d.The Maid Called From the Hospital on Christmas Eve, and the Mafia Boss Walked In Alone Without Saying a Word

By late February, the ice on the Boston Harbor began to crack under a pale, hesitant spring sun, but the political landscape of the city was far more treacherous than the frozen water.

With the destruction of the O’Malley crew, a power vacuum had opened along the southern shipping routes. Smaller, hungry street gangs were testing the waters, trying to see if Callum Vale’s brutal display on Christmas Day was a solitary burst of violence or the sign of an empire consolidation.

Every afternoon, Frank Vance arrived at the house with thick leather files containing reports on dock union votes, warehouse security schedules, and police wiretap logs.

Maeve began sitting in on these meetings in the library.

At first, Frank was hesitant, clearing his throat awkwardly whenever she entered the room. But within three weeks, he realized what Callum had already known: Maeve possessed an extraordinary memory for detail.

She could recall every name, every date, every shipping container number mentioned in the ledgers with total precision. She organized Callum’s intelligence files, spotted discrepancies in the harbor manifest payments, and identified two corrupt union stewards who were quietly pocketing company funds.

“She’s better than an accountant, boss,” Frank admitted one night as he packed his briefcase in the study. “And she doesn't take bribes.”

Callum looked across the room at Maeve, who was sitting near the window, carefully translating a handwritten Italian shipping ledger into English. A faint smile touched his lips.

“She’s not an accountant, Frank,” Callum said softly. “She’s the heart of this house.”

Frank nodded grimly, stepping closer to the desk. “Speaking of the house, boss... we have a problem in the West End. Joey ‘The Hammer’ Russo from the Providence syndicate took a meeting with Agent Miller yesterday morning.”

Callum’s eyes darkened instantly. “Russo? What does Providence want with Boston shipping?”

“They want Pier 42,” Frank said in a low voice. “Russo knows Miller is looking for anything to pin the O’Malley disappearance on you. Word on the street is Russo offered to give the feds a forged ledger linking you to the dock executions in exchange for federal protection and a license to operate in the North End.”

Callum stood up, leaning his palms against the mahogany desk. “Where is Russo staying?”

“The harbor view suite at the Custom House Tower,” Frank replied. “He’s got four Providence hitters with him. They’re moving the ledger to Miller’s office tomorrow morning at eight.”

Callum turned his head to look out the window at the dark outline of the city skyline.

“Then tomorrow at dawn,” Callum said, “we take the ledger.”

Maeve looked up from her book. She set her pen down on the table, her eyes fixed on Callum.

“Callum,” she said, her voice quiet but firm. “You can’t go to the Custom House yourself. Miller’s agents are watching every car that leaves this gates. If they see your Town Car anywhere near the tower, they’ll use it as grounds for a federal raid.”

Callum turned to look at her. “I have to secure that ledger, Maeve. If Miller gets his hands on a forged document bearing my signature, a judge will sign an arrest warrant within thirty minutes.”

Maeve stood up, smoothing her sweater down. She walked over to the desk, looking at the city map spread across the wood.

“Miller’s men know your face,” Maeve said smoothly. “They know Frank’s face. They know every soldier in your organization.”

She looked up, her blue eyes clear, bright, and fearless.

“They don't know my new car,” she said. “And they don't know that the girl with the broken wrist works for the boss now.”

Callum’s jaw tightened. “No, Maeve. Absolutely not. You are not going near Joey Russo.”

“I’m not going to shoot him, Callum,” Maeve said, a small, confident smile appearing on her face. “I’m going to walk into the lobby of the Custom House dressed as a courier, pick up the morning legal delivery from the front desk before Russo’s men even wake up, and walk back out.”

Callum stared at her, stunned by her composure.

“It’s too dangerous—”

“They hurt me once because I was helpless,” Maeve interrupted softly, stepping closer to him and laying her hand over his chest. “Let me help you now because I am not.”

Callum looked into her eyes, feeling the steady, fierce beat of her heart against his palm. He reached up, his long fingers wrapping around her hand, pressing it tighter against his suit jacket.