Chapter 2 - The InspectionAlexander didn't wait for permission. He walked past the counter, his heavy leather shoes clicking rhythmically against the floor, and pushed open the door to the recovery room.
Elena hurried after him, her heart hammering against her ribs like a trapped bird. "Hey! He's still recovering from anesthesia and trauma. You can't just—"
She stopped dead.
Inside the small room, the fierce, injured beast that had snarled at the rain was now sitting up on its front paws, its tail giving a slow, heavy thump against the cage floor. The moment Alexander stepped into the light, the dog let out a low, rumbling whine—not of fear, but of absolute submission and recognition.
Alexander knelt down, ignoring the bloodstain on the floor and the dampness of the room. He placed his large, scarred hand right on top of the Rottweiler’s massive head. The dog leaned into his palm, closing its eyes.
"Good boy, Ajax," Alexander whispered, his voice losing its chilling edge for a fraction of a second, revealing a raw, protective loyalty that startled Elena. He ran his fingers expertly over the neat, precise stitches Elena had sewn just hours before. He checked the splint on the leg, testing its firmness.
When Alexander stood back up, his eyes swept over the pristine medical trays, the organized bandage rolls, and the chart Elena had meticulously written out by hand. He turned to face her, his expression unreadable.
"You're a licensed veterinarian, yet you're running a clinic out of a condemned district," Alexander stated, though it sounded less like a question and more like a dossier report. "Why?"
"Because animals don't care about neighborhoods or bank accounts," Elena said, crossing her arms to mask her trembling hands. "And my clinic isn't condemned. It's just small."
"Small things are easily crushed here, Miss Vargas," Alexander replied smoothly. He reached into his inner coat pocket and pulled out a heavy, gold-plated cardholder. He didn't open it; instead, he slid a crisp, banded stack of hundred-dollar bills across the steel table. "For your troubles. And for the stitches."
Elena stared at the money. It was easily five thousand dollars—more than enough to pay off her overdue supply bills and keep the lights on for months. But pride, fierce and unyielding, flared in her chest.
"Keep your money, Mr. Moretti," she said coldly, pushing the stack back toward him. "I save lives because it's my duty, not because I'm running a mercenary hospital for mobsters. Take your dog and get out of my clinic."
The silence that followed was absolute. The two guards at the door visibly tensed, waiting for the order to tear the place apart. Alexander stared at Elena, his icy eyes narrowing as if he were looking at a puzzle he couldn't quite solve. No one spoke to him like that. In his world, people begged, bribed, or cowered.
May you like
Instead of exploding, a strange, dark amusement flickered in Alexander's eyes. He picked up the money, slipped it back into his coat, and whistled softly. Ajax rose, gingerly testing his mending leg, and limped out to stand faithfully at his master's side.
"You have spirit, Elena Vargas," Alexander said quietly, turning toward the exit. "In this city, that's either a virtue or a death sentence. We'll see which one it turns out to be."
