Chapter 4 - The Gates of Westchester
The black Lincoln Continental moved silently through the midnight rain, its tires humming against the smooth asphalt of the Westchester expressway.
Ava sat in the back seat, her worn canvas duffel bag resting beside her on the hand-stitched leather. Up front, a thick-necked driver named Viktor drove with one hand on the wheel and his eyes constantly flicking to the rearview mirror.
Underneath her simple cotton sweater, tucked into the lining of her bra, was a microscopic, encrypted transponder provided by her handler, Supervisor Marcus Reed. It did not transmit audio—a transmitter would be detected instantly by the high-grade counter-surveillance gear Dominic maintained at his estate. It merely pinged a GPS coordinate once every six hours to confirm she was still alive.
The car turned off the main highway, navigating a series of winding, unlit country roads before coming to a stop in front of two massive wrought-iron gates set into a twelve-foot stone wall.
Security cameras mounted on steel posts hummed as they turned toward the vehicle. A guard in a tactical vest stepped out of a stone lodge, checked Viktor’s face, scanned the underside of the car with a mirror, and waved them through.
The iron gates swung open with a heavy, hydraulic hiss.
The Russo estate opened up before them like a grand, dark fortress. Manicured lawns stretched into the gloom, framed by ancient oak trees and silver fountains. In the center sat a sprawling French-style chateau built of gray limestone, its slate roofs gleaming under the moonlight.
The car stopped under the wide stone portico. Viktor opened the door for her.
"Inside," Viktor grunted, his voice like gravel. "Mrs. Gable is waiting."
Ava stepped out into the damp night air, gripping the strap of her canvas bag. She walked through the heavy double oak doors into a grand foyer lined with white marble, crystal chandeliers, and oil paintings of stormy seas.
An elderly woman in a dark gray dress stood at the foot of a sweeping spiral staircase. Her hair was pulled into a tight gray bun, her expression carved from cold granite.
"Miss Collins," the woman said, her voice dry and precise. "I am Mrs. Gable, the head housekeeper. Mr. Russo has informed me of your arrival."
"Good evening, Mrs. Gable," Ava said politely.
"Your duties begin at six in the morning," Mrs. Gable said, turning on her heel and leading Ava up the staircase. "You will sleep in the room adjacent to Young Master Eli’s suite on the third floor. You will not enter Mr. Russo’s private study on the second floor under any circumstances. You will not wander the grounds after nine in the evening. You will not carry a personal cell phone on the premises."
"No cell phone?" Ava asked, keeping her tone light and slightly confused. "How am I supposed to talk to my family?"
Mrs. Gable stopped on the landing, turning her cold gray eyes upon Ava. "All landline calls are routed through the main security office. If your family needs you, they may call the main lodge. Security is paramount here, Miss Collins. If you find these rules inconvenient, Viktor can drive you back to Queens immediately."
"No," Ava said quickly, forcing a small, timid smile. "I understand. I'm just not used to... all of this."
Mrs. Gable gave a stiff nod, satisfied with the response, and continued down the carpeted hallway. She opened a door at the far end, revealing a spacious, beautifully decorated bedroom with a queen-sized bed, a private bathroom, and a large window overlooking the rear gardens.
"Master Eli’s room is through that connecting door," Mrs. Gable pointed to a heavy wooden door. "He is currently sleeping. Do not wake him. Breakfast is served in the nursery at seven. Good night, Miss Collins."
The head housekeeper walked out, closing the hallway door behind her with a sharp, heavy click.
Ava stood alone in the dark room.
She waited five full minutes, listening to the silence of the house. Then, moving with silent, athletic grace, she approached the connecting door to Eli’s room. She turned the brass handle slowly, easing the door open an inch.
The nursery was soft and warm. A small nightlight cast blue shadows across the walls, which were painted with stars and constellations.
In the center of the room sat a white canopy bed.
Eli lay curled on his side beneath a heavy duvet, his dark hair messy against the pillow. His small hands were tucked under his chin, his breathing slow and even.
On the floor beside his bed lay a notebook and a set of colored pencils.
Ava crept silently across the carpet, kneeling beside the bed. She looked down at the open notebook.
Eli had drawn a picture.
It showed a large, dark house surrounded by high black fences. In the middle of the house sat a small figure drawn in blue crayon, holding a broken glass. And beside the small figure, drawn in red, was a woman with her hands raised in the air, speaking with silver stars coming out of her fingers.
Ava felt her breath catch in her throat.
She reached out, gently pulling the heavy duvet higher over the boy's shoulders.
As she did, Eli moved slightly in his sleep. His eyelids fluttered open.
He saw her kneeling in the blue darkness beside his bed. He didn't scream. He didn't reach for his father. He simply lifted one small, sleepy hand from beneath the duvet and brought his thumb to his forehead, extending his fingers in a slow, trusting gesture.
Father? no.
Friend.
Ava signed back softly into the quiet darkness of the night.
Friend. Go to sleep, little star.
Eli closed his eyes, a tiny sigh escaping his lips, and drifted back into deep, peaceful slumber.
May you like
Ava stood up slowly, her heart heavy with a dangerous, unfamiliar emotion. She was an FBI agent on a critical national security mission. Her objective was to gather evidence to dismantle the man who owned this house.
But as she looked at the sleeping boy, Ava realized her mission had just become infinitely more complicated.
