The Mafia Boss’s Dog Refused to Leave the Little Girl’s Coffin—Then They Heard Something Inside

Enzo Moretti stepped onto the metal catwalk without a cane.

He stood straight. Strong. Smiling.

The old man I had visited every Sunday was a costume.

"You look surprised," he said.

"You taught me never to trust appearances."

"I also taught you never to bring police to family business."

Red laser dots moved across my chest. Gunmen watched from behind stacked crates. Detective Brooks and her team remained outside, blind to the signal-blocking walls.

Tomas was tied to a chair below the catwalk. His face was bruised, but he was conscious.

"Elena is safe," I said.

Enzo's smile faded. "Then you came empty-handed."

"I came with Marco."

Marco lay on the concrete beneath Bruno's paws. "Mr. Moretti, I tried."

Enzo looked at him with disgust. "You were useful when you were invisible."

A gunshot cracked from the catwalk.

Marco jerked, then went still. The bullet hit his shoulder, not his heart, but the message was clear. Enzo would kill his own men as easily as he signed checks.

Tomas shouted, "Where are the other children?"

Enzo laughed softly. "A father should learn when silence keeps his family alive."

I looked at the trucks. Refrigerated units. False walls. Medical records. Death certificates.

Elena had not stumbled onto one crime. She had seen a transfer point.

"Carlo found this place," I said.

Enzo's eyes sharpened.

My cousin Carlo had died eight years earlier after someone sold his location to a rival crew. I had spent years hunting a traitor who had been sitting beside me at Sunday dinner.

"Carlo was emotional," Enzo said. "He wanted to burn everything down after he found a child in one of the vans."

My hands closed into fists.

"So you buried him."

"I preserved the family."

Behind me, Tony whispered, "Signal is back."

One bar appeared on his phone.

Enzo heard him.

The gunmen raised their weapons.

Bruno moved toward Tomas.

I moved toward Enzo.

Then every refrigerated truck started at once.