Chapter 4 - The Estate Gates
By 3:00 p.m. the following afternoon, Mave stood in front of two massive wrought-iron gates set into a high stone wall on the outskirts of the city.
She had spent the morning at the care facility, watching her mother struggle to recognize her through the haze of advanced neurological illness. The head administrator had casually mentioned that the facility's rates were increasing by fifteen percent next month.
That had made her decision for her.
The iron gates groaned open automatically as Mave approached. A sleek black SUV was waiting inside the driveway, and the driver—a broad-shouldered man with a scar over his eyebrow whom Mave recognized from the restaurant—stepped out to open the passenger door for her.
"Miss Vance," the driver said, his tone surprisingly respectful. "I'm Marco. Mr. Gallagher is waiting for you at the main house."
Mave climbed inside, clutching her battered canvas duffel bag. The drive up the winding estate driveway revealed thirty acres of pristine, heavily guarded property. Thick forests surrounded the perimeter, and high-tech security cameras blinked from the trees.
The main house was a grand, stone manor built like a fortress, blending dark classical architecture with modern security reinforcements.
When the SUV pulled up to the front entrance, Gallagher was standing on the wide stone porch. He was dressed far more casually than at the restaurant—wearing a heavy charcoal wool sweater, dark jeans, and boots.
Beside him sat Brutus.
The moment Mave stepped out of the vehicle, the giant Cane Corso mix perked his ears. His heavy tail began to thump against the stone porch with a low, rhythmic sound.
"He recognized your scent," Gallagher said, walking down the steps to meet her.
Brutus trotted forward, pushing his massive cinder-block head directly against Mave's waist, letting out a soft, low huff. Mave couldn't help the slight smile that touched her lips. She reached down, scratching the hard, muscular space behind the dog's ears.
"He's calmer today," Mave observed, looking up at Gallagher.
"Because he's not surrounded by armed paranoia," Gallagher replied quietly. He looked at the duffel bag in her hand. "Does this mean you're accepting the offer?"
"Under three conditions," Mave said firmly, stepping back to look him dead in the eye. "First, my mother's facility bills are paid directly by your accounting department on the first of every month. Second, I have complete authority over Brutus's care, diet, and training—nobody hits him, nobody uses shock collars, and nobody uses him as an attack weapon."
Gallagher listened intently, his gray eyes unblinking. "And third?"
"Third," Mave continued, "if your mob war spills over into my quarters, I walk. No questions asked."
Gallagher stared at her for a long second, then extended his large, rough hand. "Agreed."
Mave shook his hand. His grip was firm, warm, and sent a strange, unexpected spark of static up her arm.
"Marco will show you to your quarters," Gallagher said, turning toward the house. "The kennels are attached to the east wing. Take today to settle in. We start tomorrow."
Mave’s quarters were beyond anything she could have anticipated. Located above the renovated carriage house near the eastern gardens, it was a spacious, fully furnished apartment with high hardwood ceilings, a private kitchen, and large windows that overlooked the pine forests surrounding the estate.
For the first time in four years, Mave slept in a bed that didn't have squeaking springs, in a room where she didn't have to listen to police sirens echoing down the alleyway.
However, the peace was short-lived.
At 2:00 a.m., Mave was awakened by a strange, unnatural sound echoing through the quiet estate grounds.
It wasn't a dog barking.
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It was the muffled, metallic sound of heavy machinery moving near the perimeter woods, followed by the distant, sharp snap of a dry branch breaking directly beneath her window.
Mave sat up instantly in the dark, her shelter instincts screaming that something was fundamentally wrong.
