I RECOGNIZED THE MAFIA BOSS'S PITBULL AS MY STOLEN PUPPY - THEN ONE LAUGH IN HIS DINING ROOM MADE MY BLOOD TURN COLD

Before Marcus’s fingers could close around the grip of his hidden Glock, Cerberus was airborne.

It wasn't a dog lunging; it was a missile wrapped in black fur and muscle. The heavy pitbull hit Marcus square in the chest with the force of a full-grown calf. The underboss went flying backward, shattering the mahogany sideboard into kindling as he crashed into the wall and slid down in a heap of broken crystal and splintered wood.

Bang!

A stray shot went wild, punching a clean, smoking hole straight through the multi-thousand-dollar imported painting behind Enzo’s head.

The other capos drew their weapons instantly, shouting orders, safety clicks snapping off in unison.

"Hold your fire!" Enzo roared, his voice cutting through the chaos like a whip. He hadn't even flinched when the bullet tore through the canvas. His eyes were locked on the writhing heap of man and beast on the floor.

Cerberus had Marcus pinned by the throat—not tearing into him yet, just holding him down with hundreds of pounds of downward pressure, growling a rhythmic, bone-chilling bass note that vibrated through the floorboards. Marcus’s face was turning a bruised, mottled purple, his fingers clawing frantically at the thick fur around the dog's neck, failing to move even a single hair.

"Please... Enzo... get him off!" Marcus choked out, spittle flying from his lips. "I'll... I'll tell you everything!"

Enzo walked slowly over to the wreckage. He squatted down, resting one forearm on his knee, looking down at the man who had managed his offshore accounts for five years.

"You've got ten seconds, Marcus," Enzo said mildly, as if asking for the weather. "Start talking before I let the dog finish his appetizer. And remember: if I hear even a hint of a lie, I'll let him take his time."

Marcus gasped for air as Cerberus eased his jaw pressure by a millimeter—just enough for the man to drag oxygen into his burning lungs.

"It wasn't... it wasn't personal!" Marcus wheezed, tears leaking from the corners of his eyes, ruining his sophisticated composure. "The father... the mechanic... he was auditing the municipal contracts for the new dock expansion! He found the ledger entries! He found where we were washing the syndicate's money through the port authority!"

My breath hitched. My chest tightened so hard it felt like a fist was squeezing my heart. My father. They didn't just steal my puppy to be cruel. They stole him to terrorize my dad, to send a message, to break him before he could take those papers to the federal prosecutors.

"Go on," Enzo commanded, his voice dropping an octave darker.

"We needed to silence him," Marcus gasped, coughing violently. "We set the fire in his workshop to destroy the hard copies. But the dog... the stupid dog kept barking, trying to bite my leg while I was planting the accelerant! I grabbed it, threw it in the trunk, and dumped it on my way out. I lied to you, Boss... I told you I found a stray because I wanted a trained pitbull for protection, and I knew you liked fighters!"

Enzo looked at Marcus for a long, agonizing moment. The penthouse was dead silent again, save for Cerberus’s heavy, rhythmic panting.

Then Enzo stood up. He didn't look at Marcus anymore. He looked down at me.

In his eyes, there was no mafia coldness left. There was something ancient, complicated, and devastatingly dark—a kindred spirit recognizing another soul forged in the exact same furnace of grief and injustice.

"You said your father died the same week," Enzo said quietly, his voice intended only for me.

"They ruled it an accidental electrical fire," I whispered, hot tears finally breaking free and tracking down my cheeks, though my hands remained steady on the dog's collar. "The police closed the case in three days. They said my dad was careless with his wiring."

Enzo turned his head back toward the groveling underboss on the floor. He slowly drew his Sig Sauer, the matte black metal catching the light.

"Marcus," Enzo said softly.

"Boss—please! We've been through so much—"

"My grandfather taught me one rule in this life," Enzo interrupted, thumbing the hammer back with a sharp, metallic click. "You can steal from my vaults. You can sleep with my women. You can even lie to my face."

Enzo aimed the barrel straight between Marcus's terror-wide eyes.