Chapter 1 - THE HOUSE WAS BURNING
The first thing Clara smelled was gasoline.
Not smoke.
Not yet.
Something sharper.
Chemical.
Wrong.
She sat inside the narrow wall passage with six-month-old Oliver pressed beneath her blouse and Owen tucked against her other shoulder.
On the other side of the wooden panel, boots crossed the nursery.
“Cribs are empty.”
A second man cursed.
“They took them through the east side.”
“No.”
A deeper voice.
“Mercer wants proof.”
Clara stopped breathing.
Then:
“Boston failed. If Costello turns around, those boys cannot be here.”
Another pause.
“Burn it.”
Footsteps retreated.
A match struck.
Clara looked down at Oliver.
His eyes were wet but open.
Owen had gone frighteningly quiet.
“No.”
She whispered it to herself.
Not them.
Not now.
The hidden passage descended behind the nursery wall.
A carpenter had shown it to her eight months earlier during renovations.
“Old Prohibition construction,” he had said.
“Half these Beacon Hill families built places for alcohol and mistresses.”
Clara had laughed.
Now that ridiculous piece of trivia might keep three people alive.
Smoke crept through the seam behind her.
She moved.
Slowly at first.
Then faster.
The passage narrowed so tightly her shoulder scraped brick.
Oliver began crying.
“It’s okay.”
Lie.
“We’re okay.”
Another lie.
But perhaps babies needed lies when adults had nothing better.
The stairs ended at a rusted metal door.
Locked.
Clara shoved it.
Nothing.
Behind her, fire crackled.
Heat began entering the passage.
She hit the door again with her shoulder.
Owen screamed.
“Good.”
She almost laughed.
“Keep yelling, sweetheart.”
Third shove.
Nothing.
Clara looked around.
An old iron lever jutted from the wall.
She pulled.
Something above them clanked.
The door loosened.
She drove into it.
It opened six inches.
Cold rain hit her face.
Clara nearly sobbed.
She squeezed through.
The passage opened beneath an abandoned greenhouse fifty yards from the mansion.
She crawled into wet grass.
Behind them, the east side of Costello Manor glowed orange.
Windows shattered.
Smoke poured into the rain.
Clara ran.
Bare feet.
Two babies.
No shoes.
No coat.
Toward the trees.
She knew better than to head for the main road.
If attackers still surrounded the estate, open ground meant death.
So she followed the sea wall.
Branches struck her face.
Mud climbed her legs.
Oliver cried until his voice became hoarse.
Owen buried his face beneath her chin.
Clara kept moving.
Then headlights crossed the woods.
She dropped.
Covered both babies with her body.
Vehicles.
Black SUVs.
Three.
Doors opened.
Men shouted.
Clara could not tell which side they belonged to.
Then she heard a voice she had heard only in quiet instructions across breakfast tables.
Damian Costello.
“Oliver!”
He sounded nothing like the man who controlled half the waterfront.
“OWEN!”
Clara lifted her head.
Rain blurred everything.
“Mr. Costello!”
Silence.
Then crashing footsteps.
Damian appeared through the trees.
No umbrella.
No jacket.
White shirt soaked through.
Blood along one side of his face from something she would learn about later.
He stopped when he saw her.
For perhaps three seconds, the feared Damian Costello simply stared.
Clara sat in the mud.
Oliver in one arm.
Owen in the other.
Alive.
Damian’s knees almost gave way.
He dropped beside them.
“Give them to me.”
Clara tightened instinctively.
Damian stopped.
Noticed.
Then changed his words.
“May I?”
That reached her.
She handed him Oliver.
Damian held his son.
Then touched Owen’s cheek.
His mouth opened.
Nothing came out.
Finally:
“Victoria?”
Clara looked toward the burning mansion.
“She left.”
His eyes found hers.
“With the attackers?”
“I don't know.”
“Where?”
“The east passage.”
“With Briggs?”
“Yes.”
“Why didn't she take the boys?”
Clara could not answer.
Not yet.
Damian looked at her face.
Then at her bleeding feet.
Then her burned forearm.
“What happened?”
“They poured something upstairs.”
“Clara.”
His voice hardened.
“Why didn't Victoria take them?”
She looked at Oliver.
No way to make this gentle.
“She said they would slow her down.”
Damian stopped moving.
Rain struck his face.
Clara continued because lies had already done enough damage.
“She said…”
Her voice failed.
“What?”
“She said you could have more children.”
Damian looked down at the six-month-old baby in his arms.
Something inside his face broke.
Then his security chief approached.
“Boss.”
Damian did not turn.
“We found Briggs at the dock. Injured.”
“Victoria?”
“Gone.”
“Attackers?”
“Some dead. Others gone.”
Then:
“There was also an incident in Boston.”
Damian looked up.
“What incident?”
“Vehicle tried forcing yours off I-93.”
Clara’s pulse slowed.
Boston failed.
The words from behind the wall.
Damian saw her expression.
“What?”
She hesitated.
“Inside the nursery…”
“Yes?”
“One of them said something.”
His entire attention moved to her.
“What?”
Clara looked at the burning house.
Then at his sons.
“He said Boston failed.”
Damian went still.
“And?”
“Mercer wanted proof the heirs were dead.”
No one moved.
Not Damian.
Not the security chief.
Not even the men behind him.
Finally Damian whispered:
“Mercer?”
“Yes.”
His security chief said:
“Adrian Mercer?”
Damian’s face turned cold.
Adrian Mercer.
CFO of Costello Holdings.
His father’s former adviser.
The man who had been beside Damian for nineteen years.
The man who had insisted Damian attend the Boston meeting that night.
Damian looked toward the house.
Then back at Clara.
“Did you hear anything else?”
“No.”
She hesitated.
Then remembered her pocket.
When crawling through the passage, her palm had landed on something hard.
She had shoved it into her apron without thinking.
Now she pulled it out.
A silver cufflink.
Lion’s head.
Damian took it.
His expression changed again.
“Where did you get this?”
“Inside the passage.”
His security chief swore.
Clara looked between them.
“What?”
Damian turned the cufflink over.
A tiny number had been engraved on the back.
04
He whispered:
“There are only six of these.”
“Who has them?”
Damian lifted his eyes.
“Members of my private security council.”
For the first time that night, Clara understood.
May you like
The attack had not broken into Costello Manor.
Part of it had been invited inside.
