They Poured Champagne on the Blind Dog for Laughs, but the Mafia Boss Knew They Were Hiding Something Worse

There were no bright lights. The hallways were illuminated by dim, warm sconces placed low near the baseboards—a detail Mara recognized immediately.

"You adjusted the lighting for him," Mara said, trailing behind Dominic as Rook walked glued to her left hip.

"When he first lost his vision, bright overhead glare caused him physical pain due to the nerve damage," Dominic explained, handing his overcoat to a waiting servant. "So I had the house rewired. He knows every step of this floor. Three hundred and twelve feet from the foyer to the study. Twelve steps down to the courtyard. He built a map."

"And tonight, that map was broken," Mara said.

A loud, furious set of footsteps echoed down the marble gallery behind them.

"Mara!"

Mara turned just in time to catch her sister, Clara, who practically threw herself around Mara’s neck. Clara was breathless, her eyes wide with frantic adrenaline, her expensive hair disheveled by the sea wind.

"Are you insane?!" Clara gasped, clutching Mara’s shoulders and shaking her. "Who are these people? The men in the SUV wouldn't answer my questions! They locked us in the hotel, Mara! There were guards with guns at every exit! What did you do?!"

"Clara, calm down," Mara said soothingly, taking her sister's shaking hands. "It’s okay. We’re safe."

"Safe?!" Clara shrieked softly, glancing at Dominic Vale, who stood five feet away like a statue carved from shadow. "That is Dominic Vale! Do you have any idea who he is, Mara? He controls the shipping docks from Maine to Rhode Island! He owns half the city council! People who cross him vanish!"

"Ms. Whitaker," Dominic said smoothly, his voice cutting through Clara’s hysteria like a blade through silk. "Your sister is welcome to use the guest suites on the third floor. My staff has already prepared clothes and rooms for both of you."

"I'm not staying here!" Clara protested, her voice trembling. "Mara, we are leaving. Right now."

"We can't, Clara," Mara said quietly. She looked down at Rook, who had lowered his head onto her knee again, his clouded eyes fixed on the empty air in front of him. "He needs help."

"It's a dog, Mara!" Clara pleaded. "You have a clinic to run! You have bills to pay!"

"Your clinic's outstanding debts were cleared twenty minutes ago," Dominic stated casually, pulling a silver cigarette case from his pocket, then pausing and slipping it back when he saw Mara’s frown. "The property mortgage has been paid in full. The equipment upgrades you requested from the state medical board three months ago have been purchased and delivered to your facility in Newburyport."

Mara’s jaw dropped. "You... you paid off my clinic?"

"I do not ask for favors, Ms. Whitaker," Dominic said, walking toward his study doors. "I hire experts. You are here as a medical consultant. Your fee is your clinic’s independence. In exchange, you restore my dog’s ability to track."

Clara stared at Mara, her mouth open in utter disbelief. "Mara... tell me you didn't just sign a contract with the devil."

"He didn't give me a pen, Clara," Mara said dryly, though her heart was hammering against her ribs. She looked at Dominic’s back as he opened the heavy oak doors of his study. "How long do I have?"

Dominic stopped in the doorway, his silhouette framed by the firelight dancing inside the room.

"The three men from the hotel—the ones who poured the champagne—are currently being held in a warehouse near the docks," Dominic revealed without a trace of hesitation. "Caleb is questioning them now. They will talk. But whoever hired them knows that Rook was in that room. By morning, the man who killed my wife will realize he failed to kill the dog... and he will come to finish the job."