The entire restaurant went silent the moment I touched the enormous black dog sitting beside a

The silence in the study was so absolute I could hear the heavy, steady thud of my own pulse in my ears. The words hung in the air like smoke, choking and undeniable.

*The daughter of the FBI informant.*

"You're wrong," I whispered, pulling my head back from his touch, though my body felt entirely paralyzed. "You have the wrong person. My mother raised me in a tiny apartment in Queens before we moved to Brooklyn. She worked herself to the bone. She died of cancer, Mr. Moretti. I watched her take her last breath."

Dante didn't look angry, nor did he look triumphant. Instead, a strange, dark shadow crossed his chiseled features. He crouched down beside my chair, coming eye-level with me while Orion let out a low, protective rumble, nudging his nose against Dante's knee as if warning him to keep his distance.

"My father's organization was dismantled because of a rat named Julian Vance," Dante said, his voice terrifyingly calm. "Vance gave the federal government every ledger, every shipping route, and every name. He was supposed to be erased before he could testify. But on the night his safehouse burned down, the bodies recovered didn't match the dental records of his six-year-old daughter."

My breath hitched. "That... that doesn't mean it was me."

"Look at Orion," Dante commanded softly, gesturing to the massive hound. "He doesn't care about names, Olivia. He doesn't care about forged social security numbers, fake hospital records, or federal witness protection programs. Dogs remember scents, heartbeats, and frequencies that humans forget. When you touched him last night, he didn't just accept you—he recognized you."

I squeezed my eyes shut, pressing the heels of my hands against my temples as a sharp, blinding headache flared behind my eyes. Flashes of fragmented memories—vague, hazy images of a tall man with kind eyes, a blinding flash of orange light, the smell of ash and rain—flashed behind my eyelids.

"I don't remember," I whimpered, a tear escaping down my cheek. "I don't remember any of that. I just want to go back to my life. I have an afternoon shift at the restaurant. If I don't show up, my manager will fire me, and I won't be able to pay my rent—"

"Your life as a waitress is over, Olivia," Dante interrupted, his tone shifting from analytical to absolute, unyielding authority. He reached out, his thumb gently wiping the tear from my cheek with a tenderness that completely contrasted with his reputation. "Whether you want to admit it or not, your arrival in my restaurant last night was not a coincidence. Every enemy of the Moretti family is still looking for Julian Vance's surviving bloodline. If my men found you in less than twenty-four hours using facial algorithms, it's only a matter of time before someone else does."

My eyes snapped open, fear gripping my chest like a vise. "Someone else? Who?"

"Men who don't want to talk to you, Olivia," Dante said darkly, rising to his full height. "Men who want to finish what started twenty-two years ago."

Before I could process the terrifying weight of his words, a sharp, frantic knock echoed at the study door. Without waiting for permission, one of Dante's armed bodyguards burst into the room, his face pale and tense.

"Boss," the guard said, breathless. "We have a problem. The perimeter sensors just tripped on the eastern access road. Two unmarked vehicles bypassed the lower gates using encrypted clearance codes."

Dante's demeanor changed instantly. The brooding, curious investigator vanished in a fraction of a second, replaced by a ruthless, calculated mafia kingpin. His eyes flashed with cold fury.