Chapter 6 - The Unspoken Bond
The aftermath of the midnight attack turned the estate into an active war zone.
By 4:00 a.m., Marco and the enforcers had dragged the two surviving infiltrators down to the reinforced basement beneath the garage for interrogation. The estate’s security detail was doubled, with armed men patrolling every fifty yards along the perimeter wall.
Inside the main house library, a fire crackled in the massive stone fireplace.
Mave sat in a deep leather armchair, a warm mug of black coffee held between her hands. Brutus was sprawled across the Persian rug at her feet, his heavy head resting comfortably on her boot.
Gallagher stood by the floor-to-ceiling windows, staring out at the floodlit gardens. He had poured himself two fingers of dark amber whiskey, but he hadn't touched it.
"They were sent by Salvatore Rossi," Gallagher said softly, breaking the long silence.
"The man with the ponytail from the restaurant?" Mave asked.
"His boss," Gallagher corrected, turning to face her. "Rossi controls the northern docks. He's been trying to push into my territory for six months. He thought if he took out my security grid tonight, he could catch me sleeping."
He walked over to the fireplace, leaning his elbow against the heavy oak mantlepiece, looking down at her.
"If you hadn't been out there, Mave, they would have succeeded. They had thermal snipers waiting on the ridge."
Mave took a slow sip of her coffee, feeling the heat spread through her chest. "I didn't do it for your territory, Gallagher. I did it because Brutus was restless, and I don't like people creeping around where I sleep."
Gallagher let out a low, rough laugh—a real laugh this time. It changed his entire face, softening the harsh, broken contours of his features and revealing a warmth that had been buried under years of violence.
"You're a terrifying woman, Mave Vance," Gallagher said, his gray eyes locking onto hers with unmistakable intensity. "Most people would be halfway to the airport right now."
"I told you," Mave said, looking back into his eyes without flinching. "I don't run easily."
For a long moment, the room was silent except for the crackle of the wood fire. The atmosphere between them shifted, growing thick with a sudden, unspoken static that had nothing to do with mob wars or security grids.
Gallagher took a step closer, stopping right beside her chair. He reached down, his broad, calloused hand hovering near her cheek before his knuckles gently brushed against a stray lock of dark hair that had fallen across her forehead.
His touch was surprisingly soft—reverent, almost—contrasting wildly with the lethal reputation he carried.
"You don't belong in this mud, Mave," he murmured softly. "I brought you here to keep my dog calm, but every time I look at you, I wonder why a woman like you is willing to stand in the fire with a man like me."
Mave’s breath hitched. She didn't pull away from his touch.
"Maybe I'm tired of running from the fire," she whispered.
Before Gallagher could respond, the heavy mahogany doors of the library burst open.
Marco stepped into the room, his face dark, holding a blood-stained cell phone.
"Boss," Marco said grimly. "We cracked the infiltrator's phone. Rossi didn't just target the estate."
Gallagher snapped his hand back, his posture instantly hardening into iron. "What did he do?"
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"Rossi sent a crew downtown two hours ago," Marco revealed, his voice laced with dread as he looked directly at Mave. "They just bought out the mortgage on the care facility where Miss Vance's mother is staying."
Mave’s coffee mug slipped from her fingers, shattering against the stone hearth.
