Chapter 4 - The First Lesson in Respect"First of all," I said, turning to face Moretti as he stopped a few feet away, "he doesn't have bad manners because he’s disobedient. He has bad manners because you’ve taught him that the world is a threat he has to manage himself."
Moretti raised an eyebrow. "I built an empire, Ms. Vance. I manage my own threats."
"And your dog thinks he’s running perimeter security for the whole block," I replied, pulling a handful of high-value training liver treats from my pocket. I looked down at Titan, who was watching my hand with intense, laser-like focus. "Watch this."
I took two steps backward and gave a sharp, single-syllable command: "Place."
Titan didn't move. He looked at me, then at Moretti, his muscles bunching. In his previous life, commands were probably shouted over gunfire or barked by guards holding choke chains.
"He doesn't understand conversational authority," Moretti noted quietly.
"He understands it just fine. He just doesn't respect yours yet," I said, looking right at Moretti.
Moretti’s expression didn't change, but a faint, dangerous glint appeared in his slate eyes. "My authority?"
"You leave him alone for days, you let him roam when your gate latch gets loose, and you let your guys handle him with brute force. To a Cane Corso, inconsistency is weakness. And if the pack leader is weak, the dog has to step up." I turned back to Titan, dropping my voice an octave, steady and absolute. "Sit. Stay."
This time, I didn't move. I held my hand out, palm flat, creating an invisible wall between us. Titan shifted his weight, let out a low, frustrated huff, and slowly—reluctantly—slid his massive hindquarters onto the manicured grass.
"Good," I said, immediately marking the behavior with a crisp Yes! and tossing him a treat.
Moretti watched the interaction with absolute stillness. "You speak to him like an equal."
"I speak to him like an animal who deserves clarity," I corrected. "Dogs don't understand politics, Mr. Moretti. They don't understand money, and they don't care who you are on West Division Street. They understand rules. And right now, you're the worst offender in this house."
Moretti crossed his arms over his cashmere sweater. "Is that so?"
"Tomorrow, we work on threshold control," I said, packing my treats away and picking up my bag. "And you’re going to be the one holding the leash."
May you like
Moretti didn't flinch. Instead, a slow, predatory smile touched the corners of his mouth. "I haven't taken orders from anyone in twenty years, Ms. Vance."
"Then consider this your first promotion," I said, turning toward the waiting town car. "See you Thursday at three."
