Chapter 7 - Shadows at the Service Gate
The storm broke fully by midnight, driving sheets of freezing rain against the high arched windows of the Ferrante estate. I lay awake in the quiet guest suite on the second floor, the wind howling across the stone balustrades like a distant warning. Sleep refused to come. The memory of Mr. Vance's venomous parting glare clung to my mind, mixing with the phantom aches of my swollen abdomen and the heavy exhaustion that weighed down my bones.
A sudden, sharp disturbance downstairs shattered the silence of the night. It wasn't the creak of old timber or the whistling of the draft. It was the low, vibrating growl of a Neapolitan Mastiff, followed by the heavy thud of boots on the service stairwell.
I sat up instantly, pulling the wool blanket tight around my shoulders. The door swung open before I could call out. Bruno stood framed in the dim hallway light, his massive black coat glistening with dampness, his silver metal chain collar clinking sharply as he bared his teeth toward the dark stair landing. Behind the dog, Veto appeared, moving with silent, lethal speed. He had discarded his overcoat, wearing only a dark vest over his dress shirt, the sleeves rolled up to reveal forearms corded with muscle. A heavy steel-framed revolver was tucked securely into his waistband.
"Get up, Willow," Veto said, his voice urgent but entirely controlled. "Someone tried to force the rear service gate. Vance's associates didn't wait for morning."
Panic seized my throat, but looking at Veto's calm, unyielding stance cut through the terror. I swung my legs over the edge of the mattress, my bare feet touching the cold hardwood floor. "Where are we going?"
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"Not here," Veto replied, striding across the room and grabbing a heavy wool cloak from the wardrobe, draping it over my shoulders with practiced care. "My master wing is fortified with private security and a secondary exit. You're moving where I can watch you every second."
Bruno stepped backward into the room, keeping himself squarely between the door and the bed, his dark eyes locked on the shadows of the corridor. Veto offered his hand, and without a second thought, I placed my palm in his. His grip was iron-tight, pulling me out of the vulnerable guest room and into the impenetrable safety of the estate's inner sanctum.
