Chapter 2 - Shadows in the Light
The name Moretti hung in the air like a lethal scent. Providence was a city governed by old money and dark legacies, and the Moretti family sat at the very top of that shadowy food chain. Nathaniel Moretti was not just a wealthy benefactor; he was the undisputed heir to an empire built on enforcement, underground logistics, and absolute control.
"You should leave," Wren said, her fingers tightening around her napkin. "If people see me sitting with you, my life becomes complicated. More complicated than it already is."
"Your life is already complicated, Wren," Nathaniel said quietly. "Your mother’s treatment at Rhode Island General is being delayed because the facility is demanding a twelve-thousand-dollar deposit on her overdue balance. Your landlord has served you a notice to vacate by the end of the month. And the medical collection agency calling you three times a day is a front owned by the Valenti family."
Wren stiffened, a cold sweat breaking out across her forehead. "You looked into my life?"
"I had to know who saved my dog. But when I looked, I found you were being hunted by vultures." Nathaniel reached into his coat pocket and withdrew a thick, unsealed black envelope, laying it quietly between their plates. "Consider this a full settlement for services rendered three years ago. No strings attached. You take it, you pay off your mother’s debt, you walk out of this restaurant, and you never see me again."
Wren stared at the envelope. She knew what was inside: enough money to end her sleepless nights, to buy her mother proper medicine, to fix her shoes, to breathe. It was an impossible lifeline thrown into her drowning existence.
She reached out, her fingers touching the crisp paper. But then she looked down at Brutus, who let out a soft whine and nudged his wet nose against her ankle, recognizing the voice that had comforted him through a night of agony years ago. She looked back up at Nathaniel. Beneath his aristocratic composure, she saw a profound, haunting loneliness—a man surrounded by guard dogs and bodyguards, completely isolated from human warmth.
"If I take this," Wren asked softly, "what happens to you?"
Nathaniel looked surprised by the question. "I go back to my life."
"A life where you have to bring a hundred-and-fifty-pound mastiff into a five-star restaurant just to feel secure?" Wren slowly pushed the envelope back across the table. "I took an oath when I worked at that clinic to help animals in pain. I didn't do it for a payday three years later."
"Wren," Nathaniel warned, his voice taking on a dangerous edge. "Don't be foolish. Pride won't keep your mother alive."
"It's not pride," she said, leaning forward. "It's boundaries. I don't take money from men who send private investigators to dig up my dead mother's medical records. If you want to repay me, order a proper dessert and talk to me like a human being, not a mob boss granting an audience."
For three excruciating seconds, Nathaniel stared at her. Then, suddenly, he laughed—a deep, rich sound that seemed to surprise even him. The tension in his shoulders melted away.
"You really are impossible," Nathaniel murmured, a genuine smile breaking through his stern facade.
Before Wren could reply, the heavy glass doors of the restaurant burst open. Three men in sharp grey suits walked in. Their eyes swept the room, immediately locking onto table eleven. The air in the dining room instantly curdled.
May you like
Brutus was on his feet in a fraction of a second, a dark, dangerous growl vibrating deep within his chest. Nathaniel didn't turn around. He simply placed a calm hand on the back of Wren’s chair.
"Stay seated," Nathaniel whispered, his tone shifting back to ice. "It seems my past has arrived before we could finish our meal."
