Chapter 7 - The Hanover SiegeThe rain returned by midnight, turning the brick walls of the Hanover Street house into a dark, glistening fortress against the autumn storm.
Maeve stood in the center of the first-floor study, her wool coat replaced by a simple black dress, her hand holding a silver key Rafe had given her right before he went down to the basement armory. The windows were shuttered with heavy steel plates, the only light coming from the green security monitors lined up along the mahogany desk.
"Stay behind the desk, Maeve," Cecily said, her voice shaking as she sat on the rug with her knees drawn up to her chin. "The guards said the lower gate has already been breached. They have automatic weapons, Maeve. The Lucchese people don't care about the city council anymore."
A sudden, deafening roar shook the front of the house—the sound of a high-density explosive clearing the iron gate framework. The lights flickered once, twice, before the backup generators kicked in with a low, industrial hum that filled the walls with vibration.
The door to the study slid open.
Rafe stood there, his coat off, his white shirt stained with a smear of dark grease from the basement elevator cables. In his right hand, he held a sleek, black submachine gun fitted with a tactical light barrel. His face was a mask of pure, unadulterated fury—the face of a don who had realized his sanctuary had been violated by trash from the south side.
"Leo," Rafe barked into his shoulder radio. "Clear the driveway with the armored truck. If any man crosses the hedge line... use the heavy caliber. I don't want any prisoners on the lawn."
He looked at Maeve, his gray eyes locking onto hers through the smoke filtering through the ventilation ducts. He walked across the room, his long stride closing the distance between them in two seconds. He reached out, his large hand catching the back of her neck, dragging her forehead against his with a fierce, desperate intensity.
"If the door opens, Maeve," he whispered, his voice a low, gravelly promise that made the air in her throat tighten. "You use the silver key on the server cabinet. There’s a passage that leads to the old shipping vault under the street. You take Cecily and you don't look back. Do you hear me?"
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"I’m not running, Rafe," Maeve said, her fingers catching the wet linen of his sleeve, her gray eyes burning with the same iron that had carried her into the path of the baton. "I spent nineteen years running from landlords and collection agencies. I’m not running from a old man who needs a pinky ring to feel big. If they come through that door... I’ll be standing right beside you."
Rafe stared at her for a fraction of a second, his expression fracturing before a dark, terrifyingly beautiful smile split his bloody lips. "You're a dangerous woman, Maeve Donovan," he whispered, his mouth catching hers in a rough, fast kiss that tasted of iron and woodsmoke before he turned back to the doorway, his weapon level as the first Lucchese shooter cleared the hallway stairs.
