Chapter 8 - The Syndicate's InvitationTwo weeks later, my little shelter received an anonymous delivery.
It wasn't a check or a bag of donated kibble. It was a commercial-grade HVAC heating unit and a brand-new set of fluorescent light fixtures, installed by a team of electricians who refused to take payment, muttering something about "Mr. Moretti’s community outreach program" before packing up their vans and disappearing into the Chicago traffic.
Jenny stood in the middle of the shelter office, staring up at the humming, bright lights overhead. "Elena... I think your rich dog owner is trying to buy the city council."
"He's just paying his bills," I said, though I couldn't keep the small smile off my face.
That afternoon, the black town car was waiting outside my apartment building instead of the shelter. When I opened the door, Moretti was sitting in the back seat, reading a leather-bound ledger. He didn't look up until the door clicked shut.
"We're not going to the estate today," Moretti said, closing the ledger.
"Where are we going?"
"Dinner," he said simply. "A public place. Somewhere with terrible lighting and worse food, so you can see that I don't just live behind iron gates."
I looked at him, taking in the sharp cut of his suit and the calm authority in his posture. "Are you asking me out, Dante, or are you hiring me as your permanent behavioral consultant?"
Moretti looked at me for a long moment, the corner of his mouth twitching upward. "Let's call it a probationary trial period. Just like Titan."
"And if I say no?"
May you like
"Then I'll have to let Titan loose in your lobby," Moretti said smoothly. "And he really does have much better manners now."
I laughed, leaning back against the leather seat as the car pulled away from the curb. "Alright, Mr. Moretti. Show me your manners."
