Natasha put on a shy smile as she accepted Foggy Nelson's business card. "Thank you," she said gratefully. "I had no idea those dogs were so aggressive. Why would they want to attack me?"

  Foggy opened his mouth to answer, but the blind man beside him tapped his back with the white cane, urging, "We need to hurry. Alvin only makes fifty iron-pte steaks a day. If we're te, we'll miss out."

  Startled, Foggy nodded quickly. "Right, right! Sorry, miss, but we’ve got a deyed dinner to catch." He pushed the door open and called to the blind man, "Come on, Matt! I’m not missing Alvin’s steak tonight."

  Once again, Natasha found herself ignored—something that didn’t happen often. Today was full of surprises, and each one only deepened her curiosity. What kind of pce was this?

  The two monstrous wolves guarding the entrance made a direct approach unwise. But as a trained agent, Natasha always had alternatives.

  She pulled out her phone and dialed 911, adopting a panicked tone. "Hello? I’m in Hell’s Kitchen, 34th Street. There are two enormous wolves here—they look like they’re about to attack me! Please, send help!"

  About fifteen minutes ter, a patrol car arrived. Two officers stepped out, the older one approaching Natasha first. "Ma’am, are you the one who called? Where are these wolves you mentioned?"

  Natasha was stunned. How could he not see the two massive creatures right in front of him? The younger officer had already gone over to greet them!

  Frowning, she pointed at the wolves, which were now impatiently shooing the young cop away. "They’re right there. They nearly attacked me when I tried to enter the restaurant."

  The older officer chuckled. "Those aren’t wolves. They’re the Peace Restaurant owner’s pet dogs—registered and documented with our precinct. They’ve never attacked anyone unprovoked." He eyed Natasha thoughtfully. "As for why they reacted to you... maybe you’ve got some unusual scents on you."

  Natasha raised an eyebrow. "So if I go inside, you’ll make sure these... pets don’t attack me?" Her gaze was pointed.

  The officer sighed, recognizing the unspoken challenge. "You’re free to enter. Thor and Doom won’t bother you. But I should warn you—Alvin, the owner, is a good man."

  Natasha smirked, brushing off the implied caution. With a slight tilt of her chin, she signaled her intent to proceed.

  Inside, the restaurant was modest—six tables and two booths against the wall, all occupied. Foggy and Matt had cimed two seats at the counter.

  "Matt, why’d we have to rush off? It’s not every day we meet a woman like that! Oh—right, you can’t see her," Foggy said, then froze mid-sentence.

  A slender, pretty girl stood behind the counter, holding two gsses of lemonade. She had been about to serve them—until Foggy’s comment. Instead, she handed one to a boy in a wheelchair reading a book nearby.

  The boy grinned, revealing two missing front teeth. "Thanks, Jessica!"

  The other gss went to Matt. The girl tapped the cup lightly—ding—to signal its pcement. "Your lemonade, sir. The steaks will be a little te today. Please wait a moment."

  She shot Foggy a gre before walking off to handle another table’s bill.

  Foggy groaned. "Hey! Jess, you can’t do this to me. Where’s my drink?" He turned to the boy. "Hey, buddy, that lemonade was supposed to be mine. Hand it over, and I’ll write you a glowing recommendation letter."

  The boy stuck out his tongue, then mimicked a wine connoisseur—swirling the gss, sniffing it, and finally taking a tiny, exaggerated sip.

  Foggy pyfully growled, baring his teeth in mock menace. The two engaged in a silent, exaggerated battle across the counter.

  Matt shook his head, amused by Foggy’s antics.

  At the far end of the counter, against the wall, stood a ten-burner stove. Alvin, wearing an apron, tended to ten sizzling steaks simultaneously without turning around.

  "Foggy, if you keep distracting our dear Nick Castle from his studies, you can kiss dinner goodbye. Nick here only managed a D in math yesterday."

  "Hey! Alvin, we agreed you wouldn’t tell anyone!" Nick filed his arms in protest.

  Alvin didn’t turn, his tone teasing. "We also agreed you’d finish your homework in your room. Yet here you are."

  Nick squirmed. "You were gone, and Jessica was alone. I just wanted to help!" He held up his book defensively. "Besides, I was reading!"

  "Ah yes, Mr. Bookworm. Tell me, does Batman teach you how to get an A?" Alvin flipped a finished steak onto a wooden tray and pced it on the wheelchair’s attached stand. "Take this to Old Stan. Maybe chatting about Batman will earn you a tip."

  "Alvin, come on! Nick’s just a kid! Not everyone’s cut out for school—forcing him won’t help," Foggy protested, earning an eye-roll from Nick.

  "Foggy, are you seriously debating child-rearing with a Chinese man? Really?" A chubby white man at the counter rested his chin on his palm, cheeks squishing outward. He shot Alvin’s back a reverent gnce before adding, "Everyone knows Chinese kids are geniuses. My old teacher used to say they’ve got some kind of witchcraft for it."

  Foggy’s tone turned sharp. "Sheriff, why do you only show up on the first of every month? What’s so special about today? Could it be... the steak?"

  "Hey, Foggy, show some respect!" Sheriff snapped—but nothing harsher followed. Regurs knew Alvin had zero tolerance for foul nguage, especially around kids.