Chapter 4 - The Introduction and the Reaction
I expected anger. What I got was a long stare. That phrase could get other people killed in my home, he said. Then it’s lucky for me I’m currently protected by your emotionally damaged pitbull.
Cerberus sat beside me and waited for permission before taking a piece of chicken from my fingers with absurd gentleness. Enzo stopped talking. He doesn’t do that, he said. He does now.
The truth was simple and everyone in that penthouse had missed it. Cerberus was not naturally vicious. He was traumatized. There is a difference between a predator and a prisoner that finally learned to bite the bars.
Over the next three days, he changed in small ways that made the staff stare. He stopped pacing hallways at night. He let Maria, the housekeeper, pass him without trembling. He started sleeping on the floor outside my room instead of the terrace. He learned that a soft voice did not always lead to pain.
Enzo changed too, though he would have denied it. He started appearing wherever I was training the dog. The kitchen. The living room. The private gym where I taught Cerberus hand targets and calming cues. He stood in doorways with his sleeves rolled up and his expression locked down, watching me like I was teaching him something he had not known he needed.
Once, while I rubbed a little balm into the dog’s cracked paw pads, Enzo asked, Why aren’t you afraid of me. I laughed. That startled him. Not because the question was funny, but because it wasn’t. Who says I’m not. Your mouth, he said. Your posture. Your complete disregard for self-preservation. I capped the balm and looked up at him. You want the truth. Powerful men stop being mythic once you’ve already buried the people you love. After enough loss, they’re just men in expensive coats making decisions that ruin other people’s sleep.
Something passed across his face then. Recognition, maybe. Or offense shaped too much like respect. You have a reckless habit of saying exactly what you think, he said. No, I said. I have a habit of saying exactly what nobody around you seems willing to.
That should have gotten me thrown out. Instead, he laughed. Short. Sharp. Real. The sound altered the room.
Three nights later, he made me sit in on his weekly meeting because Cerberus refused to stay in my room and because Enzo had begun indulging the dog in ways that were probably illegal in several countries. Eight men sat around a dining table large enough to host a small monarchy. Every one of them looked like he knew what a body weighed. Enzo sat at the head with that calm expression he wore when everyone else’s pulse belonged to him.
He introduced me as Cerberus’s handler. Most of the men watched me with polite curiosity. One looked irritated. One looked bored. One looked amused in a way I disliked immediately.
Silas Corvino rose halfway from his chair and offered me his hand. Mid-forties. Expensive suit. Smile too smooth to trust. The kind of man who would hold the door open for you while calculating your resale value.
May you like
I reached out on reflex. Cerberus exploded. The snarl that tore out of him made half the room lunge for weapons. He threw his full weight toward Silas so violently my shoulder nearly came out of its socket. His lips peeled back. His entire body turned into one pure line of hatred. Not warning. Hatred.
Silas jerked back so fast his chair scraped the floor. What the hell is wrong with that animal. That was the wrong question. Because men afraid of dogs usually sound angry. Silas sounded alarmed.
