She just saw an injured dog on the side of the road. She had no idea who it belonged to.

She was that kind of person — the kind who stops. The kind who kneels in the rain next to a hurt animal and doesn't think twice about being late, being inconvenient, being seen.

She scooped him up. Took him to a vet. Stayed until he was stable.

Just a good person doing a good thing. Nothing more.

Except — the dog had a collar. And the collar had a name. And the name led back to a man whose name made entire rooms go quiet.

The most feared mafia boss in the city got the call from his men:

"Boss. A girl found Bruno. She's at the vet clinic on Fifth."

He didn't send someone.

He went himself.

She was still there when he walked in — sitting in a plastic chair, Bruno's  ...