Chapter 3 - The Shadow Over Queens
The east guest suite of the Castellano penthouse was larger than Nina’s entire two-bedroom apartment in Sunnyside.
It featured floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking Central Park, a king-sized bed wrapped in eight-hundred-thread-count Egyptian cotton, and an adjoining bathroom clad in solid green onyx.
Nina sat on the edge of the massive bed, wearing an oversized, incredibly soft grey cashmere sweater that Rocco had brought her, alongside a pair of black drawstring pants.
Ghost lay across her feet. His heavy head rested directly over her ankles—the exact same position he had slept in when he was an eight-pound puppy with floppy ears. Every few minutes, his dark eyes would open slightly, checking to make sure she was still there, before his deep, snoring breaths resumed.
A soft knock sounded at the heavy oak door.
Ghost’s ears instantly flared forward. He didn't growl, but his body went completely rigid beneath Nina’s legs.
“Who is it?” Nina called out, her heart hammering against her ribs.
The door opened slowly. Lorenzo stepped inside. He had removed his suit jacket, rolling the sleeves of his crisp white shirt up to his elbows, revealing lean, corded forearms marked by a faint, silver surgical scar near his right wrist.
In his hand, he carried a silver tray with two porcelain mugs of steaming tea and a plate of sliced roast beef.
“He hasn't eaten the kibble Rocco brought,” Lorenzo observed, setting the tray down on the low glass table near the window. “He’s used to raw meat. Grade-A sirloin.”
Ghost lifted his head, sniffing the air, but he didn't move from Nina’s feet until she gently patted his side.
“Go on, Ghost,” Nina whispered. “It’s okay.”
Ghost stood up, walked slowly over to the tray, took a piece of beef with incredible gentleness from the porcelain plate, and swallowed it whole before returning to lay his chin on Nina’s knee.
Lorenzo watched the interaction with an expression that bordered on intense fascination.
“He would have ripped the arm off any man who offered him food without his handler’s whistle,” Lorenzo said, sitting down in the leather armchair across from her. He picked up one of the tea mugs and handed it to her. “Chamomile. With honey.”
Nina took the mug, feeling the warmth spread into her cold fingers. “How did you get him?”
Lorenzo took a slow sip from his own cup. “Five years ago, my father was assassinated in Milan by the Moretti syndicate. I took over the family operations at twenty-four. Within three months, there were four separate attempts on my life. Car bombs, snipers, poisoned wine.”
His eyes darkened as he looked out at the rain tearing across the glass window.
“My uncle told me I needed an apex security animal. Something that couldn't be hacked, couldn't be bribed, and couldn't be tricked by facial recognition software. He contacted a elite kennel in the foothills of Bergamo—Allevamento Il Bastione. They claimed they bred military-grade Rottweilers for the Italian Special Forces.”
“They lied,” Nina said softly.
“They lied,” Lorenzo agreed. “They brought me a sixteen-month-old dog that had already been broken. They told me he was aggressive because of his high working drive. I paid them three hundred thousand euros. He saved my life eighteen months ago in Miami when two gunmen ambushed my motorcade in an underground garage. He took a nine-millimeter round to his shoulder.”
Nina gasped, her hand flying to Ghost’s chest, feeling the thick, puckered scar beneath his tan fur. “He was shot?!”
“He killed both attackers before the second bullet could clear the barrel,” Lorenzo said, his voice completely devoid of emotion. “He bled for me, Miss Vasquez. He protected my life when my own bodyguards failed. I gave him the best medical care money could buy. I gave him a private handler. I built him an outdoor run at my estate in Long Island that cost more than a suburban house.”
Lorenzo set his tea cup down on the glass table with a soft, precise clink.
“I thought he was loyal to me,” Lorenzo whispered, looking directly into her eyes. “I thought I was his master. And then you walked into my home with a tray of tuna, hummed six notes of a children’s song, and he dropped to his knees like a broken puppet.”
Nina met his gaze, refusing to look away.
“He didn't drop to his knees because he was broken, Mr. Castellano,” Nina said fiercely. “He dropped to his knees because he remembered who he was before you turned him into a weapon. He remembered love.”
Lorenzo stared at her. For the first time, a faint, dangerous smile touched the corner of his narrow lips.
“Love is a liability in my world, Miss Vasquez,” Lorenzo said gently. “And tonight, your love has created a very large target on your back.”
Before Nina could respond, Lorenzo’s phone buzzed sharply against his thigh. He pulled it out, swiped the screen, and placed it against his ear.
“Speak,” Lorenzo commanded.
May you like
Rocco’s panicked voice echoed loudly through the receiver, clear enough for Nina to hear every word:
“Boss! We have a situation at the Queens animal shelter archives! Someone just torched the building! The physical records room from 2020 is completely engulfed in flames!”
