Chapter 2 - THE SECRETS BENEATH THE CEMENTThe clock on the dashboard of Ruby’s twelve-year-old Honda ticked past midnight as she parked in front of her modest apartment building in Astoria. The neon sign of the bodega across the street flickered with an irritating buzz, casting a sickly green hue over the cracked windshield.
Inside the apartment, Milo greeted her with a frenzy of tail-wagging and soft whimpers, circling her ankles as she kicked off her wet boots. She fed him, poured herself a mug of chamomile tea, and sat down at her small wooden kitchen table.
Between her fingers sat Dante’s matte-black card.
She had resisted calling him all evening, telling herself she was a professional photographer working a high-end gig, not a woman falling into the orbit of a dangerous, wealthy enigma. But the curiosity was a live wire under her skin.
We need to talk about more than just dogs.
What did that even mean?
With a sigh of resignation, Ruby picked up her cell phone and dialed the number embossed on the card. It rang only once before a deep, calm voice answered.
"I knew you wouldn't sleep until you called," Dante said, as if he had been sitting by the phone waiting.
"You give my curiosity too much credit, Mr. Marchetti," Ruby replied, leaning back against her wooden chair. "I called because I’m a professional, and you left me hanging with a cryptic parting statement at a wedding."
"Dante," he corrected gently. "And it wasn't a cryptic statement, Ruby. It was an invitation."
"To what? A tour of your armored vehicle collection?"
A quiet laugh came through the speaker. "To dinner. Tomorrow night. There’s a place in Little Italy—unpretentious, excellent espresso, and entirely safe from photographers."
"I don't know, Dante," Ruby hesitated, looking down at Milo, who had curled up against her feet, resting his golden head on her sneaker. "You live in a world of private security, encrypted phone calls, and shipping manifests in Geneva. I take pictures of debutantes and sell handmade wooden ornaments on Etsy. We orbit entirely different galaxies."
"Sometimes galaxies collide because gravity demands it," Dante said, his voice dropping into a register that made the hairs on the back of her arms stand up. "Besides, Milo chose me. You can't argue with canine intuition."
Ruby chewed her lower lip. "Fine. Dinner. But I drive my own car, and I pick the restaurant."
"It's a deal. Seven o'clock. Bruno will text you the address."
The line went dead before she could ask who Bruno was—whether Bruno was the man in the suit or the code name for his security network.
The next evening, Ruby found herself sitting across from Dante in a dimly lit, family-run trattoria tucked away on a quiet corner of Mulberry Street. The air smelled of garlic, fresh basil, and baked dough. There were no armed guards standing by their table, though Ruby noticed two men sitting quietly near the front entrance reading Italian newspapers—men whose posture and watchful eyes made it clear they weren't just here for the lasagna.
Dante was dressed more casually tonight, wearing a dark turtleneck under a tailored wool blazer. Up close, across the small wooden table, she could see the subtle lines around his eyes—the map of a man who carried burdens most people couldn't fathom.
"You’re staring," Dante noted mildly, swirling a glass of Chianti.
"I’m trying to figure you out," Ruby admitted honestly, setting her fork down. "In the ballroom, you were a king among elites. In the alley, you were a ghost with bodyguards. Here... you just look tired."
Dante went still. The glass stopped swirling. He looked at her with a depth of vulnerability that caught her completely off guard.
"Power is a noisy business, Ruby," Dante said softly. "It demands your attention every second of every day. People want things from you—money, protection, favors, blood. But when I was holding that dog in the back of my SUV... for five minutes, I wasn't a syndicate boss or a billionaire chairman. I was just a man with a golden retriever in his lap."
Ruby felt a heavy pang in her chest. "You mentioned your dog when we first met. Argus. You lost him when you were fifteen."
Dante looked down at his hands, his knuckles brushing the wooden table. "He wasn't just a dog. He was the only living thing that loved me for who I was, not for the last name I carried or the empire my father left behind. When he died... something inside me shut down. I swore I’d never let myself care for anything fragile again."
"And then Milo showed up through a three-inch car window," Ruby whispered.
"And then Milo showed up," Dante agreed, lifting his gaze to meet hers, his dark eyes burning with an intensity that took her breath away. "Just like his owner, he walked right past the security gates and demanded a place in my life."
Before Ruby could process the weight of his words, the front door of the trattoria banged open.
May you like
The two men reading newspapers near the entrance stood up instantly, hands sliding inside their jackets. The ambient noise of the restaurant seemed to drop to absolute zero.
A tall man in a slick gray suit walked in, his face twisted into an ugly, triumphant grin. He wasn't invited here. And judging by the look of cold, murderous fury that flashed across Dante’s face, he was trespassing in a very dangerous place.
