“Mr. Moretti doesn’t want to hurt you,” my manager whispered. “But there’s something about that dog you need to understand.”

Before I could ask what he meant, the restaurant doors opened.

Two men in black suits stepped inside.

Neither looked particularly friendly.

“Miss Marshall?” the taller one asked.

I tightened my grip on the dish towel in my hand.

“That’s me.”

“Mr. Moretti would appreciate a few minutes of your time.”

“And if I say no?”

The man hesitated.

That hesitation frightened me more than any threat could have.

“Then we’ll tell him you declined.”

I looked toward the black SUV waiting outside.

Through its tinted rear window, I could make out the silhouette of a very large dog.

Orion.

The moment he saw me through the restaurant’s glass doors, his enormous head shot up.

Then something extraordinary happened.

The vehicle began rocking.

A deep bark thundered through the street.

One of the bodyguards pressed a hand to his earpiece.

“Sir, he’s doing it again.”

I stared at him.

“Doing what?”

The man looked genuinely uncomfortable.

“Trying to break the window.”

Five minutes later, I was standing beside the SUV while the most dangerous-looking man I’d ever met watched me through an open door.

Dante Moretti.

He wore a charcoal suit, an expensive watch, and an expression that suggested smiling was something he considered a personal weakness.

Orion was sitting beside him.

The dog looked enormous in the confined space.

“Miss Marshall,” Dante said.

“Mr. Moretti.”

“Get in.”

I folded my arms.

“That’s a terrible way to ask someone for a favor.”

One of the bodyguards made a strangled sound.

Dante slowly raised an eyebrow.

Then, unexpectedly, he opened the door wider.

“Would you please get in?”

I considered refusing.

But Orion had already placed one massive paw on the seat and was whining at me like a neglected puppy.

So I climbed inside.

The instant I sat down, he rested his head in my lap.

Dante stared.

For almost a full minute, nobody spoke.

Then he said something I hadn’t expected.

“Orion hasn’t allowed anyone to touch him in four years.”

I scratched the dog’s ears.

“Maybe nobody asked nicely.”

“Veterinarians have tried. Professional trainers. People who raised him.”

“And?”

“Three required hospitalization.”

My hand froze.

Orion opened one amber eye.

Then he licked my wrist.

I looked at Dante.

“Well, that’s comforting.”

His mouth twitched.

For the first time, I saw the faintest suggestion of a smile.

But it disappeared almost immediately.

“There’s something else,” he said.

He reached into his jacket.

My stomach tightened.

Instead of a weapon, he removed a photograph.

It was old, its corners worn.

A little girl stood in a garden beside a large black dog.

The girl had long brown hair tied with a black ribbon.

The dog was not Orion.

But he looked remarkably similar.

“Who is she?” I asked.

Dante watched my face.

“That’s what I’ve been trying to find out.”

I studied the photograph.

Something about the garden felt strangely familiar.

A white stone fountain.

A wrought-iron gate.

A small bronze angel beside a staircase.

Then I noticed something that made my heart skip.

The little girl was wearing a silver bracelet.

A bracelet shaped like a crescent moon.

I had owned one exactly like it.

My mother had given it to me when I was six.

I’d lost it years ago.

“Where did you get this?” I whispered.

Dante’s eyes sharpened.

“Why?”

I looked at the photograph again.

“I think I’ve seen that garden.”

His expression changed.

“Where?”

I shook my head.

“I don’t remember.”

He leaned forward.

“Olivia, look at me.”

I did.

“That photograph was found inside a locked room belonging to my father.”

A strange chill moved through me.

“Why would your father have a picture of a little girl?”

Dante didn’t answer.

Instead, he reached beneath the seat and removed a small velvet box.

Inside was a silver bracelet.

A crescent moon.

My breath caught.

“No.”

I reached toward it.

On the inside of the bracelet were three tiny engraved letters.

O.M.M.

My mother’s initials had been Margaret Marshall.

Mine were Olivia Margaret Marshall.

My hands began shaking.

“Where did you get that?”

Dante’s voice became very quiet.

“It was locked in the same room.”

I looked from the bracelet to the photograph.

“Mr. Moretti, what is going on?”

For the first time since meeting him, Dante looked uncertain.

“I was hoping you could tell me.”

Suddenly, Orion lifted his head.

His ears flattened.

A low growl rolled through the vehicle.

Dante immediately looked toward the windshield.

Across the street, a man wearing a gray cap stood beside a parked motorcycle.

He was holding a phone.

Pointed directly at us.

Dante’s expression turned deadly.

“Drive.”

The SUV lurched forward.

I grabbed Orion’s collar.

“What happened?”

Dante pulled me down below the window.

“Someone has been looking for the girl in that photograph for twenty years.”

My blood went cold.

“And?”

His gray eyes locked onto mine.

“And until yesterday, they believed she was dead.”

Then his phone vibrated.

A single photograph appeared on the screen.

It showed me leaving my apartment that morning.

Beneath it were six words.

“SHE REMEMBERS. FINISH WHAT YOU STARTED.”

Dante went completely still.

Then he looked at me.

“Olivia, whatever happens next, you cannot go home tonight.”

And for the first time, Orion stopped looking at me like a friend.

He turned toward the rear window.

And began to growl at the car following us.