Chapter 2 - The Fortress on the Cliff
At exactly 3:55 p.m. the following day, a long, armored black Maybach pulled up to the curb outside Callahan's pub.
Josie stood on the sidewalk, wearing her best black wool sweater and a simple coat. She had spent the entire night tossing and turning in her tiny Dorchester apartment, staring at the ceiling, holding her brother's hand as he slept through his fever. When she had called the hospital billing office that morning, the head administrator had practically sobbed through the receiver, informing her that an anonymous trust had paid off her $94,000 balance in full and transferred $250,000 into a dedicated escrow account for Liam's upcoming surgery.
The debt was paid before she had even made her decision. Constantine Voss had held up his end of the bargain without waiting for her consent.
The Maybach door glided open automatically. Inside sat the towering, shaved-headed bodyguard from the night before. He offered a surprisingly polite, crisp nod.
"Miss Morrow. I am Viktor, Chief of Security for Lord Voss. Please, step inside."
Josie took a deep breath, clutching her handbag tightly, and stepped into the plush leather interior. The doors sealed shut with a heavy, vacuum-tight thud that completely erased the roaring noise of Boston traffic.
They drove north for forty-five minutes, leaving the cluttered streets of the city behind, winding through the dense, snow-dusted pine forests along the Atlantic coast. The car eventually turned onto an unmarked private coastal road, passing through three separate electronic security gates flanked by armed men in tactical gear.
At the edge of a rocky cliff overlooking the churning black waves of the Atlantic Ocean stood the Voss Estate.
It was a staggering fortress of dark granite, glass, and iron, looking both like an ancient European castle and a modern impenetrable stronghold. The wind whipped violently off the ocean, spraying fine sea mist across the stone driveway as the Maybach came to a smooth halt beneath the grand portico.
Viktor opened her door, holding a heavy black umbrella over her head as he escorted her through the massive bronze double doors into the grand foyer.
The interior was magnificent yet eerily quiet. Soaring marble pillars supported a arched ceiling hung with crystal chandeliers, but the grand hall felt empty, cold, and heavy with unspoken grief.
"Miss Morrow!"
A tiny voice echoed down the sweeping marble staircase.
Josie looked up. Standing on the landing, wearing a soft pink cashmere sweater and holding a velvet rabbit by its long ear, was Mila. For the first time in nine weeks, her tiny face wasn't completely blank. Her dark eyes sparkled as she practically flew down the stairs, her polished shoes clicking against the marble.
"Mila! Careful on the steps, sweetheart!" Josie gasped, dropping her handbag and dropping to her knees at the bottom of the staircase just in time to catch the little girl as she threw her small arms around Josie's neck!
The force of the hug almost knocked Josie backward. Mila pressed her face tightly into the nook of Josie's neck, breathing in the familiar scent of soap and warm vanilla.
"You came," Mila whispered. Her voice was still raspy and unused, but clear as a bell. "Papa said you wouldn't... but I knew you would."
"Of course I came, little star," Josie choked out, holding the child close, feeling her small heart beating steady and fast against her chest. "I'll always come when you call."
From the upper balcony overlooking the foyer, Constantine Voss stood in the shadows, his hands folded behind his back. He watched his daughter holding the young woman from Dorchester, his expression unreadable, though a muscle in his jaw flexed with profound, hidden emotion.
"It seems my intelligence was flawed," Constantine’s voice rang down from the balcony as he descended the stairs with effortless, predator-like grace. "My advisers told me she would never speak again. Yet she has spoken more words to you in twenty-four hours than she has spoken to me in eight months."
Josie stood up, keeping one hand resting gently on Mila’s small shoulder. "Children don't talk when they feel surrounded by walls, Mr. Voss. They talk when they feel safe."
Constantine stopped three steps above them, looking down into Josie's fierce, brown eyes. "Then help me tear down her walls, Josie. Stay here at the estate. Be her governess, her guardian... her companion. Name your salary."
Before Josie could answer, the heavy double doors of the mansion were kicked open with a thunderous BANG!
A cold blast of wind and rain rushed into the foyer as a tall, middle-aged man in a sharp Italian suit stepped inside, flanked by three men holding automatic weapons!
It was Don Vincent Moretti—the ruthless leader of the South End mafia and Constantine’s fiercest rival in the New England underworld.
"Constantine!" Moretti roared, his voice dripping with arrogance and venom. "You took my shipment in the harbor last night! You thought I wouldn't track it back to this rock?!"
Instantly, Viktor and six Voss guards drew their sidearms, forming a human wall between Moretti’s men and the staircase where Constantine, Josie, and Mila stood!
Constantine didn't draw a weapon. He slowly stepped down to the marble floor, shielding Josie and Mila behind his tall frame, his eyes turning into absolute zero ice.
"Vincent," Constantine said softly, his tone terrifyingly quiet. "You have broken the sacred truce by bringing weapons into my home where my child sleeps."
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"Truce?!" Moretti sneered, pointing his gold-plated pistol directly at Constantine’s chest. "You killed two of my capos! You took my territory! The council of families has decided your reign in Boston is over!"
In a flash of blinding movement, Constantine moved!
