Chapter 6 - The Terms of Engagement
That evening, Mave did not go home after her mother’s clinic visit.
She took the late-night bus straight to the main administrative building of the Boston Maritime Union—a heavy, three-story granite fortress overlooking the commercial docks.
The building was supposed to be closed, but the third-floor windows were ablaze with yellow light.
Mave walked right past the sleeping night guard at the front desk, climbed the wide marble staircase, and pushed open the heavy oak double doors of the president’s office without knocking.
Declan Gallagher was sitting behind a massive mahogany desk covered in shipping manifests, labor contracts, and legal documents. Colin was standing by the window, a radio in his hand.
Declan looked up, his dark eyebrows rising in surprise as Mave stepped into the room, her coat dripping wet from the evening snow.
“Colin,” Declan said quietly. “Leave us.”
Colin hesitated for a fraction of a second, then nodded, slipping past Mave and closing the heavy oak doors tightly behind him.
Mave walked straight up to the mahogany desk, pulled the thick manila envelope from her coat pocket, and slammed it down on top of his shipping manifests.
“Jimmy Vance approached me at Pier 7 today,” she said, her voice shaking with adrenaline.
Declan’s entire body went rigid. His gray eyes turned into shards of ice.
“Did he touch you?” Declan asked, his voice dropping into a register so dark it made the glass windows rattle in their frames.
“No,” Mave said. “Because Colin was hiding behind a container. But that isn't the point, Declan.”
She put her hands on the edge of his desk, leaning over his papers.
“Vance thinks I’m your weakness,” she said. “He thinks I’m some helpless little victim you’re keeping in a velvet cage to satisfy your ego. And as long as you keep putting armed men outside my house without my permission, he’s right!”
Declan stood up. He towered over her, his broad shoulders casting a massive shadow across the mahogany desk.
“Vance is a dog,” Declan growled. “He’s testing my perimeter. If I pull Colin back, Vance will think I’m weak, and he will take you to force a concession on Pier 4!”
“Then let me help you break his teeth!” Mave shouted back.
The sentence hung in the vast oak room, echoing off the high ceilings.
Declan froze. He stared at her as if she had suddenly spoken in an unknown language.
“What did you say?” he asked softly.
“You’ve been treating this like a military operation where you own the asset,” Mave said, taking a deep, shuddering breath to steady her lungs. “You want to protect me? Then stop treating me like cargo and start treating me like a partner.”
Declan slowly sat back down in his heavy leather chair. He rested his chin on his steepled fingers, his gray eyes analyzing her face with intense, terrifying precision.
“A partner,” he repeated slowly.
“Yes,” Mave said. “Vance wants to prove you’re soft. He wants to drag me into his little war to humiliate you. So let’s give him what he wants—on our terms.”
Declan’s eyes narrowed. “Go on.”
“Vance knows I work the late shift at the Copper Anchor on Thursdays,” Mave said, her voice becoming steady, cold, and entirely focused. “He knows I walk home alone along Commercial Street. If Colin isn't there, Vance will try to grab me.”
“Absolutely not,” Declan barked, slamming his hand onto the desk. “I am not using you as bait.”
“I’m already bait, Declan!” she yelled back. “Because of your reputation! Because of your dog! Because your whole life is built on violence and fear! The only choice I have left is whether I sit in my apartment waiting to be grabbed, or whether I stand on that street corner and help you put him in the ground!”
Declan stared at her. His chest rose and fell in heavy, rhythmic cycles.
For ten minutes, neither of them spoke. The clock on the wall ticked loudly in the quiet room.
Finally, Declan reached out his hand, picked up the thick manila envelope containing the five thousand dollars, and slid it into his desk drawer.
“If we do this,” Declan said, his voice dropping into an absolute, binding promise, “you follow my instructions to the letter. You do not step out of line. You do not try to be a hero.”
Mave met his gaze without an inch of compromise.
“Only if you promise that when this is over, you pull Colin off my street and never pay a bill of mine without my written consent.”
Declan looked at her for five long seconds.
Then he extended his large, calloused hand across the mahogany desk.
May you like
“Deal,” he said.
Mave reached out her small, red-chapped hand and shook it.
