Chapter 3 - THE WOLF IN THE ALLEY
Derek’s fist never landed. A shadow detached itself from the darkest corner of the kitchen near the walk-in freezer—a space Clara could have sworn was empty just seconds ago. A large, perfectly manicured hand shot out of the gloom, catching Derek’s wrist mid-swing with the sickening, muted crunch of grinding bone.
Derek let out a high-pitched, agonizing shriek, his grip on Clara’s throat instantly vanishing as he fell to his knees. Clara collapsed against the counter, coughing violently and clutching her neck, her tear-filled eyes wide with sheer disbelief. Standing over her ex-boyfriend, looking completely unbothered, was Arthur Moretti. He hadn't left.
"A gentleman does not raise his hand to a woman," Arthur said, his voice a lethal, vibrating baritone that seemed to lower the temperature in the room. He didn't yell; he didn't need to. The quiet authority in his tone was infinitely more terrifying than Derek’s unhinged screaming. Arthur twisted his wrist a fraction of an inch further, eliciting another pathetic wail from the man bleeding onto the linoleum.
"Who the fuck are you?!" Derek sobbed, cradling his mangled arm against his chest as Arthur finally released him in disgust.
Arthur didn't even look at him. He pulled a pristine silk handkerchief from his breast pocket, slowly wiping his fingers as if Derek’s very existence was an infection. He turned his pale, terrifying gray eyes toward Clara, tracing the angry red marks blooming on her throat. The faint, jagged scar running through his eyebrow seemed to deepen with quiet, simmering rage. "I told you not to walk to the station alone, Clara."
Before Clara could form a cohesive sentence through her shock, the alley door swung open again. A tall, impeccably dressed man in a tailored navy suit stepped inside, shaking an expensive umbrella. It was Dominic Vale, Arthur’s right-hand man and chief enforcer—a man whose brutal reputation was legendary in the city's underbelly. Dominic surveyed the scene with mild boredom, adjusting his silk tie.
"You called for a cleanup, boss?" Dominic asked, his sharp eyes flicking to the weeping addict on the floor.
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"Take him out back, Dominic," Arthur commanded softly, finally looking down at Derek with the cold, detached gaze of an apex predator inspecting a dying insect. "Find out who he owes. Then ensure he never steps foot in this zip code again."
Dominic hauled Derek to his feet by his collar with terrifying ease, dragging the thrashing, terrified man out into the pouring rain. The door clicked shut, plunging the kitchen back into silence, save for Clara’s ragged breathing. Arthur stepped forward, gently placing his warm, heavy coat over her trembling shoulders. "Come with me," he said softly.
