I Bathed the Mafia Boss’s Killer Pit Bull in a Basement Sink and Never Expected Him to Tell Me I Was His

The man in the grey suit was named Marco, and he was Dante’s primary underboss—a man whose face was etched with the permanent stress of running an empire built on thin ice.

"They're demanding a meeting at the warehouse in forty minutes, Dante," Marco said, his breath ragged as he approached us. His eyes flicked to me, then to Titan, his jaw tightening nervously as the dog gave a low, rumble of a growl from my side. "They're saying if you don't bring the dog and hand him over to be destroyed, they're going to shut down the entire eastern shipping lane."

Titan’s ears flattened. He felt the shift in the air instantly, his massive body tensing as he stepped in front of me, placing himself firmly between Marco and my legs.

"Easy, boy," I whispered softly, placing my palm on Titan's hip and using a quick visual sign—a flat hand lowering slowly. Titan instantly relaxed his posture, though his eyes remained glued to Marco.

Marco stared at me in absolute shock. "How did she... he didn't attack?"

"She controls him," Dante said, his tone turning ice-cold as he turned his full focus onto his underboss. "And nobody is handing Titan over to the Morettis."

"Dante, be reasonable!" Marco pleaded, lowering his voice. "Dominic Moretti is looking for an excuse to start a war! His lieutenant, Jimmy, got bit because he tried to inspect our crate without authorization. If we don't give them something to satisfy their pride, the whole harbor will be burning by midnight!"

"Then let it burn," Dante said smoothly, unbuttoning his cuffs and turning back toward the guest cottage. "Marco, assemble the eastern crew. Tell Dominic I will meet him at the harbor warehouse in one hour. But tell him if he brings weapons into the neutral zone, I will personally feed his lieutenant to the fish."

"Dante—"

"Go," Dante commanded quietly.

Marco swallowed hard, gave me a long, lingering, suspicious look, and turned on his heel, speeding back toward his car.

I stood on the driveway, my heart pounding against my ribs. "He wants to kill Titan?"

Dante turned to me, his expression transformed back into the impassive, terrifying mask of the Caruso family patriarch. "Dominic Moretti has been trying to find a vulnerability in my operation for three years. He thinks because Titan was involved in an incident at the docks last night, he can use city animal control laws and mob protocol to force my hand."

"Titan was protecting your shipment, wasn't he?" I asked, reading between the lines. "He didn't just attack a random man."

"Jimmy Moretti tried to break the seal on a container holding three million dollars worth of medical supplies I imported for private clinics in the city," Dante revealed calmly. "Titan was guarding the container. Jimmy pulled a knife on him—that's where Titan got the shoulder slash. Titan bit him to protect the cargo."

A surge of protective rage boiled up inside me. "They cut him with a knife, and now they want to put him down because he defended himself?"

"That is how men like Dominic Moretti operate," Dante said, stepping closer to me. "They use rules when it suits them, and violence when it doesn't."

"You can't take Titan to that meeting," I said, grabbing Dante’s sleeve. The heavy silk of his shirt felt expensive under my fingers, but I didn't care. "If they see him, if they try to touch him, it will provoke a fight. His wound is still fresh. If those stitches pop, he could bleed out in minutes."

Dante looked down at my hand clutching his arm. A slow, dark glint of satisfaction appeared in his eyes. "Are you worried about the dog, Rosalie... or are you worried about me?"

"I’m worried about both of you, you arrogant idiot!" I snapped, dropping my hand. "You're walking into a trap!"

Dante let out a soft sound that was half-amused, half-impressed. "Nobody has called me an idiot since my father died ten years ago."

"Maybe someone should call you an idiot more often if you think walking into a warehouse full of angry mobsters with a wounded dog is a good strategy."

Dante stared at me, his amber eyes darkening with an intensity that made my breath catch. He reached out, his fingers tracing the contour of my collarbone before resting gently at the side of my neck, feeling the steady, rapid pulse hammering there.

"I have to go to that meeting, Rosalie," he murmured, his thumb resting over my pulse. "If I show weakness now, they will come here. They will come to this estate. They will come for Titan, and they will come for you and your brother."

The weight of his words settled over me like a cold blanket. This wasn't a movie. This was the real, brutal reality of Dante Caruso’s world. The moment I had accepted that key, the moment I had walked onto this property, I had crossed an invisible line.

"Then take me with you," I said.

Dante’s hand went still on my neck. "No."

"I am his medical handler," I insisted, taking a step closer, matching his fierce glare with my own stubborn resolve. "If you bring Titan, he needs someone who can keep him calm without physical force. If Jimmy Moretti sees that a five-foot-four vet tech can control the dog with hand signals while twenty armed men couldn't touch him, it proves the dog isn't a rabid beast. It proves your men were incompetent, and that Jimmy provoked an animal that was under full obedience control."

Dante stared down at me, his mind clearly weighing the strategic implications of my words.

"It’s dangerous," he said, his voice dropping into a low, protective growl. "Dominic Moretti is a dog who doesn't respect boundaries."

"I spent three years working in emergency veterinary medicine, Dante," I said, my voice steady. "I’ve dealt with pit bulls, rotweillers, and violent owners holding iron pipes. I’m not made of glass."

Dante stood motionless for a long moment, his eyes scanning every inch of my face, searching for any sign of hesitation or fear. He found none.

Slowly, a dark, dangerous smile spread across his handsome face—a smile that promised retribution to anyone who dared cross his path.

"Very well, Rosalie," Dante whispered, his hand sliding behind my head, his fingers tangling into my ponytail, gently pulling my face up until his lips were a fraction of an inch from mine. "You come with me. But you stay behind my left shoulder at all times. If a single bullet flies in that room, you drop to the floor, and you let me tear them apart."