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

Two weeks passed on the Caruso estate, and the shift in my life was so radical it felt like a dream I might wake up from at any moment.

Every morning at seven, I walked from the guest cottage to the newly refurbished veterinary suite behind the stables. Titan’s shoulder wound had healed beautifully under my care; the stitches were out, the fur was beginning to grow back over the pink scar tissue, and his energy levels were through the roof.

Marcus had settled into his new routine with surprising ease. He spent his mornings in the main house library, studying for his college entrance exams, and his afternoons playing fetch with Titan on the vast green lawns overlooking the bay.

Dante was busy—running his vast network of shipping, logistics, and private security operations—but he was never absent.

Every evening at eight o'clock, regardless of how chaotic his day had been, Dante arrived at the guest cottage door. He didn't come with guards or weapons. He came alone, bringing fresh coffee, fine wine, or pastries from a bakery in Little Italy, sitting on my small porch while Titan rested across his boots.

It was on a muggy Thursday evening in late July that the thin wall between us finally began to crumble.

A sudden, violent summer thunderstorm had rolled in over the Chesapeake Bay, cracking thunder across the sky and rattling the glass panes of the cottage windows.

Titan, despite his bravery against armed men, hated thunder. He was crouched under my kitchen table, his heavy head resting on my feet, shivering slightly every time lightning lit up the room.

I was sitting on the floor beside him, wearing a comfortable oversized gray sweater and denim shorts, gently brushing his back with a soft bristle brush.

The front door opened, and Dante stepped inside. He was soaked from the dash between his car and the porch, his dark hair plastered against his forehead, his white dress shirt clinging to his chest and arms, making the dark ink of his chest tattoos visible through the wet linen.

He closed the door, shaking the water from his hair like a dark wolf.

"The main power grid on the north side just went down," Dante said, his voice low against the rumble of thunder outside. "I came to check on you two."

"We’re okay," I said, looking up from the floor. "Titan’s just not a fan of the lightning."

Dante walked into the kitchen, shedding his wet suit jacket and tossing it over a wooden chair. He crouched down on the floor right beside me, his long legs brushing against mine in the cramped space under the table overhang.

"He used to hide in the closet at the main house during storms," Dante murmured, reaching out to scratch Titan behind his good ear. "This is an improvement."

"Animals need consistency to feel safe," I said softly, setting the brush down. "When they know their environment isn't going to suddenly explode into violence, their nervous system relaxes."

Dante’s eyes shifted from Titan to me. The low warm light from the battery-powered lantern on the counter caught the sharp, striking contours of his face.

"And what about your nervous system, Rosalie?" he asked softly. "Has it relaxed since you came here?"

I looked down at my hands resting on my knees. "I haven't thought about my rent once in fourteen days. Marcus is happy. Titan is healthy. It feels... surreal."

"You deserve peace, Rosalie," Dante said, his voice dropping into that quiet, intimate register that always made my pulse race. "The world treated you poorly because you were honest. I despise many things in this life, but I respect honesty above all else."

He reached out, his hand wrapping gently around my jaw, his thumb brushing over the tiny beige hearing aid tucked behind my left ear.

"Does this ever bother you?" he asked softly.

"Sometimes," I admitted, looking into his golden-brown eyes. "People assume if you can't hear everything, you aren't paying attention. Or they think you're broken."

Dante’s expression turned fierce and dark. "You are the farthest thing from broken I have ever seen. You have more courage in your small finger than half the men who work for me."

He leaned in closer. The smell of rain, cedar, and warm skin washed over me.

"Dante..." I whispered, my voice trembling slightly.

"Tell me to stop, Rosalie," he murmured, his face inches from mine, his warm breath fanning across my lips. "Tell me you don't want this, and I will walk back out into that storm right now."

I looked at his lips, then back up into his eyes. I didn't want him to walk out. I had spent two weeks watching him protect me, watching him look at me like I was the only woman in the universe, watching the cold mafia boss turn into a gentle man the moment he stepped onto my porch.

"Don't go," I whispered.

Dante let out a ragged exhale, and then his lips came down on mine.

The kiss was slow, deep, and intoxicating. His mouth was warm and demanding, tasting of sweet wine and rain. His hand slid from my jaw down to the back of my neck, his long fingers tangling into my hair, holding me close as he deepened the kiss.

A quiet gasp escaped my throat, and Dante took advantage of it, his tongue sliding against mine, coaxing a deep, shuddering sigh from my chest. I reached up, my hands wrapping around his broad, rain-damp shoulders, pulling him as close as humanly possible.

He shifted, lifting me effortlessly off the hard wooden floor and setting me onto the soft cushion of the kitchen bench, sliding his body between my thighs without breaking the kiss for a single second.

His hands traveled down my back, warm and heavy through the fabric of my gray sweater, pulling my hips flush against his firm, muscular heat. A low growl echoed in his chest as my fingers traced the thick muscles of his neck and slid into his dark, wet hair.

"Rosalie," he breathed against my mouth, his kisses trailing down my jawline to the sensitive skin beneath my ear, making me arch my neck with a soft shiver. "You are driving me completely out of my mind."

"Good," I panted, my hands sliding down his wet shirt, feeling the hard ridges of his chest through the fabric. "Because you’ve been driving me crazy since the night in the laundry room."

Dante let out a dark, husky laugh against my skin, his hand sliding under the hem of my sweater, his warm, calloused palm resting against the bare skin of my waist. His thumb stroked slow, agonizing circles against my hip, sending electricity shooting straight down my spine.

Thunder cracked outside, shaking the cottage, but I didn't care about the storm anymore. The only storm that mattered was the man holding me in his arms, devouring my lips with a hunger that promised to consume everything I had ever been.

Suddenly, Titan let out a sharp, loud bark from beneath the table.

Dante froze mid-kiss, his forehead resting against mine, his chest heaving as he tried to regain control of his breathing.

Titan trotted out from under the table, trotted over to the front door, and pressed his nose against the crack, his tail wagging frantically.

A heavy knock sounded on the wooden door.

Marco’s voice called out from the porch through the rain. "Dante! Emergency! The Federal prosecutor just issued an indictment search warrant for the harbor offices! We need you at the main house right now!"

Dante closed his eyes, letting out a long, dark curse in Italian that I didn't need translated to understand.

He slowly pulled back, his amber eyes dark with unfulfilled desire as he looked down at me. He reached out, gently smoothing my ruffled sweater down over my hips, his thumb stroking my swollen lips one last time.