Chapter 2 - The Fortress on Beacon HillThe iron gates of the Kavanaugh estate closed with a deafening thud, locking out the rest of the world and sealing Belle and Micah inside a kingdom built on violence and secret riches.
By midnight, they were brought to the west wing of the manor—a wing that had been locked and dark for three years since the mysterious death of Renick’s wife. The dust covers had been ripped away by staff in a feverish rush before their arrival. Silk rugs covered floorboards of polished mahogany, and warm light poured from crystal chandeliers.
Belle sat on the edge of a massive four-poster bed, watching Micah sleep. He was wrapped in Egyptian cotton sheets, his breathing soft and rhythmic. But Belle couldn't sleep. Her mind raced like a trapped animal.
She got up, her bare feet making no sound on the carpet, and walked toward the tall arched windows overlooking the grounds.
Outside, the estate was a fortress. Men in dark tactical gear walked the perimeter with trained German Shepherds. Floodlights cut through the mist.
“You shouldn't be awake.”
Belle jumped, turning around fast.
Renick Kavanaugh stood in the doorway of the suite. He had switched his dress shirt for a black cashmere sweater, a glass of amber scotch resting in his left hand. The dark rings under his gray eyes betrayed a bone-deep exhaustion.
“I can’t sleep in a place where men with guns are standing outside my door,” Belle said, tightening her cardigan around her shoulders. “Mr. Kavanaugh, this is a mistake. We are normal people. We live in Southie. We don't belong in your world.”
Kavanaugh took a slow sip of his scotch, his eyes fixed on her with intense scrutiny. “You think your world was safe, Belle? You were paying rent to a slumlord who works for the Moretti family—the very syndicate that ordered the hit on my daughter today.”
Belle felt a cold spike of fear in her gut. “The Morettis?”
“Donti Moretti wants control of the Boston shipping lanes,” Renick said coldly, walking slowly into the room. He stopped a few feet away, his towering frame casting a long shadow over her. “He couldn't take my life, so he aimed for my four-year-old girl. If your son hadn't been there, I would be burying Brinley on Friday. And Moretti would be taking my empire.”
He looked toward the bed where Micah slept.
“Your son has instincts I’ve seen grown men lack after twenty years in the streets,” Renick murmured. “He didn't panic. He didn't scream. He calculated.”
“He’s seven!” Belle spat, her protective motherly instincts overrode her fear of the man in front of her. “He’s a child! I don't want him calculated! I don't want him in your war!”
Renick didn't get angry. Instead, a grim, cruel smile touched the corner of his lips. “It’s too late, Belle. The moment Micah grabbed Brinley’s hand, he entered the war. Donti Moretti doesn't leave loose ends. If he discovers a maid’s son ruined a million-dollar assassination plot, he will butcher the boy just to send me a message.”
Belle’s knees buckled. She reached out, gripping the back of an armchair to stay upright. Tears burned the backs of her eyes, but she refused to let them fall in front of him.
“What do you want from us?” she whispered desperately.
“I want to protect the only two things in this world that matter right now,” Renick said, his tone dropping into a quiet, dangerous solemnity. “Brinley trusts no one. Since her mother died, she hasn't spoken a full sentence to anyone except me. But today, she called your boy ‘Bird Boy’. She asked for him before she fell asleep.”
He stepped closer, his presence suffocatingly absolute.
“You will stay here. Your boy will be educated by the best tutors money can buy. He will be guarded by my top men. And in return, you make this house feel like a home for my daughter again.”
Before Belle could answer, a piercing scream echoed down the grand hallway outside.
“DADDY!”
It was Brinley.
Renick dropped his glass of scotch; it shattered against the hard oak floor, liquid and glass splattering everywhere. In a split second, the cold, calculating mob boss disappeared, replaced by a desperate father. He sprinted out of the room.
Belle followed instinct, running right behind him.
They burst into the grand nursery at the end of the hall. The room was illuminated by a soft pink nightlight, but the tall French doors leading out to the bedroom balcony were wide open, letting in the howling wind and freezing rain.
Brinley was huddled in the corner of her room, sobbing hysterically, pointing her tiny finger at the rain-drenched balcony.
May you like
Standing in the doorway of the balcony, dripping wet, holding a silenced pistol, was a man wearing a security uniform—one of Renick’s own guards.
“Kavanaugh,” the guard hissed, bringing the gun up, aiming straight at Renick’s chest. “Moretti sends his regards.”
