Chapter 1 - THE DOG WHO REMEMBERED ME
The first time I touched Orion, I thought he was just a lonely dog.
I didn't know he belonged to the most feared Mafia boss in New York.
I didn't know three grown men had been hospitalized after getting too close to him.
And I certainly didn't know that the enormous black hound had been waiting seventeen years for someone whose name I no longer remembered.
All I knew was that his head felt warm against my palm.
And for the first time in years, something inside me felt strangely peaceful.
My name is Olivia Marshall.
I'm twenty-six years old, and until that Thursday night, my life consisted of overdue bills, aching feet, and a tiny apartment in Queens where the heating worked only when it felt like it.
I worked at Bellamy's, an expensive Manhattan restaurant where wealthy people ordered bottles of wine worth more than my monthly rent.
I wasn't wealthy.
I wasn't particularly lucky.
And I had long ago stopped expecting miracles.
My mother, Eleanor Marshall, had died eight months earlier after a long battle with heart disease.
At least, Eleanor was the woman I called my mother.
She had raised me from the age of nine, teaching me how to braid my hair, how to stretch twenty dollars into a week's groceries, and how to smile at people even when life had given me every reason not to.
She'd never married.
She'd never spoken much about my childhood before I came to live with her.
Whenever I asked, she would touch the small crescent-shaped scar behind my left ear and say, "Some doors are better left closed, sweetheart."
I used to think she was protecting me from painful memories.
I didn't realize she was protecting me from people who were still alive.
That night, I was working my second consecutive double shift.
My manager, Richard Bell, had spent most of the evening criticizing everything from the way I folded napkins to the speed at which I cleared tables.
At 10:17 p.m., I was carrying a tray of empty champagne glasses when I noticed the dog.
He was enormous.
A magnificent black hound with thick midnight-colored fur, amber eyes, and a broad chest that rose and fell with the steady patience of an animal accustomed to waiting.
He sat beside table twelve.
His owner was a tall, dark-haired man in a charcoal coat, speaking quietly with another gentleman.
Two men in black suits stood near the entrance.
I barely noticed them.
The dog was looking at me.
Not casually.
Not the way most dogs watched waitresses carrying food.
He was staring as though he recognized me.
When I approached the table, his ears lifted.
His tail moved once.
Then he slowly rose and pressed his enormous head against my thigh.
"Oh," I whispered, startled.
"Hello, handsome."
He leaned harder.
I smiled despite my exhaustion.
"Well, aren't you friendly?"
I bent down and scratched behind his ears.
His eyes closed immediately.
A deep, contented rumble vibrated through his chest.
"That's it," I murmured.
"You just needed somebody to love on you, didn't you?"
A glass shattered.
I looked up.
A waiter stood frozen near the bar, staring at me.
The restaurant had gone completely silent.
One of the men near the entrance had moved his hand inside his jacket.
The other was watching the dog with an expression that looked almost like terror.
And the gentleman at table twelve had stopped speaking.
Slowly, he turned toward me.
He was devastatingly handsome in a severe, almost intimidating way.
Dark hair.
A strong jaw.
Cold gray eyes.
The kind of face that belonged on the cover of a business magazine, except there was something dangerous about the stillness surrounding him.
"Take your hand away," the man beside him whispered.
I immediately withdrew it.
"I'm sorry.
I didn't realize—"
"Not you," the dark-haired stranger interrupted.
His voice was quiet.
But every person in the restaurant seemed to hear it.
He looked toward the man who had spoken.
"Sit down, Marco."
Marco sat.
Then the stranger turned back to me.
"What's your name?"
"Olivia."
"Olivia what?"
"Marshall."
Something flickered across his face.
It vanished almost instantly.
"How old are you, Olivia?"
I frowned.
"Twenty-six."
His fingers tightened around the stem of his untouched wineglass.
"Where were you born?"
"Excuse me?"
"Your birthplace."
I glanced toward the kitchen.
"Sir, I really should get back to work."
The stranger studied me for another moment.
Then he nodded.
"Of course."
Relief loosened my shoulders.
I looked down at the dog.
He was still leaning against my leg.
"Good night, handsome."
I scratched his ears once more.
His tail thumped against the polished floor.
"Behave yourself, okay?"
I picked up my tray and walked away.
Behind me, I heard the stranger speak.
"Orion."
The dog didn't move.
"Come."
Still nothing.
I turned.
Orion was standing in the middle of the restaurant, facing me.
His enormous body trembled.
Then he made a sound I would remember for the rest of my life.
A low, broken whine.
It wasn't anger.
It wasn't fear.
It sounded like grief.
The stranger slowly stood.
For the first time, his expression changed.
He looked genuinely shaken.
"That's impossible," he whispered.
I didn't understand.
I wouldn't understand until much later.
Because that night, Dante Moretti wasn't watching his dangerous dog disobey him.
He was watching the last living creature that had known his little sister recognize her again.
The following morning, Richard summoned me into his office before I'd even put on my apron.
His face was pale.
"Olivia, sit down."
"Am I being fired?"
"No."
He swallowed.
"At least, I don't think so."
That was reassuring.
He closed the office door.
"What exactly happened with Mr.
Moretti's dog last night?"
I blinked.
"Who?"
"Dante Moretti."
The name meant nothing to me.
Richard stared.
"You don't know who Dante Moretti is?"
"Should I?"
He rubbed his forehead.
"He's one of the most powerful men in New York.
Shipping companies.
Real estate.
Private security.
And businesses that don't appear on tax records."
"Oh."
"People disappear when they cross him, Olivia."
My stomach tightened.
"I didn't cross him.
I petted his dog."
Richard leaned closer.
"That dog has attacked men twice your size for approaching its owner.
Nobody touches Orion.
Nobody."
I remembered the enormous head resting against my leg.
"Maybe he likes women."
"His last female handler needed thirty stitches."
I stopped smiling.
Richard's telephone rang.
He answered.
Listened.
Then slowly lowered himself into his chair.
"Yes, sir."
Another pause.
"She's right here."
He looked at me.
"Of course."
The call ended.
Outside, a black SUV pulled up beside the restaurant.
Two men stepped out.
Richard stood.
"Mr.
Moretti wants to see you."
My mouth went dry.
"Why?"
Richard hesitated.
"Apparently, Orion hasn't eaten since you left.
He spent the entire night sitting beside the front door."
I stared.
"That doesn't make sense."
"There's something else."
He lowered his voice.
"Mr.
Moretti had someone investigate your background."
Anger pushed through my fear.
"He did what?"
"And he found something."
"What?"
Richard shook his head.
"He wouldn't tell me."
A knock came at the door.
One of the men from the SUV stood outside.
"Miss Marshall?"
I looked at him.
"Am I in trouble?"
His expression softened unexpectedly.
"No, ma'am."
"Then why are you here?"
He hesitated.
"Because the boss hasn't slept either."
Dante Moretti lived in a mansion overlooking the Hudson River.
The gates were iron.
The driveway was lined with old trees.
And the house itself looked like something built for a family that had spent generations accumulating money and secrets.
I nearly refused to get out of the SUV.
"This is ridiculous," I muttered.
The driver opened my door.
"Mr.
Moretti is waiting."
Inside, the mansion smelled faintly of polished wood, leather, and fresh coffee.
A massive chandelier hung above a marble staircase.
Oil paintings lined the walls.
Everything was beautiful.
Everything was cold.
Then I heard claws scraping against the floor.
A black blur came around the corner.
"Orion!" someone shouted.
The enormous dog charged straight toward me.
I froze.
He stopped inches away.
Then he pressed his head against my stomach so hard I nearly lost my balance.
"Oh, sweetheart!"
I dropped to my knees.
He immediately buried his face against my shoulder.
His entire body shook.
I wrapped my arms around his neck.
"What's wrong with you, big boy?"
He whined.
Not softly.
Desperately.
As though he was trying to tell me something.
I looked up.
Dante Moretti stood at the foot of the staircase.
He wore a black dress shirt with the sleeves rolled to his forearms.
His face was pale.
And his gray eyes were fixed on the dog.
"He's never done that," he said.
I swallowed.
"Maybe he's sick."
Dante shook his head.
"Three veterinarians examined him this morning."
"Then maybe he's lonely."
Something moved behind Dante's eyes.
"He has been."
There was a strange sadness in his voice.
I stroked Orion's fur.
"How old is he?"
"Seventeen."
I blinked.
"Seventeen?"
"Almost eighteen."
I looked down at the massive animal.
His muzzle was black except for a few silver hairs near his chin.
He moved with surprising strength, but now that I was close, I noticed the stiffness in his hind legs.
"He's an old gentleman."
Dante nodded.
"Very old."
"Have you had him since he was a puppy?"
Dante didn't answer immediately.
Then he said, "He belonged to someone else first."
I smiled.
"Well, whoever they were, they must have loved him."
Dante's expression collapsed for the briefest second.
"She did."
Silence settled between us.
I looked away.
"I'm sorry.
I shouldn't have asked."
"No."
He walked toward us.
"You should ask."
He stopped a few feet away.
"Olivia, I need to show you something."
I stood slowly.
Orion remained pressed against my leg.
Dante led me into a private study.
A fire burned behind a glass screen.
Books covered two walls.
On the desk sat a small wooden box.
Dante opened it.
Inside lay an old photograph.
He picked it up carefully.
Then held it toward me.
It showed a little girl standing in a sunlit garden.
She had brown curls.
A missing front tooth.
And a bright yellow dress.
Beside her sat a black puppy with enormous paws.
I smiled automatically.
"That's adorable."
Dante said nothing.
I studied the photograph more closely.
Something about the girl's face bothered me.
Not because she looked familiar.
Because she looked like someone I'd seen in a dream.
Then I noticed the bracelet on her wrist.
A thin silver chain.
A tiny crescent moon.
My breath caught.
I had that bracelet.
It was one of the few things Eleanor had given me from my childhood.
I'd kept it in a jewelry box for seventeen years.
I looked up.
"Where did you get this photograph?"
Dante's voice was barely audible.
"From my mother's bedroom."
My heart began hammering.
"Who is the little girl?"
He watched me carefully.
"Her name was Isabella."
I shook my head.
"I don't know anyone named Isabella."
"She was nine when she disappeared."
A strange pressure formed behind my eyes.
"Disappeared?"
Dante nodded.
"Seventeen years ago."
My fingers tightened around the photograph.
The little girl seemed to stare directly back at me.
And suddenly, without warning, I smelled something that wasn't in the room.
Smoke.
Wet grass.
Burning wood.
I heard a child screaming.
Then a man's voice.
Run, Bella.
The photograph slipped from my hand.
I staggered backward.
Dante moved toward me.
"Olivia?"
I pressed both hands against my temples.
"Stop."
He froze.
"What's happening?"
"I don't know."
My breathing turned shallow.
A terrible image flashed through my mind.
A red door.
Rain.
A little boy reaching for me.
No.
Not a little boy.
An older boy.
His hand covered in blood.
I looked at Dante.
And before I could stop myself, I whispered:
"Why did you leave me behind?"
The room went silent.
Dante's face drained of color.
He stared at me as though the floor had disappeared beneath him.
Then he whispered a name.
"Bella?"
I backed away.
"Don't call me that."
He took one step forward.
"Please."
"Don't."
Orion began barking outside the study.
My hands shook.
"I don't know you."
Dante stopped.
His expression changed from disbelief to something infinitely more painful.
He looked at the photograph on the floor.
Then back at me.
May you like
"I know," he whispered.
"And that's what I've been afraid of for seventeen years."
