Chapter 4 - The Sanctuary
Half an hour later, the gravel driveway had been cleared by a cleanup crew that moved like silent phantoms, erasing every trace of blood and shattered glass before the rain could wash it away.
Inside the manor’s warm, oak-paneled infirmary, Declan sat on the edge of an examination table, his shirt stripped off, scowling darkly at the ceiling. A deep, ugly purple contusion spread across his left ribcage where the crowbar had landed, and a clean bullet graze ran along the top of his shoulder.
Gabriel stood nearby, tossing a bottle of medical disinfectant between his hands, watching me with an amused expression.
“I told you, I don't need a doctor,” Declan growled. “It’s a scratch.”
“It’s a through-and-through graze, and two of your ribs are definitely cracked,” I said, marching into the room with a basin of warm water, sterile gauze, and surgical tape. I set the basin down on the metal cart with a sharp clang. “Sit still.”
Declan glared at me. “You’re bossing me around again, Maeve.”
“You stood in front of four loaded guns for me,” I retorted, soaking a cotton pad in antiseptic. “The least I can do is make sure you don't die of gangrene on my watch. Lean forward.”
Declan grumbled something unintelligible under his breath, but he obeyed.
When I pressed the antiseptic pad to his shoulder, he flinched slightly, his powerful muscles tightening like coiled wire beneath my touch. His torso was a roadmap of violence—faded scars, knife wounds, and the intricate, dark ink of the Falcone crest sprawling across his broad back: a crowned falcon clutching three crossed daggers.
“You’re surprisingly gentle,” Declan murmured, his voice softening, the dangerous enforcer vanishing beneath a sudden, quiet vulnerability. “Clara was like that. When we were kids, every time our father used a belt on us, she’d sneak into the cellar with warm water and lavender oil. She’d hum some old Irish lullaby while she bandaged us up.”
My hands slowed over his skin. “She sang that to Lily when her kidneys first started failing. *The Parting Glass.*”
“Aye,” Declan whispered, closing his eyes. “That was the one.”
I taped the sterile dressing over his wound, my fingers lingering for a fraction of a second against the warm, solid heat of his shoulder. “Why didn’t you leave? When your father was alive. Why didn’t you three just run away with her?”
Gabriel leaned against the wall, his playful mask dropping away completely. “Because our father held the city in an iron fist. If we had run, he would have hunted Clara down and killed her in front of us. She knew that. The night he beat her and banished her, she told Roman: *Survive. Grow up, take the city, and protect each other.*”
Gabriel’s eyes hardened. “So that’s what we did. Roman took the boardrooms and the politics. I took the intelligence, the money laundering, and the supply chains. And Declan took the streets.”
“And five years ago,” Roman’s voice came from the open doorway, “when our father died in his sleep, we took everything. We dismantled every family that had stood by and watched him brutalize us. The only one left is Victor Moretti.”
Roman stepped into the infirmary. He had changed into a fresh black shirt, the top buttons undone, revealing the edge of a matching falcon tattoo at the base of his throat. He looked at Declan’s ribs, gave a slight nod of approval at my bandage work, and then looked directly at me.
“Your sister is here,” Roman said quietly.
My heart leaped into my throat. “Lily?”
“She’s settled in the master guest suite on the second floor,” Roman said, stepping aside to clear the doorway. “Two private nephrologists from Johns Hopkins are with her now. She’s awake, Maeve. Go see her.”
I dropped the roll of tape onto the cart, not bothering to thank them or apologize for running. I tore down the hallway, taking the grand staircase two steps at a time, my boots squeaking against the polished marble.
When I pushed open the double doors of the west suite, the sight took my breath away.
The room was larger than our entire apartment building. Pale morning light filtered through sheer silk curtains, illuminating a massive king-sized four-poster bed. Surrounded by down pillows and a lavender duvet sat Lily.
She was nineteen, frail, her pale skin translucent enough that the veins in her wrists showed like delicate blue ink. An IV drip was connected to a silent, state-of-the-art monitor beside the bed, humming softly.
Beside her, a silver tray held fresh fruit, warm croissants, and a glass of fresh orange juice.
“Maeve?” Lily croaked, her pale eyes widening as she saw me.
“Lily!” I fell to my knees beside the bed, throwing my arms around her frail shoulders, burying my face in the crook of her neck. The familiar scent of her—baby powder and soap—shattered the last remnants of my composure. Tears spilled freely down my cheeks, soaking into the pristine white linens. “You’re okay. Oh God, you’re okay.”
“Maeve, where are we?” Lily whispered, her fingers weakly tangling in my hair. “Two men in dark suits showed up at the clinic with an ambulance. They said you sent for me. They said I didn’t have to stay in that cold ward anymore.”
She looked around the palatial suite in awe. “Did you win the lottery?”
A soft chuckle came from the doorway.
I looked back through blurred eyes to see Roman standing in the threshold. He wasn’t looking at the room or at Lily. He was watching me clutch my sister, his dark eyes brimming with a depth of raw, protective tenderness that completely dismantled the myth of the ruthless mafia boss.
“Not the lottery, little sister,” Roman said gently, stepping into the room with hands loosely resting in his trouser pockets. “An old debt has simply been paid.”
Lily looked at Roman, her eyes widening. “You’re the prince from Mama’s story. The oldest one. The one who never smiled.”
Roman froze. For the first time since I had met him, a genuine, soft smile broke across his striking face, making him look breathtakingly handsome.
May you like
“I smile sometimes, Lily,” Roman said softly, walking over to the foot of the bed and resting a hand on the carved mahogany post. “Especially when the people who belong in this house finally come home.”
***
