Everyone Was Forbidden From Approaching the Unconscious Mafia Boss—Until His Guard Dog Picked a Poor Nurse

By Tuesday evening, the rain had cleared, leaving behind a cold, sharp fog that rolled off the salt marshes and blanketed the compound grounds.

Alice stood in the high-ceilinged kitchen of the safe house, preparing a fresh solution of intravenous antibiotic for Stefano’s evening line. The room was stainless steel and black granite, lit by low under-cabinet LEDs that cast long, clean shadows across the counters.

Behind her, the door swung open. Carmine Baldi walked in, holding a glass of dark whiskey. He had removed his coat, revealing a shoulder holster worn dark with sweat at the seams.

"You look comfortable," Carmine said, leaning his hip against the central island. "For a girl whose family used to haul fish out of the docks."

Alice didn't turn around. She checked the seal on the saline bag, flicking the air bubbles out of the line with a sharp snap of her finger.

"The saline is cold," Alice noted dryly. "Tell your men to stop leaving the medical crates near the garage door."

"My men are busy keeping you alive," Carmine spat, taking a heavy swallow of whiskey. "Though if you ask me, we're keeping the wrong person in the house."

Alice set the bag down and turned to face him. She was wearing her grey scrubs, her hair tied back with a black strip of gauze. Her face was calm, unbothered by his presence.

"You've been trying to find a reason to shoot me since two o'clock Sunday morning, Carmine," she said. "Why don't you just say what's on your mind?"

Carmine set his glass down on the granite counter with a sharp clink.

"The boss is soft on you," Carmine whispered, stepping closer. "He thinks because his dog likes you, you're clean. But I know how your uncle worked. Richard Vance didn't leave anything behind except debt and blood. You're here for the ledger."

"I don't care about your ledger," Alice said. "I care about the fact that Stefano’s incision is inflamed because one of your knuckle-dragons used unsterilized scissors to cut his outer dressing this morning."

Carmine’s face flushed red. He reached out, his thick fingers grabbing Alice by the arm—hard enough to leave five dark spots on her pale skin.

"Don't you talk to me like—"

A sound cut him off.

It wasn't a growl. It was a sharp, explosive bark that hit the kitchen walls like a rifle shot.

Nero stood in the doorway from the dining room. His head was lowered, his back arched, his black lips pulled all the way back to his gums. Behind him, Maya backed into the shadows, her ears pinned flat.

Carmine froze. His hand stayed clamped on Alice’s arm, but his eyes shifted nervously toward the mastiff.

"Let go of my arm, Carmine," Alice said softly. "Not for my sake. For yours."

Carmine swallowed hard. He looked at the dog’s eyes—dark, yellow-tinged, and entirely fixed on his wrist. Slowly, inch by inch, Carmine opened his fingers and pulled his hand back.

Nero didn't move. The mastiff remained in the doorway, a low, vibration rattling through his chest.

"He's a dog," Carmine muttered, backing away toward the hall door. "Just an animal. One of these days, somebody's going to put a bullet in his head, and you won't be around to stop it."

"If anyone puts a bullet in Nero," Stefano’s voice came from the upper hall balcony, "they won't live long enough to hear the shell hit the floor."

Stefano stood at the iron railing above the kitchen, wearing a dark sweater and leaning on his cane. His face was pale, but his voice carried the weight of an anvil falling on stone.

Carmine looked up, his posture stiffening instantly. "Stefano. I was just—"

"I heard what you were doing," Stefano said coldly. "Go to the front gate. You're on perimeter watch until six AM."

Carmine’s jaw worked silently. He looked at Alice, then up at Stefano, before turning on his heel and sweeping out through the rear door into the fog.

Stefano slowly descended the wooden stairs, his cane clicking against every step. Nero moved to meet him at the bottom, pressing his head against Stefano’s knee until the boss reached down to stroke his ears.

"He’s getting restless," Stefano said, looking at Alice. "He knows Carmine doesn't belong here."

"Carmine’s nervous," Alice said, picking up the IV bag. "Nervous men make mistakes. He’s going to move on you before the week is out, Stefano."

Stefano paused, his hand resting on the dog’s neck. "You think Carmine set the fire?"

"I think Carmine has five thousand dollars worth of Italian calfskin boots on his feet," Alice said, walking past him toward the study. "And a triage nurse notices when a man’s boots smell of aviation kerosene instead of garage oil."

Stefano’s hazel eyes widened slightly. He stood at the base of the stairs for three long seconds, watching her back as she disappeared into the corridor.

"Danny," Stefano called out softly into the empty hall.

Danny emerged from the shadow of the pantry like a ghost. "Yeah, Boss?"

"Check Carmine’s locker in Newport," Stefano said. "Look for a bottle of blue solvent. The kind they use to clean naval turbine valves."