Chapter 4 - The Ledger of the Docks
The back office of the Copper Anchor had been converted into an impromptu command post by 3:00 AM.
While Mave tended to her mother in the apartment upstairs—administering the newly delivered insulin and assuring her that the noise outside had merely been a dropped crate—Declan Gallagher sat beneath the amber desk lamp, studying a handwritten ledger that had belonged to his father twenty years ago.
Colin stood by the door, nursing a cup of black coffee.
"Vance is mobilizing," Colin reported. "His contacts at the municipal rail yard are shifting containers tonight. He’s trying to clear out his inventory before the federal audit hits next week."
"He’s desperate," Declan said without looking up from the ledger. "A desperate man makes tactical errors. We’re going to hit his distribution warehouse on 9th Street at dawn. I want every crate impounded and every accountant he employs brought to me for a conversation."
"And Mave?" Colin asked, his tone cautious.
Declan’s pen stopped moving across the paper. The ink bled into the grain of the cheap pulp.
"She stays here," Declan said quietly. "Or she leaves the city entirely until this is settled. I’ve arranged for a private car to take her and her family to the lake house in Wisconsin for a week."
Colin raised an eyebrow. "You think she’ll go? You saw her, Boss. She treats charity like an insult. If you offer her a free vacation to a luxury cabin, she’ll probably throw a frying pan at your head."
"She won't have a choice," Declan said firmly. "Vance knows where she lives now. The apartment is compromised."
"Boss," Colin said, his voice dropping lower. "You’re making it personal. In our line of work, the second you let the opposition know a civilian matters to you, you hand them a loaded gun with your name on the handle."
Declan slowly raised his head, his pale gray eyes locking onto Colin’s scarred face with a cold, absolute intensity.
"It was personal the second Vance stepped foot in her building," Declan said, every word weighted with lethal clarity. "The war was coming to my docks regardless. The only difference now is that I have a very specific reason to make sure Victor Vance doesn't survive it."
Before Colin could reply, the heavy wooden door of the office swung open.
Mave stood in the doorway.
She had changed out of her restaurant uniform into a simple gray sweater and dark jeans. Her dark hair was loose, falling around her shoulders, and her eyes were sharp, alert, and entirely unimpressed by the tactical summit taking place in front of her.
"I heard you talking through the floorboards," Mave said, crossing her arms over her chest as she leaned against the doorframe. "A lake house in Wisconsin? Are you out of your mind?"
Declan stood up from the desk, towering over the small room. "Your apartment is no longer secure, Mave. Vance knows where you live. He sent a message tonight, and next time he won't come alone."
"And running away to a cabin in the woods solves that?" she challenged, stepping into the room. "What happens when I come back? Do I live the rest of my life looking over my shoulder every time a black car drives down my street?"
"You won't have to," Declan said, his voice hard as iron. "Because by the time you return, Victor Vance will no longer be operating in this city."
Mave stared at him, seeing the terrifying, immovable resolve of a man who ruled the underworld not by luck, but by absolute destruction.
"You're going to start a bloodbath," she whispered.
"Vance started it when he put his hands on you," Declan replied without an ounce of hesitation.
Mave’s breath hitched. She walked closer to the desk, looking up into his stark, uncompromising face. For weeks, she had fought against him, rejected his money, pushed away his security, and demanded that he treat her like an independent adult. But looking at him now—a man willing to tear down an entire criminal empire because someone had threatened a waitress—she realized the terrifying truth.
He wasn't trying to own her.
He was simply incapable of walking away from someone worth protecting.
"If I go to Wisconsin," Mave said quietly, her voice softening, "you promise me my brother and mother are safe?"
"They go with you," Declan answered instantly. "Colin will drive them himself. They’ll have armed protection twenty-four hours a day until I bring you back."
Mave searched his eyes for any sign of manipulation, any trace of the ruthless mob boss the city whispered about in fearful tones. She found only raw, absolute devotion disguised as tactical necessity.
"Okay," she whispered. "I'll go."
May you like
Declan let out a breath he didn't realize he’d been holding. He reached across the desk, his large, warm hand tentatively resting against her cheek, his thumb brushing over her cheekbone with a tenderness that defied every rule of his brutal existence.
"Good," Declan murmured. "Because if anything happened to you, Mave... there wouldn't be enough of Chicago left to rebuild."
