Chapter 2 - THE CRACK IN THE EMPIRE"Dante, darling," Libby purred, stepping forward with a confidence born of a lifetime of never being told no. She reached out to touch his lapel, her diamond engagement ring flashing under the chandelier. "It's just a stray. Dylan can have his men buy you a pedigree puppy tomorrow, something clean. Let's not ruin our celebration over a—"
Dante caught her wrist.
It wasn't a violent motion, but the sickening pop of shifting cartilage told the room everything they needed to know. Libby gasped, her face instantly draining of makeup-enhanced color.
"That dog," Dante said, his voice dropping an octave lower, turning the air in the room to ice, "is worth more than your father's judgeship, your fiancé's entire real estate portfolio, and every dress hanging in your walk-in closet combined."
Dylan rushed forward, his face flushed with wounded pride and sheer terror. "Now hold on just a damn minute, Vance! That’s my fiancée you’re—"
Dante didn't even turn his head. With his left hand, he snapped his fingers twice.
From the shadows of the hallway behind the dining room, four men materialized in identical dark suits. They weren't restaurant security; they were ghosts from Dante’s inner circle, men carrying sidearms and bad intentions.
"Lock the doors," Dante ordered quietly. "Nobody leaves. If anyone takes out a cell phone, break their fingers."
Panic erupted instantly. A city councilman tried to slide toward the exit, only to find the massive frame of Viktor—Dante’s primary enforcer—blocking the mahogany doors like a brick wall.
"Dante, please!" Libby sobbed, clutching her bruised wrist against her chest, the arrogant socialite completely gone, replaced by a terrified girl realizing she had stepped off the edge of a cliff. "I didn't know! How was I supposed to know it was your dog?!"
"That," Dante replied, turning his back on her completely and kneeling back down beside Molly, "is exactly the problem. You only care who owns something if the owner can hurt you."
He looked down at Molly, whose hands were still locked gently around Caesar's massive paws. The mastiff let out a low, grateful whine, recognizing the voice of his master.
"Can you stand, Molly?" Dante asked, his tone shifting from lethal ice to something startlingly gentle.
May you like
"Yes," Molly whispered, wiping a streak of dirt and tears from her cheek.
"Good." Dante looked up at Viktor. "Get the veterinary team into the VIP suite upstairs immediately. And bring the girl a clean jacket. She’s done working at this shithole."
