Chapter 6 - DINNER WITHOUT A DOG BETWEEN US
Our first date was not at the Castellano mansion.
That was my condition.
Dominic suggested a private room at an Italian restaurant.
I said no.
Too much power.
We went to a small neighborhood place in Andersonville where the owner did not care who he was and the tables were close enough that he could not control the room.
He arrived with security outside.
Disclosed.
I accepted.
No one sat near us on purpose? The restaurant was busy enough.
Good.
Dominic wore a plain dark sweater.
Still expensive.
I told him.
He looked offended.
“I cannot make wool cheaper by wearing it.”
“Try.”
He laughed.
The waiter came.
Dominic did not order for me.
Progress.
I chose pasta.
He chose fish.
We did not discuss Zeus for twenty minutes.
That was harder than expected.
“What did you do before animals?” he asked.
“College.”
“Then shelter?”
“Yes.”
“Why behavior?”
I thought.
“My first dog bit my brother.”
Dominic raised eyebrows.
“What happened?”
“Everyone wanted to put him down.”
“Did they?”
“No. A behaviorist figured out he was in pain.”
“What kind?”
“Hip dysplasia.”
“He bit because it hurt.”
“He bit because my brother fell on him when he hurt.”
“Difference?”
“Yes.”
I smiled.
“You really like that word.”
“Details prevent moral stupidity.”
He laughed.
My dog, Milo, lived another seven years after medical care and management.
Never bit again.
Not because love cured.
Because context changed.
Dominic listened.
Then:
“Is that why you defended Zeus?”
“I didn’t defend him.”
“You told armed men not to touch him.”
“I interpreted behavior.”
“That sounds like defense.”
“No. If Zeus had been actively attacking and couldn’t disengage, safety would come first.”
He nodded.
No romanticizing dangerous dogs.
Good.
Then I asked:
“What did you do before becoming terrifying?”
He stared.
“I was born.”
“Of course.”
“Family business.”
“That is not childhood.”
He looked at water.
“My mother died when I was twelve.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Cancer.”
“Your father?”
“Raised me like apprentice.”
“That sounds warm.”
“No.”
He smiled sadly.
“What did you want to be?”
The question surprised him.
“Architect.”
I laughed.
He frowned.
“Why funny?”
“You own construction companies.”
“Yes.”
“But don’t design?”
“No.”
“Do you draw?”
“Not anymore.”
There.
A door.
No need push.
We ate.
At end, he asked:
“Second date?”
I thought.
“Yes.”
His face changed.
Not victory.
Relief.
Good.
The next months were slow.
Not because chemistry lacked.
Because context mattered.
Dominic still had power over people in city.
I was building a practice from nothing.
His money could swallow every practical difficulty I faced.
That meant boundaries had to be boring and explicit.
No paying my rent.
No buying equipment.
No “anonymous” gifts to my future practice.
No using Castellano properties as free office.
No sending clients without telling them connection.
No security tracking unless actual threat and I agreed.
He hated some.
Accepted.
I hated some of his boundaries too.
No entering secure family facilities casually.
No asking about active legal cases.
No discussing details that could put me at risk.
That one sounded like protection.
I challenged.
“What counts as risk?”
“Operational crime details.”
“Fair.”
“Not relationship decisions.”
“Good.”
We learned.
My practice started in a rented room attached to a veterinary clinic.
Name:
Bennett Behavior & Rescue Consulting.
Terrible branding.
Functional.
First client:
A beagle who screamed when left alone.
Second:
A shepherd terrified of men with hats.
Third:
A pit bull whose family wanted him “more protective.”
I said no.
Helped them understand confidence is not aggression.
The practice grew.
I consulted shelters.
Taught staff workshops.
Never used Zeus as marketing.
Reporters asked.
I declined.
He was not a case study for clicks.
Dominic agreed.
That mattered.
He also kept Zeus.
Of course.
But not as symbol.
No Instagram.
No parties.
No “look how gentle the former attack dog is.”
Zeus lived.
He developed ridiculous attachment to a yellow rubber duck.
Dominic pretended to hate it.
Bought three backups.
I found them in pantry once.
“You bought these?”
“No.”
“Your chef?”
“No.”
“Zeus ordered online?”
Dominic looked away.
I laughed.
Then one evening I came to mansion for dinner—not work.
Zeus greeted me.
Then left.
That made me happier than him clinging.
Attachment becoming flexible.
He went to Dominic.
Lay at his feet.
Dominic looked at me.
“Did you see?”
“Yes.”
This time I admitted.
Years? Months. Maybe eight months after initial.
The legal case against Rafael continued.
Evidence supported conspiracy around dog retrieval, unlawful surveillance, and financial coercion.
Not everything Darren said could be proven.
Some charges narrowed.
Rafael eventually reached a plea on specific offenses and civil settlements related to employees he had coerced through debt arrangements.
He denied ordering animal abuse directly.
Records showed he funded program and ignored complaints.
Enough morally, perhaps not every criminal count.
Dominic attended one hearing.
Not all.
He told me:
“I wanted him to look at me.”
“Did he?”
“Yes.”
“Feel better?”
“No.”
“Paperwork again.”
He smiled.
“Yes.”
Then Dominic did something harder.
He publicly—well, internally—acknowledged the hidden-room draft to company employees.
Not the whole family scandal.
The idea.
He said his father had considered broader employee ownership and never completed it.
Dominic did not claim obligation.
He commissioned program.
After a year, one construction subsidiary launched employee share plan with independent trustees.
Workers could participate without losing wages or bargaining rights.
No forced gratitude.
The foreman who criticized Dominic joined oversight committee.
That was the best sign.
Then one board member asked:
“Why are you doing this?”
Dominic answered:
“Because control concentrated in one family made too many people afraid to speak.”
He told me later.
I stared.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“You have face.”
“I’m deciding whether to compliment you.”
“Dangerous.”
“Don’t get used to it.”
He smiled.
Our first kiss happened nine months after contract ended.
Not in mansion.
Not after danger.
Not with Zeus watching.
Outside my office in the rain.
Dominic asked.
Actually asked:
“Can I kiss you?”
I laughed.
“What?”
“You sound angry.”
“I am nervous.”
That made me soften.
“Yes.”
He kissed me.
Then stepped back first.
No possession.
No cinematic claim.
Good.
A month later, we fought.
Real fight.
Dominic sent a car to my office during snow without asking.
I refused.
He called.
“Roads are bad.”
“I know.”
“Get in.”
“No.”
“It’s safer.”
“Stop.”
Silence.
He heard.
Then:
“Okay.”
The car left.
I took train.
Delayed an hour.
I was furious.
He did not say I told you.
Also good.
Next day we talked.
He said:
“I thought helping did not need permission.”
“Sometimes it doesn’t. If I’m unconscious, call ambulance. If it’s snowing, ask.”
He nodded.
Then:
“Can I ask next time?”
“Yes.”
Progress.
I made mistakes too.
One evening Dominic did not answer for two hours after a board meeting.
I called his security chief.
He was fine.
Phone locked in secure room.
Dominic came home annoyed.
“You used an emergency contact because I didn’t text.”
“I was worried.”
“Same word I use.”
There.
I hated it.
“You’re right.”
He blinked.
“Fast.”
“Don’t enjoy.”
“I’m trying.”
We laughed later.
Control can wear concern’s clothes on anyone.
Then Dr. Reyes called.
Zeus had developed arthritis in one hip.
Manageable.
But it changed behavior risk.
Pain can lower tolerance.
We adjusted.
More rugs.
Fewer stairs.
Medication.
No forced exercise.
Dominic looked devastated.
“He’s only six.”
“Arthritis doesn’t ask.”
“Will he get worse?”
“Eventually.”
Dominic looked at Zeus asleep.
“I hate eventually.”
“Everyone does.”
The dog who had started this story as a weapon was becoming ordinary in another way.
He aged.
He hurt.
He needed care.
No conspiracy could be blamed for every future pain.
That truth was oddly comforting.
Life continued beyond villains.
My business launch also forced one uncomfortable conversation about referrals.
Three wealthy Castellano associates called within the same week asking for appointments.
I knew exactly why.
Dominic.
I confronted him.
“You sent them.”
“No.”
“Then?”
“They know we’re dating.”
“That is almost worse.”
He frowned.
“Why?”
“Because your name becomes marketing whether you intend it or not.”
He thought.
“What do you want me to do?”
“Nothing.”
“Again.”
“Yes.”
I accepted one client because their dog actually needed help.
Declined two because their goals were inappropriate.
One man told me:
“Dominic said you’re the best.”
I said:
“Dominic is not qualified to assess that.”
The man laughed.
I did not.
Later Dominic said:
“You could have let me compliment you.”
“I did. Privately.”
He smiled.
That boundary mattered because power can advertise without buying.
Sometimes influence walks into the room before money does.
We had to notice that too.
One small thing mattered before that first kiss ever happened.
Dominic asked whether he could visit my office.
I said no.
Not because I was hiding him.
Because my clients deserved a room that did not suddenly reorganize around his reputation.
He looked hurt.
Then understood.
Months later, after the relationship felt steadier, I invited him during closed hours.
No clients.
No staff.
He sat in the tiny waiting room beneath a crooked poster about canine stress signals.
“This is it?”
“This is it.”
He smiled.
May you like
“I like it.”
That meant more than any offer to build me something larger.
