Chapter 1 - The Shattered Glass and the Steel LineThe sound of the heavy steel baton striking Maeve’s left shoulder was a dull, sickening crack that cut through the soft ambient jazz of the restaurant.
Pain didn't flood her mind immediately. It arrived as a blinding white flash that took her breath away, radiating down her arm and turning her fingers numb instantly. But Cecily was down—tumbling off the silk-cushioned chair and onto the carpeted floor, her pale blue dress fanning out around her, completely untouched.
The man’s eyes widened behind his wire-rimmed glasses—not with fear, but with sheer, enraged surprise. He pulled the weapon back to strike again, his eyes locking on Cecily, who was staring up from the floor with wide, terrified eyes.
"No," Maeve choked out.
She didn't run. She didn't drop to the floor to protect herself. With her good right hand, she grabbed a heavy crystal water carafe from the service cart beside her and slammed it directly into the side of the attacker’s jaw.
The glass shattered into a hundred sparkling fragments. Water and blood sprayed across the white linen tablecloth of table four.
The man stumbled backward, his hands flying to his face as he let out a guttural roar.
By the time he recovered his balance, the room had exploded into motion.
Two of Rafe Colazzo’s bodyguards—men who had been standing near the entrance—crossed the dining room with terrifying speed. One tackled the attacker through an empty table, sending mahogany chairs crashing into the carpet, while the other pinned the man’s arms behind his back with a sharp, sickening crunch of bone.
Panic rippled across the restaurant. Guests shrieked, knocking over wine glasses as they rushed toward the street exit. Gerald Moss stood frozen behind the bar, his face as white as a napkin, his mouth opening and closing like a landed fish.
Maeve didn't hear any of it. The room seemed to recede into a long, echoing tunnel. Her left shoulder felt as though it were filled with molten glass. She swayed where she stood, her vision swimming with dark spots, her knees buckling beneath her.
Before her body could hit the floor, a pair of strong, calloused hands caught her by the waist.
"I’ve got you," a deep, raspy voice spoke right beside her ear.
Maeve blinked through the haze. Rafe Colazzo was kneeling on the carpet, supporting her weight with one arm while his other hand gently touched the side of her neck, checking her pulse. His face was a mask of cold, lethal stone, but his dark hazel eyes held an intensity that made Maeve’s chest tighten.
"Cecily..." Maeve rasped, her voice barely a whisper against the roaring in her ears. "Is she... okay?"
Rafe glanced over his shoulder. Cecily was already on her feet, being shielded by two more guards, trembling violently but completely unharmed.
"She’s untouched," Rafe said, turning his gaze back down to Maeve. His voice dropped into a low, rumbling tone that carried an unbelievable weight. "Because you took the blow meant for her."
"Good," Maeve murmured.
Her hand slid from her apron, and the small, folded photograph of her nine-year-old brother Finn slipped from her pocket, fluttering down onto the wet carpet between them.
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Rafe’s eyes caught the photograph—a smiling boy wearing a faded baseball cap, standing outside a hospital wing.
Before Maeve could reach for it, her vision went completely black, and her head fell back against Rafe’s shoulder.
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