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

I sat on the edge of Enzo’s king-sized bed, my hands buried in Cerberus’s thick coat. The dog lay his massive, scarred head on my lap, sighing heavily. For the first time in seven years, I felt a sense of peace, but it was wrapped in pure terror.

Outside the master suite, the penthouse was eerie and quiet. No gunshots. No screaming. Just a low, muffled murmur of voices that eventually died down completely.

About an hour later, the brass door handle turned.

I gasped, pulling Cerberus closer, but it was just Enzo. He walked in quietly, untying his silk tie and tossing it onto a chair. His coat was off, his white dress shirt sleeves rolled up to his forearms.

"He's asleep," Enzo said, nodding toward the dog.

"Is... is Dominic gone?" I asked softly.

"For tonight," Enzo replied, walking over to a wet bar in the corner of the room and pouring himself two fingers of bourbon. "Dominic swears he bought the dog from a breeder in Brooklyn seven years ago. He claims he doesn't remember where."

"He's lying," I said fiercely. "I know his voice, Mr. Dante. I know his face."

Enzo took a slow sip of his drink, staring at me over the glass. "I know he's lying. I've known Dominic was hiding things from me for months. But a man doesn't steal a thirteen-year-old girl's dog for no reason. Dominic Vance doesn't do anything without a profit motive."

I frowned, confused. "What do you mean?"

Enzo walked over and stood in front of me. "What was your father's name, Clara?"

Hearing my real name—Clara—come out of his mouth sent a shiver down my spine. "Arthur. Arthur Vance."

Enzo froze. His glass stayed suspended halfway to his mouth. "Arthur Vance?"

"Yes," I said. "Why?"

"Your last name is Vance?" Enzo’s eyes narrowed into sharp steel. "Dominic’s full name is Dominic Vance."

The room seemed to spin. "I... I knew my father had an estranged brother," I stammered, the pieces of a dark puzzle suddenly slamming together in my head. "My dad never talked about him. All he ever said was that his brother was involved with dangerous people and was dead to our family."

Enzo let out a low breath, tossing his drink back in one gulp.

"Arthur Vance wasn't just a civilian," Enzo said softly. "Seven years ago, Arthur was the chief accountant for my father’s syndicate. Before my father died and I took over, Arthur went missing with a thumb drive containing every bank account, every bribe, and every shell company my family owned."

My breath hitched. "My father died of a heart attack seven years ago!"

"Did he?" Enzo asked, stepping closer. "Or did someone make it look like a heart attack because Arthur refused to give up where he hid that drive?"

Tears burned the back of my eyes. "No... no, my dad was sick. He passed away in his sleep..."

"The same week your dog was stolen," Enzo reminded me gently.

He sat down on the leather ottoman across from me, looking deeply into my eyes.

"Clara, think," Enzo urged. "Did your father give you anything before he died? A key? A piece of jewelry? Something he told you to keep safe?"

I shook my head, my mind racing through forgotten childhood memories. "Nothing. Just... just the dog. He bought me the puppy two months before he died."

Enzo’s eyes slowly traveled down to Cerberus.

The dog was lying comfortably, his white-marked chest rising and falling softly.

Enzo leaned forward, his hands resting on his knees. "Dominic didn't steal the dog to sell him. He stole the dog because he thought Arthur hid something on him. But Dominic couldn't train the pup. The dog fought him so hard that Dominic beat him, scarred him, and eventually pawned him off to me as a guard dog when he couldn't get what he wanted."

Enzo reached out and gently touched the thick leather collar around Cerberus's neck—a heavy, custom collar Dominic had given the dog years ago.

"May I?" Enzo asked me.

I nodded.

Enzo unclasped the heavy leather collar. It was thick, double-stitched, and weighed almost two pounds. Enzo pulled a small silver pocketknife from his trousers and carefully sliced through the interior leather lining.

Click.