The Mafia Boss’s Fiancée Said His Loyal Dog Ran Away

Adrian did not stand up immediately. He remained kneeling beside the stainless-steel bowl, his fingers resting lightly on the cold metal rim.

For eight years, Bruno had been his constant, silent shadow. In the brutal world of New York shipping conglomerates and the subterranean power networks of the Moretti syndicate, loyalty was usually bought with wire transfers, territory, or fear. Bruno’s loyalty had been forged when Adrian pulled the battered, six-month-old pup from an abandoned warehouse in Red Hook. Bruno had slept across Adrian’s feet while he recovered from a bullet wound in 2020; Bruno had guarded his study door during three federal investigations.

Vivienne Romano stood in the archway, clutching her cashmere sweater around her throat, looking like a grieving, devoted partner.

"Adrian, please," Vivienne murmured, her voice soft with rehearsed tenderness. "Dr. Cole warned us last winter that giant breeds rarely live past eight. His joints were stiff. Sometimes old dogs know when their time has come. They look for a quiet place in the woods."

"Mastiffs don't unlatch an eight-foot wrought-iron security gate with a magnetic deadbolt, Vivienne," Adrian said.

His voice was dead-flat, lacking any modulation, but it carried the concussive chill of an approaching blizzard.

He rose to his feet, stepping past her into the rear service corridor.

Standing near the linen press, clutching a stack of folded guest towels against her apron, was Clara Lin. Clara was twenty-seven, an archivist and junior housekeeper who had worked on the estate for eighteen months. Beside her, half-hidden behind the cotton folds of her mother's skirt, stood three-year-old Lily.

Lily wore a faded yellow corduroy dress and clean white socks. Her dark curls framed wide, solemn brown eyes that watched Adrian with unbroken concentration.

"Clara," Adrian said. "Did you see Bruno yesterday morning?"

Clara looked down, her hands tightening slightly against the linen. "I arrived for my shift at seven o'clock, Mr. Moretti. The rear service gate was already open, and Miss Romano had instructed the grounds crew to search the western ravine."

Vivienne stepped up beside Adrian, frowning slightly. "Clara, you and your daughter should return to the carriage house quarters. Mr. Moretti is exhausted from his trip to Chicago."

Lily peeked around her mother's hip.

She didn't look at Vivienne. She looked directly into Adrian’s slate-gray eyes.

"They took him," Lily whispered.

The grandfather clock in the foyer struck the quarter-hour. The mechanical chime seemed to freeze the air in the corridor.

Vivienne let out an irritated, patronizing sigh. "Lily is three, Adrian. She has a vivid imagination—"

Adrian did not look at his fiancée.

He took two slow steps forward, lowering his towering six-foot-two frame onto one knee in front of the little girl.

"Who took him, Lily?" Adrian asked gently.

Lily pointed a small, round finger toward the rear service door that led to the gravel courtyard. "The man with the shiny black shoes and the black car. Miss Vivienne gave him the leash. Bruno was sleepy. He couldn't stand up, so the man pulled him into the trunk."

Vivienne’s breath hitched in a sharp, audible gasp. "That is an outrageous, slanderous lie! Clara, how dare you coach your child to say such vile things about me!"

Clara pulled Lily firmly behind her back, her chin lifting with fierce maternal defiance. "My daughter does not lie, Miss Romano. And I did not coach her."

Adrian stood up slowly.

He didn't look at Vivienne. He walked through the rear service door out into the freezing December drizzle, heading straight for the rear iron gate.

The gravel was wet, packed hard by forty-eight hours of rain.

Adrian knelt near the hinge of the heavy iron post.

Caught in the latch mechanism, soaked in rainwater, was a tiny, shredded piece of red synthetic fiber.

Beside it, pressed into the mud where the garden mulch met the gravel, lay a single, distinctive gold cufflink stamped with an engraved crest: A soaring falcon clutching an anchor.

The Romano family signet.

Adrian picked up the gold cufflink, turning it over in his palm.