Chapter 3 - THE VETERINARY SUITE AND THE INVITATIONThe VIP penthouse suite on the top floor of Blackwoods had been converted into a makeshift trauma center within ten minutes. High-end leather couches had been pushed back against the floral wallpaper to make room for medical monitors, intravenous drips, and surgical trays.
Caesar lay heavily on a thick, heated blanket, his breathing already growing stronger under the influence of an oxygen mask and heavy-duty painkillers administered by a private vet who had arrived via helicopter on the roof.
Molly sat on a velvet ottoman nearby, a warm cup of black tea cradled between her shaking hands. She wore an oversized cashmere sweater that one of Dante’s men had silently handed her in the hallway—it smelled faintly of cedar, expensive tobacco, and rain.
Dante stood by the floor-to-ceiling window, looking out over the glittering skyline of Harrow Falls. The city below looked peaceful, oblivious to the fact that half of its financial elite were currently trapped downstairs like rats in a maze, sweating bullets while his men audited their lives.
"He's going to make it," the veterinarian said, standing up and wiping his hands on a sterile towel. "Severe dehydration, blunt force trauma to the ribs—likely from being kicked or hit with a pipe before he escaped—and exhaustion. But his heart is strong. Another hour in that alley, though..." He didn't finish the sentence. He didn't need to.
Dante nodded without turning around. "Thank you, Dr. Hayes. Take the back elevator. My car will take you home."
As the doctor slipped out, the heavy oak door clicked shut, leaving only Dante and Molly in the quiet room, punctuated by the steady, rhythmic beep of the heart monitor.
"You didn't have to do that," Molly said softly, her voice barely carrying across the room.
"Do what?" Dante asked, finally turning around.
"Risk your job... your life, really. Stepping between Libby Kemp's heel and a dying animal in a room full of people who would've watched her throw you out the window." Molly looked down at the tea in her hands. "People like that... they don't see people like us. To them, we're just part of the furniture."
Dante walked slowly across the room, stopping a few feet away from her. He looked down at her with an expression that was hard to read—a mixture of deep curiosity and a cold, burning fury directed entirely at the world outside these walls.
"They are furniture, Molly," Dante corrected quietly. "You are flesh and bone. And tonight, you showed more courage than every single one of those suits downstairs combined."
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, heavy black card embossed with a single silver crest. He dropped it onto the small marble table beside her tea.
May you like
"What is this?" Molly asked, her breath catching.
"That is an address," Dante said. "And a phone number. Tomorrow morning, your apartment lease is going to be bought out by a shell company. You're moving to the North Hill district. You'll have a security detail, a wardrobe that doesn't smell like commercial bleach, and a choice: you can walk away and pretend none of this happened, or you can step into a world where nobody will ever make you cower on a kitchen floor again."
