A Veterinarian Rescued the Mafia Boss’s Blind Cane Corso, but the Dog Had Been Used to Turn Her Into a Murder Weapon

On Thursday morning, the tranquility of the estate was shattered by an unannounced visitor.

Julian Caruso arrived with two attorneys, demanding an audience with his uncle under the pretext of signing urgent corporate transit documents.

Maeve watched from the second-floor balcony overlooking the grand foyer as Julian walked in, his expensive Italian suit immaculate, a smirk playing on his thin lips.

"Uncle Dante," Julian said smoothly, opening his arms in a fake gesture of warmth. "The family was worried. The police reported a shootout at some rural vet clinic in Chester County. Rumors were flying that you were ambushed."

Dante stood at the base of the grand staircase, his hands tucked into his pockets. "I am perfectly well, Julian. The clinic incident was merely a minor dispute involving trespassers. My security handled it."

Julian’s eyes scanned the upper floor, catching sight of Maeve standing in the shadows. His smile widened, becoming predatory.

"Ah, the brave Dr. Hart," Julian called out, raising his voice so it echoed across the marble walls. "Still tending to damaged beasts, Doctor? You should be careful. Some animals are too broken to be saved. They only know how to bite the hand that feeds them."

Maeve walked down the stairs, her chin held high, refusing to let him intimidate her. "Animals only become broken when evil men torture them, Mr. Caruso. But unlike men, animals can heal. Can you say the same for your conscience?"

Julian’s smile faltered for a fraction of a second, his eyes flashing with violent anger. "Careful, Doctor. Ethics don't protect people from sudden accidents."

"That’s enough, Julian," Dante’s voice dropped like a guillotine. "Sign the papers and leave my house."

Julian smirked, retrieving a gold pen from his jacket. He signed the documents on the foyer table, then turned toward the front door. Just as he reached the threshold, he paused, pulled a small silver device from his pocket—resembling a high-end car fob—and casually pressed a button.

A high-pitched, near-ultrasonic frequency cut through the room. Human ears could barely register it, but to a canine, it was a piercing blade of agony.