Chapter 2 - The Secret Beneath the Collar
The guard who had nearly drawn his weapon gasped, his hand freezing inches from his holster. Brutus hadn't just ignored the command; he had shifted his bulk entirely against Emily’s left ankle, laying his massive head squarely across her boot. It was a physical wall of solid muscle and black fur, a deliberate barrier between himself and the billionaire who owned him.
Dante Valente’s hand remained extended in the air.
For three agonizing seconds, the air inside Happy Tails grew so thin it felt impossible to breathe. In Baltimore, crossing Dante Valente usually resulted in a midnight swim in the harbor wrapped in concrete. Yet here was a hundred-and-forty-pound Cane Corso rewriting the rules of loyalty right on a linoleum floor covered in stray bits of poodle hair.
Dante lowered his hand slowly. His dark eyes flicked from the dog to Emily, analyzing her as if she were a complicated ledger that didn’t balance.
“Explain,” Dante said. His voice was a low, velvet baritone that carried a lethal edge.
“I told you,” Emily said, her heart hammering a frantic rhythm against her ribs despite her outward composure. “He isn’t listening to your words because your words don’t match what’s actually happening.”
“He belongs to me,” Dante stated, every syllable clipped and absolute.
“Maybe legally,” Emily countered, kneeling lower until she was eye-level with the massive dog. As she did, her fingers brushed against the thick leather of Brutus’s collar. Her fingertips snagged on something unusual. A tiny, raised edge near the heavy brass buckle. Not a tracking chip. Something stitched into the inner lining. “But right now, he belongs to whoever is paying attention to him.”
Dante stood up, towering over the grooming table. He motioned to his lead security guard, a scarred veteran named Marcus. “Clear the street. No onlookers.”
“Sir, the press is—"
“Clear them,” Dante repeated, and Marcus vanished outside without another word.
Emily’s fingers worked carefully beneath Brutus’s heavy fur. Her stomach dropped. The inner seam of the collar had been meticulously ripped and hand-stitched back together with nylon thread. Tucked inside was a small, flat, micro-perforated memory card wrapped in thin plastic.
Brutus let out a soft, low whine, pressing his snout into Emily’s palm as if transferring a heavy burden.
“What do you have there, Miss Parker?” Dante’s voice was suddenly right beside her. He had moved with terrifying silence. The shadow of his charcoal suit fell over them both.
Emily pulled her hand back, but not before Dante’s lightning-fast reflexes caught her wrist. His grip was steel—cool, unyielding, and impossible to break.
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“Let go,” Emily whispered, staring up into eyes as cold and deep as the Atlantic in winter.
“Open your hand,” Dante replied softly, his gaze locked on hers. “Or I promise you, the men outside won’t just clear the street. They’ll dismantle this shop brick by brick to find out what my dog brought you.”
