"THE MAFIA BOSS’S FIANCÉE ORDERED ME TO GET RID OF HIS OLD DOG BEFORE THEIR ENGAGEMENT DINNER—BUT WHEN I CARRIED HIM INTO THE DINING ROOM, THE MOST FEARED MAN IN CHICAGO GOT DOWN ON HIS KNEES.

The grand dining room of the Moretti estate was a cathedral of wealth and power.

Crystalline chandeliers hung from ornate plaster ceilings, casting a warm, golden glow over the long mahogany table. Silver trays of caviar, roasted lamb, and vintage wine covered the linen tablecloth. Twenty-six of the most powerful people in Chicago were engaged in quiet, refined conversation.

Until I stepped into the center of the room.

Water dripped from my soaked black dress onto the pristine white Persian rug. Mud caked my knees. My hair was plastered to my skull, and my arms were shaking so violently from holding seventy pounds of trembling, wet German shepherd that I was on the verge of collapsing.

The violins cut out. The quiet hum of conversation died instantly.

Twenty-six pairs of eyes turned toward me.

"Get that filthy animal out of here!"

Vanessa’s voice shrieked from behind me as she burst through the swinging pantry doors, her red gown dripping water, her face flushed with rage.

She pointed a manicured finger toward the service entrance, her voice rising to a high, hysterical pitch. "You stupid, incompetent little maid! I told you to get rid of him! Put him down right now and get out of this house! You are fired!"

I didn't move. I tightened my arms around Bruno, my knees buckling under his weight.

"I'm sorry, ma'am," I whispered, my voice trembling but clear. "I couldn't."

Vanessa stepped toward me, her hand raised as if to strike me across the face. "You worthless piece of—"

CLINK.

The sound was soft, but it cut through the room like a gunshot.

Luca Moretti stood up from the head of the table so abruptly that his carved mahogany chair scraped loudly against the marble floor, screeching like a dying bird.

The room went dead silent. Nobody breathed.

Luca’s height was imposing—six-foot-three, broad-shouldered, clad in a perfectly tailored black tuxedo. His dark hair was brushed back, highlighting the sharp, razor-like contours of his jaw and his piercing, pale grey eyes.

He wasn't looking at Vanessa. He wasn't looking at the terrified guests.

He was staring directly at the wet, silver-muzzled head resting against my soaked shoulder.

His champagne glass slipped from his fingers, shattering against the marble trim near his feet. Dom Pérignon pooled over his leather shoes, but he didn't even flinch.

"Emma," his voice was low, devoid of emotion, yet carrying a weight that made the air in the room feel thick and heavy.

"Sir," I choked out, tears finally breaking past my eyelids.

Luca stepped around the table. He walked slowly, his eyes fixed entirely on the dog in my arms.

"Where did you find my dog?"

"Luca, darling!" Vanessa interjected quickly, stepping between Luca and me, putting a trembling hand on his tuxedo lapel. "Don't look at it! It's terrible! The maid found him in... in a terrible state! The dog was suffering, Luca! The vet said—"

"Don't touch me, Vanessa," Luca said softly.

He didn't yell. He didn't raise his voice. But Vanessa pulled her hand back as if she had just touched white-hot iron.

Luca stepped past her and stopped directly in front of me.

"Bruno?" he whispered.

The old dog’s ears twitched. His heavy, clouded brown eyes fluttered open, finding the face of the man who had loved him since he was a puppy. A faint, wheezing whimper escaped his throat.

And then, right there in front of twenty-six Chicago mob bosses, politicians, and two heavily armed bodyguards standing by the door, Luca Moretti dropped to his knees on the wet Persian rug.

"Come here, old boy," Luca murmured, his voice dropping into a register I had never heard before—soft, broken, and thick with emotion.

I lowered my arms, allowing Bruno’s front paws to touch the floor. His back legs trembled and buckled immediately, but before he could crash against the floor, Luca’s massive, powerful arms caught him.

Luca pulled the wet, muddy, seventy-pound German shepherd directly against his chest, completely unconcerned as rainwater and mud ruined his ten-thousand-dollar bespoke tuxedo.

Bruno buried his gray muzzle deep into the crook of Luca’s neck, his tail thumping weakly against the floor once, twice, three times.

Luca buried his face in the dog’s wet fur. His shoulders shook slightly once, then settled. For a full ten seconds, the most feared man in the city sat on the floor of his own dining room, hugging his dog in total silence.

When he finally looked up, his grey eyes were cold—colder than the autumn rain beating against the windows outside.

He looked up at Vanessa.

"You told me he died on Thursday," Luca said, his voice flat.

Vanessa gave a small, high-pitched, nervous laugh, taking a step backward. "Darling... I... I thought he had! The vet came on Wednesday while you were in Florida, and he told me Bruno was in the final stages of kidney failure! He said the dog wouldn't survive the night!"

"Which veterinarian?" Luca asked, slowly rising to his feet while keeping one hand anchored on Bruno’s head.

Vanessa’s eyes darted frantically toward the dining table, seeking support from her father, Marco Bellini, who was sitting motionless in his seat, his face pale.

"The... the one from the clinic on 5th Street!" Vanessa stammered. "Dr. Stevens!"

Luca turned his gaze to me. "Emma. Has Dr. Stevens been to this house this week?"

"No, sir," I answered immediately, wiping my face with my wet apron sleeve. "Dr. Stevens hasn't been here since August. And Bruno wasn't sick on Wednesday."

Vanessa’s face lost every trace of color. "You lying little tramp! You don't know what you're talking about!"

"He was locked in the old maintenance garage, sir," I continued, staring straight into Luca’s eyes. "The door was padlocked from the outside. His water bowl was bone dry, and he was lying on a gasoline-soaked blanket. Mrs. Bellini offered me a hundred dollars to keep quiet and let a driver take him away."

The dining room went entirely silent. You could hear the rain splashing against the windowpanes.

Luca’s gaze drifted slowly back to Vanessa.

"Locked?" he asked softly.

I nodded. "Yes, sir."

Vanessa threw her hands into the air, her voice rising in frantic desperation. "Oh, for heaven's sake, Luca! He's an old, dying dog! He was senile, he was wandering into the street, and he smelled terrible! I was trying to spare you the heartbreak of watching him die! I was doing you a favor!"

Luca took a slow step toward her. Bruno leaned heavy against his left leg, stabilized by his master's presence.

"Where were you sending him, Vanessa?"

"To... to a shelter!" she squeaked. "A farm! A nice farm in Indiana where he could live out his last days!"

"What farm?"

"Luca, please! You're embarrassing me in front of our guests!" she sobbed, holding her hands over her face. "This is our engagement party!"

Luca didn't look embarrassed. He looked like a storm ready to tear the city apart.

He turned his head toward his head of security, a massive man named Mateo who stood near the grand entrance with an earpiece plugged into his ear.

"Mateo," Luca commanded quietly. "Find out who was scheduled to collect a shipment from the maintenance garage tonight."

"Already on it, boss," Mateo replied, stepping out into the foyer with his phone pressed to his ear.

Luca turned back to Vanessa. His gaze dropped to Bruno’s neck.

"Where is his collar?"

Vanessa didn't answer. She reached for her champagne glass on the table with a hand that trembled so violently the crystal rattled against the wood.

"Sir," I said, reaching into my apron pocket. "I found his collar on the floor of the garage."

I pulled out the worn brown leather strap and handed it to Luca.

Luca took it delicately, holding it in his massive palm. His father had bought that collar thirteen years ago from a small leather craftsman in Palermo. Attached to the buckle was an empty brass ring.

The solid gold identification tag—engraved with Vincenzo Moretti’s initials and the family crest—was missing.

Luca stared at the empty metal ring. His thumb stroked the worn leather.

"Where is his tag, Vanessa?" Luca asked, his voice dropping an octave, sounding like grinding stones.

Vanessa swallowed hard, taking another step back until her spine hit the mahogany sideboard. "I... I don't know! It must have fallen off in the yard! Honestly, Luca, this is getting ridiculous! It's just an old piece of metal!"

Luca closed his hand over the leather collar, his knuckles turning stark white.

He looked down at me.

"Emma," he said, his voice softening slightly. "Take Bruno into my private study upstairs. Put him on the velvet sofa by the fireplace. Order the kitchen to boil fresh chicken, and call Dr. Stevens on my private line."

"Yes, sir," I said, stepping forward.

"And Emma?"

"Yes, Mr. Moretti?"

"You're not fired," he said, his eyes meeting mine with a flicker of genuine gratitude. "You're getting a raise."

Vanessa’s mouth fell open in outrage. "Luca! You can't be serious! You're taking the word of a maid over mine?!"

Before she could finish her sentence, Mateo walked back into the dining room, his face grim, his phone still in his hand.

"Boss," Mateo said, his heavy voice cutting through the room. "Security stopped a unmarked panel van at the front service gate. The driver says Mrs. Bellini paid him five hundred dollars in cash to collect a load from the old garage."

Vanessa went rigid. The glass of champagne slipped from her fingers, shattering against the marble floor, joining Luca’s broken glass.

Luca slowly turned his head toward his fiancée.

"What exactly was he collecting, Vanessa?"

Vanessa opened her mouth, but no sound came out. Her eyes darted frantically around the room, searching for help from her father, but Marco Bellini was looking down at his plate, refusing to make eye contact with anyone.

Mateo cleared his throat, looking at Luca with a strange, dark expression.

"Sir... there's something else," Mateo added, his voice dropping into a dark register that made every guest at the table lean forward. "The driver says Mrs. Bellini told him to wait until your flight left for the airport tomorrow morning before completing the job."

Luca stared at her. "Why?"

"Because," Mateo said, reading a text message on his screen, "he's asking whether he should still collect the second animal."

Luca froze.

I stopped in my tracks, Bruno leaning heavy against my legs.

Luca’s grey eyes fixed on Vanessa like two steel spikes.

"What second animal?" Luca asked softly.

Vanessa’s knees gave out. She collapsed back against the mahogany sideboard, her hands shaking so violently she had to hold onto the wood to keep from falling to the floor.