It was a sound that made the hairs on my arms stand up.

From the darkness stepped a massive, scarred gray pit bull.

It was Bishop.

He belonged to Lucian Draven, the man who owned the restaurant and half the city.

Bishop’s ears were cropped, and his chest was a solid block of muscle.

He walked slowly, his yellow eyes locked onto Vance’s hand.

Vance froze.

His face drained of color as the dog stopped three feet away.

Bishop’s lips curled back, revealing thick, white fangs.

A low growl vibrated in the dog’s chest, shaking the quiet air.

“Let go of her,” I whispered, though I was looking at the dog, not Vance.

Vance’s grip loosened, and I pulled my wrist free.

The dog took another step forward, his muscles tense, ready to spring.

Vance scrambled backward into his booth, nearly tipping the table over.

“Get that beast away from me!” Vance yelled, his voice cracking.

Instead of running, I did something foolish.

I knelt down on the cold floor, right in front of the growling dog.

“Easy, Bishop,” I said softly.

I reached my hand out, palm up, keeping my movements slow.

Behind me, I heard Alina gasp.

Bishop’s growl stopped.

He looked at my hand, then up into my eyes.

Slowly, the tension left his massive shoulders.

He stepped closer and pressed his wet nose into my palm.

I gently rubbed the scarred skin behind his ears.

The fierce guard dog closed his eyes and let out a long, shuddering sigh.

He leaned his heavy head entirely against my knee, trusting me completely.

The silence in the restaurant was deafening.

Then, the heavy oak door to the private hallway clicked open.

Lucian Draven stepped into the dim light.

He wore a tailored black coat, his dark hair damp from the rain outside.