I Bathed the Mafia Boss’s Killer Pit Bull, and He Told Me I Belonged to Him Before Sunrise

By three in the morning, the basement laundry room had been transformed into a makeshift surgical suite.

Vance, Dante’s stone-faced head of security, had delivered a heavy steel case filled with sterile scalpels, lidocaine, medical-grade monofilament sutures, and antibiotics. He stood near the door, his hand resting near his concealed shoulder holster, watching in disbelief as I prepped the wound.

I sat on a wooden stool beside the grooming table we had moved Titan onto. The dog lay perfectly still, his massive head resting on my lap while I administered a local anesthetic to his shoulder.

Dante stood across from me, his coat discarded, his white dress shirt sleeves rolled up to his forearms, revealing dark, intricate tattoos that crept up his wrists—symbols of old Italian lineage and ruthless power. He held the surgical light steady for me without a single word of complaint.

"You have good hands," Dante observed quietly as I drove the curved needle through Titan’s dark skin, pulling the suture tight with precise, practiced movements. "Smooth. No shaking."

"I’ve stitched up pit bulls hit by cars, alley cats torn apart by coyotes, and racehorses with ripped flanks," I said, my focus never wavering from the wound. "A knife cut is simple. It's human cruelty that makes it complicated."

"Human cruelty is the only constant in this world, Rosie," Dante replied coldly.

"It doesn't have to be," I murmured, tying off the fourth knot. "Someone in this house tried to incapacitate Titan tonight. Why? Titan guards the south perimeter wall and the entrance to your private study."

Vance shifted uncomfortably near the door, his eyes darting toward Dante.

Dante didn't answer immediately. He reached out and stroked Titan’s quiet head. "Two days ago, my shipments at the Port of Baltimore were seized by federal agents. Someone leaked the manifest numbers. Tonight, Titan was cut. Whoever did it was trying to clear a path to my study to steal the physical ledger before I could move it."

"So you have a rat," I said, snip-snapping the suture thread with sterile scissors.

"I have several rats," Dante corrected me softly. "I just haven't decided which one to feed to the furnace first."

I finished the final stitch—fourteen in total—and applied a thick layer of medical silver-sulfadiazine salve over the wound before wrapping it in a clean, breathable bandage.

The moment I set the tools down, Titan let out a long, contented sigh, licked my knee, and closed his eyes to rest.

"He'll need pen-G antibiotics twice a day for a week," I said, wiping my hands with a damp towel. "Keep the bandage dry. If he starts scratching, use an e-collar."

Dante set the lamp down. He stepped around the table until he was standing directly in front of me. I stood up from the stool, instantly feeling how small I was compared to his towering, lethal frame.

"Vance," Dante commanded without looking away from me.

"Boss?"

"Move Miss Whitaker’s belongings from her Dundalk apartment into the third-floor suite in the East Wing. Assign two guards to her brother’s house in Dundalk. Tell Marcus his sister has been hired as a full-time residential veterinary consultant for my private foundation, with a salary of ten thousand dollars a month."

My jaw dropped. "Ten thousand— Mr. Vescari, I can't accept that!"

"You aren't accepting it, Rosie. You're earning it," Dante said, his dark eyes burning into mine. "You will sleep in the East Wing. You will eat at my table. You will treat my dog, and when I ask you what you see in this house, you will tell me the truth."

"I don't know your people," I argued, my breath hitching as he stepped closer. "I don't know who you can trust."

"That is precisely why I trust you," Dante whispered, reaching out and gently tucking a strand of wet hair behind my right ear—my good ear. His fingers lingered against the warm skin of my neck, sending a violent shiver straight down my spine. "You don't care about my money. You don't care about my syndicate. You only care about what is broken."

"And what if I want to leave?" I asked, my voice barely a whisper.