutral. Nell had been three feet from Lucia. Gabriel had stood near the screen. Declan at the door. Roman across the table.
Still, she was gone.
That was the terror of wealth and war. Rooms could be full and still fail to protect the person who mattered.
Lucia made a sound Maeve had never heard from a mother before.
Not a scream.
A tearing.
Roman moved first this time.
“Lock the building.”
Gabriel was already on the cameras. Declan grabbed Varo by the collar before security could pull him through the doors.
“Where is she?”
Varo smiled through blood that had not been there a moment ago.
“I wondered which daughter you’d choose.”
Maeve walked toward him.
Roman said her name once.
She did not stop.
Varo expected Declan’s rage. Roman’s command. Gabriel’s manipulation.
He did not expect Maeve’s hand to close around his tie and pull his face down to hers.
“She needs dialysis,” Maeve said. “If you harm her, whatever Roman does will look merciful compared to what I spend the rest of my life arranging.”
Varo’s smile faded.
There were rooms inside women that men like Varo never searched because they mistook restraint for softness.
His phone buzzed again.
This time Maeve took it.
A photograph filled the screen.
Nell in a chair.
Alive.
Furious.
Behind her, a window overlooking ocean cliffs.
Gabriel leaned over Maeve’s shoulder. “That’s the old west lighthouse.”
Roman looked at Varo. “You used my roads.”
Varo said nothing.
Declan hit him once.
Roman did not stop him.
The ride to the lighthouse was all black cars and rain.
Maeve sat between Roman and Gabriel while Declan drove like grief had stolen his fear of death.
Roman had not told her to stay behind.
She knew what that cost him.
At the lighthouse, the storm turned vicious.
Waves exploded white against the rocks. The old tower leaned slightly, boarded at the top, service door open at the bottom.
Inside, Nell sat tied to a chair with an IV stand beside her.
A man Maeve did not know held a gun.
Not Varo’s usual hired muscle.
Older. Cleaner. Familiar to Roman in the way his stillness sharpened.
Declan whispered, “Uncle Sal.”
Roman’s face went cold.
Their father’s brother.
The family elder who had supposedly retired after Vittorio died. The man who had signed sympathy cards, attended funerals, and placed his hand on all three brothers’ shoulders while lies hardened around them.
Salvatore Falcone smiled.
“Children,” he said. “Always opening doors you were told to leave shut.”
Maeve looked at Nell.
Nell rolled her eyes.
It meant alive.
It meant scared.
It meant hurry.
Salvatore wanted the seal. The board vote had been Varo’s play, but Salvatore had been the hand behind him, the last guardian of Vittorio’s version of the empire.
“Give it to me,” he said, “and the sick girl walks out.”
Roman reached inside his coat.
Maeve put a hand on his wrist.
“No.”
Everyone looked at her.
The storm beat against the lighthouse walls.
Maeve stepped forward with the biscuit tin in both hands.
Roman’s eyes warned her not to.
She ignored him.
“You want the thing Rose hid?” Maeve asked.
Salvatore’s gaze sharpened.
She opened the tin.
Empty.
Salvatore’s gun shifted toward her.
Maeve’s heart hammered so hard she thought it might break bone.
“The seal is already with the district attorney,” she lied.
Gabriel’s mouth curved slightly behind her.
“She learns fast,” he murmured.
Salvatore’s finger tightened on the trigger.
A shot rang out.
Maeve flinched.
Salvatore collapsed against the stair rail.
Behind him, Nell sat in the chair with smoke rising from a small pistol in her shaking hands.
“Untie me,” Nell snapped, voice trembling. “And somebody teach me how to do that without closing my eyes.”
Maeve ran to her.
Roman caught Maeve only after Nell was safe, after Lucia’s daughter was wrapped in Declan’s coat, after Salvatore was dragged out breathing but defeated.
His hand closed around hers.
Not claiming.
Asking.
Maeve held on.
The lighthouse door opened behind them, and Lucia entered with Gabriel’s arm around her.
She looked at her daughters—one by blood, one by Rose’s love, both storm-soaked and alive.
Then she looked at her sons.
May you like
“No more,” she said.
For once, no Falcone argued.
