Chapter 2 - The Summons to the Black SUVThe morning sun over Manhattan was bright, but the chill in the air felt like ice water when Arthur pulled me into his cramped office behind the pantry. The digital clock on his desk read 8:15 AM. My shift didn't start for another hour, but Arthur had called me frantically at dawn, begging me to come in early.
"Olivia," Arthur stammered, pacing the small room like a trapped animal, wringing his hands so hard his knuckles were raw. "You don't understand who Dante Moretti is. He isn't just a wealthy businessman with a fancy dog. He owns half the real estate, shipping lines, and police precincts in this city. People cross him, and they simply vanish."
I crossed my arms, trying to keep my voice from shaking. "I didn't cross him, Arthur! I petted his dog! If his dog has separation anxiety, that's not my legal liability."
"He sent his men," Arthur whispered, his voice dropping to a terrified squeak as he pointed out the frosted glass window toward the curb.
A sleek, bulletproof black Cadillac Escalade sat idling curbside. Two men in sharp charcoal suits stood beside the rear door, scanning the pedestrian traffic with cold, unblinking eyes.
"They've been parked out there since 6:00 AM," Arthur continued, his face white as paper. "And ten minutes ago, Moretti’s personal attorney called me. He didn't ask if you could come. He said you were coming. And if you run, they'll tear this restaurant down to its foundation."
My stomach plummeted. "This is insane. I have rent to pay. I have grocery bills. I can't just get kidnapped by the mafia because a German Shepherd liked my scratches!"
Before Arthur could answer, his landline phone rang. The shrill ringtone made us both jump. Arthur stared at the blinking light as if it were a venomous snake, slowly reaching out and lifting the receiver.
"Y-Yes? Arthur speaking..."
He listened for three agonizing seconds. The color completely vanished from his face.
"Yes, Mr. Moretti. She's... she's right here. We'll send her out immediately."
Arthur slowly hung up the phone, looking at me with eyes full of desperate apology. "Go, Olivia. Don't look back, don't talk back, and for God's sake, don't touch anything in that car."
Heart hammering against my ribs, I walked out of the restaurant kitchen and pushed open the heavy glass front doors. The crisp morning air hit my face, but my skin felt clammy and cold.
As I approached the black Escalade, the rear door swung open silently.
Inside, bathed in the dim, climate-controlled light of the luxury interior, sat Dante Moretti. He wore an unbuttoned black wool coat over a charcoal cashmere sweater, his dark hair neatly styled, his cold gray eyes fixed entirely on a leather-bound dossier resting open on his lap.
"Get in, Olivia," he said, not looking up.
"I have a shift to—"
"Your shift has been permanently bought out," Dante interrupted smoothly, his deep baritone leaving zero room for argument. "Get in the car before my security detail has to carry you."
Realizing I had exactly zero choices, I climbed inside and slid across the plush leather seat, putting as much distance between us as the cabin allowed. The heavy door clicked shut, sealing us off from the noisy Manhattan street.
Dante finally closed the dossier and turned his full, intense gaze onto me. The air in the vehicle suddenly felt thick, heavy with secrets.
"Do you know why Orion has never allowed a stranger to touch him, Olivia?" Dante asked softly, his fingers tracing the edge of the leather folder.
"Because he's a guard dog?" I offered nervously.
"Because," Dante replied, his gray eyes narrowing, "Orion was rescued from a dog-fighting ring in Queens seven years ago. He was beaten, caged, and left for dead. Every human he met after that day tried to hurt him. Until last night."
I swallowed hard, looking out the tinted window. "I... I'm glad I was nice to him, then."
"You weren't just nice to him," Dante said, leaning closer, his sharp features catching the morning light. "Orion hasn't slept a wink since we left the restaurant. He paced his pen, whining at the front door, refusing his raw steak. And when my private investigators ran your background check at midnight to see if you were a plant from a rival syndicate..."
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He paused, a dark, dangerous shadow crossing his face.
"...they found something in your medical and adoption files that isn't just unusual, Olivia. It's statistically, physically impossible."
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