Chapter 6 - Dining with the DonThe dinner was not what Mila expected.
She had braced herself for a sterile, intimidating lecture across a ten-foot-long mahogany table where they would sit like rival diplomats signing a treaty. Instead, Victor Vance had ordered upscale, ridiculously comforting food—ironically, a gourmet slow-braised beef short rib that smelled so divine Mila’s soul nearly left her body.
Sitting regally at the head of the table on a custom velvet cushion was Brutus. The dog wore a red silk bow tie for the occasion.
"I have to ask," Mila said, cutting into the tender meat that practically melted on her fork. "Why? Why did your dog specifically target my slow cooker? Out of all the houses on this block, why mine?"
Victor took a sip of his red wine, his eyes glinting in the candlelight.
"Brutus is a connoisseur of stress," Victor said quietly.
Mila paused, her fork halfway to her mouth. "Excuse me?"
"Brutus used to be a therapy dog for high-stress corporate executives before I retired him to live with me," Victor explained, watching her closely. "He has an uncanny radar for people carrying an unbearable weight. When you moved in three months ago, he sat by the fence for three days straight just watching your windows."
Mila felt a strange, tight knot form in her throat. She looked down at her plate.
"He knew you were burning yourself out," Victor continued, his voice softening, losing its sharp corporate edge. "Twelve-hour shifts, financial strain, running on fumes. He figured the only way to get you to stop, even for five minutes, was to force a confrontation. He’s an operative, Miss Hayes. He created a crisis so you’d finally look up."
The silence in the dining room grew thick, heavy with an unexpected intimacy. Mila looked at Victor, really studying the lines around his eyes—lines that spoke of a man who also knew what it meant to carry too much weight, even if his was measured in billions rather than bills.
And then, breaking the heavy tension entirely, Brutus let out a loud, wet snort, dropped his head back onto his velvet cushion, and began to softly snore.
May you like
Mila burst out laughing. The sound was bright, genuine, and startlingly foreign to her own ears. It was the first real laugh she had laughed in months.
Victor joined in, a warm, genuine smile breaking across his face. "See? Even the Don approves of your sense of humor."
