They called him Ilfantasma, the ghost. Mateo Rinaldi wasn’t just a mafia dawn. He was a death sentence wrapped in bespoke tailoring. And he never attended business alone. By his side prowled the Cberus, three 120lb pitbull mastiff hybrids named Dante, Nero, and Virgil. In the underworld, they whispered the dogs weren’t trained.
They were weaponized. Lieutenants pissed themselves when those chains rattled. Rivals begged for bullets instead of teeth. Nobody got within 10 ft of Matteo without signing their own death warrant. Until one night, a broke, desperate waitress named Kiara Mancini did the unthinkable. She didn’t run. She didn’t scream.
She dropped to her knees in the middle of a bloodbath and made a single gesture that froze three killing machines mid-strike and changed the hierarchy of the Raldi crime family forever. This is the story of how a waitress tamed the beasts and the monster who held their chains.
I’m responding to everyone. Restorante Imperero wasn’t just a restaurant. It was a throne room disguised as a five-star dining hall. The chandeliers dripped crystal. The wine list required a sleier and a security clearance, and the air always smelled of truffle oil, old money, and suppressed violence. Kiara Mancini adjusted her apron, her hands trembling slightly as she balanced a tray of champagne flutes.
It was her second month here. She needed this job. The fake passport tucked under her mattress had cost her everything she owned, and the tips at the Trataria in Secondiliano wouldn’t keep her invisible. Here, a single night’s tips could buy another week off Detective Bianke’s radar. Table 7, hissed Marco, the floor manager, a wiry man who smelled like cigarettes and fear.
And for God’s sake, don’t make eye contact. He didn’t have to say who sat at table 7. The temperature in the dining room dropped 10° whenever Matteo Raldi walked through the door. He was the Capo de Capi of the Raldi family. A man with a face carved from Kurara marble and eyes like black ice. He wore a charcoal suit that cost more than Kiara’s entire existence before she’d burned it to the ground.
But it wasn’t Mateo that made the room hold its breath. It was the shadows at his feet. Dante, Nero, and Virgil, the three-headed monster of Naples. Each dog was a nightmare given form. Jet black coats, cropped ears, muscles that rolled like liquid steel beneath scarred hide. They wore platinumstudded collars, but no leashes. Mateo didn’t need leashes.
Their loyalty was absolute. Their violence was art. Rumor had it the dogs had disembowled a Kamora enforcer in a parking garage last fall. The police never found enough of him to confirm it. Kiara balanced the tray of procco and a plate of crudeo deare that cost more than her monthly rent. She took a breath, steadying herself. Just do the job. Smile. Pour.
Walk away. She approached the corner booth. Mateo was in deep conversation with a man Kiara recognized from the papers. Councilman Richie, a bloated politician who’d been accused of embezzlement three times and acquitted three times. The councilman looked gray, sweat soaking through his collar despite the air conditioning.
The zoning permits, the councilman stammered. I can’t push them through yet. The oversight committee is Mateo didn’t speak. He simply tapped his signate ring against the marble tabletop. Clink, clink, clink. At the sound, all three dogs, who had been lying like gargoyles beneath the table, lifted their massive heads in unison.
Dante, the alpha, let out a low, guttural rumble that vibrated through the floorboards and traveled up Kiara’s spine. It was a sound of pure orchestrated menace. Your procco, Senor Rinaldi. Kiara’s voice was steady, but her pulse hammered against her ribs. She leaned forward to set the glasses down. That’s when the bus boy dropped the tray. Disaster.
The crash was deafening. Porcelain exploding against the hardwood floor like a gunshot. A silver platter skitted across the dining room, spinning wildly before slamming into the leg of table 7. The entire restaurant froze, but the dogs didn’t freeze. They detonated. All three pitbulls launched from beneath the table with terrifying synchronized speed.
Dante led the charge, his jaws snapping like a bear trap. Nero flanked left. Virgil cut right. The councilman screamed. a high broken sound and scrambled backward, knocking over his chair, clutching his head in pure animal terror. The dogs weren’t going for him. They were going for the bus boy, a skinny kid named Luca, who’d stumbled into the wrong place at the wrong time.
“Fermo!” Mateo barked. But the command came a fraction of a second too late. The pack was already in motion. Kiara didn’t think. She dropped. Not backward, not away, down. She fell to her knees in the center of the chaos, directly in the path of 360 lb of trained killers. She bowed her head, exposing the back of her neck, the ultimate act of submission inthe canine world.
But she didn’t just submit. As Dante barreled toward her, she raised one hand, not defensively, but with her palm flat, fingers spled wide, thumb tucked in. A handler’s stop signal. Then she made a sound. Not a scream, not a word. A low, sharp t, a guttural exhale, followed by a descending hum that dropped in frequency, matching the growl and then falling below it like a lullaby sung in a wolf’s language.
Dante skidded to a halt 2 ft from her face, claws gouging the hardwood. Nero and Virgil froze midstride. The entire restaurant held its breath. Kiara didn’t look at their eyes. That was a challenge. She looked at Dante’s chest, her body utterly still, utterly neutral. She kept her hand raised, palm out, fingers steady. “Seduto,” she whispered.
“Sit Dante’s ears flicked back. The rigid coil of violence in his frame dissolved like sugar in water. He sat. Then, as if pulled by invisible strings, Nero sat. Virgil sat. Three monsters perfectly still, watching her. The councilman was sobbing. Mateo was on his feet, his hand frozen halfway inside his jacket where a gun was hidden.
Marco looked like he might faint. Kiara slowly, agonizingly slowly, reached out and placed her hand on Dante’s chest right over his hammering heart. “Bravo,” she murmured. “Bravisimo,” Dante leaned into her touch, his tail, thick as a baseball bat, thumped once against the floor. Mateo Raldi stared at the scene before him as if he were witnessing a miracle or a magic trick he couldn’t decode.
He had spent $200,000 on military trainers. He had seen these dogs tear through Kevlar. Nobody touched his Cberus. Nobody. Who the hell are you? Mateo asked, his voice low, dangerous, threaded with fascination. Kiara looked up, her blue gray eyes wide with adrenaline and terror. Now that the moment had passed, she realized she was kneeling on a restaurant floor with a mafia boss’s executioners and had just stopped a massacre.
“I I’m sorry about the noise, Senor,” she stammered. “I’ll help clean up. Please don’t fire me.” Mateo looked at the shattered porcelain, then at the three dogs who were now watching Kiara like she was the center of their universe. A slow predatory smile curved his lips. “Stand up,” he said. Kiara tried.
Dante growled, not at her. At Mateo. Mateo’s smile vanished. His own dog had just warned him off. “Dante, Ped,” Mateo commanded. “Heal.” The dog ignored him. Kiara placed a hand on Dante’s shoulder. Vi, she said softly. Go. All three dogs immediately trotted back to their positions beneath the table, sitting like soldiers awaiting orders. Her orders.
The silence in Rtorante Impro was absolute. Marco rushed over white as a ghost. Senor Rinaldi, I am so sorry. She’s new. She’s She’s fired. Get out, Kiara. She’s not fired,” Matteo said, his voice cutting through Marco like a blade. He stepped over the debris and stood inches from Kiara. He smelled of gunpowder, espresso, and something darker.
Something that made her instincts scream. “Run!” He reached into his jacket, pulled out a sleek leather wallet, and dropped a folded stack of $500 notes onto her tray. Finish your shift, Matteo said, his black eyes never leaving hers. Tomorrow night you work table 7. No one else approaches my table. Kiara.
Kiara nodded, too terrified to speak. As she hurried toward the kitchen, her heart slamming against her ribs. She could feel his gaze burning into her back. She thought she had survived the encounter. She was wrong. She had just auditioned for a role she never wanted and signed a contract written in blood and teeth.
Kiara finished her shift in a fog. Every time she passed table 7, all three dogs would lift their heads in unison, tails thumping against the floor like a war drum. Mateo didn’t speak to her again, but he watched. He watched how she moved through the dining room, how she calmed a fussy child at table three, how she flinched when one of his left tenants raised his voice at a server. By Tus.
The restaurant was empty. Kiara hung up her apron, grabbed her coat, and slipped out the back exit into the cold Neapolitan night. A black Mercedes was idling in the alley. The back door opened. Matteo Rinaldi sat inside. Dante’s massive head resting on his knee. “Get in,” Mateo said. “It wasn’t a request.” Kiara’s blood turned to ice.
“I have to get home,” she said, her voice barely a whisper. “No,” Mateo replied, his tone calm. “Absolute.” “You don’t.” He leaned forward into the light, and for the first time, she saw something other than coldness in his eyes. curiosity, hunger, possession. You have a gift, Kiara Mancini, he said, using her real name, the name she hadn’t spoken in 6 months.
And I have three very expensive problems that only you can solve. Her heart stopped. How do you I know everything, Matteo said simply. I know about Detective Bianke. I know about the warrant. I know you’re running. He smiled. A wolf’s smile. Get in the car and I’ll make all of it disappear. Refuse and I’ll call himmyself.
Kiara looked at the open door, at the beast resting its head on the devil’s knee, at the choice that was never really a choice at all. She got in, the door closed behind her with a soft final click. And as the Mercedes pulled away into the Naples night, Dante shifted his great head from Matteo’s lap to Kiara’s. The dawn watched, and for the first time in 10 years, Matteo Raldi felt something he’d thought long dead.
Envy. The beast had chosen a new master. If you are enjoying this story, kindly hit the subscribe button so you don’t miss part two. The Mercedes wound through the narrow streets of Pascilo, climbing toward the hills where the old money lived behind iron gates and centuries of silence. Kiara sat rigid in the leather seat, Dante’s warm weight pressing against her thigh.
The dog hadn’t moved since they’d left the restaurant, as if he’d claimed her as his territory. Mateo hadn’t spoken either. He simply watched her with those black, unreadable eyes, one hand resting on Nero<unk>’s head in the seat beside him. Virgil lay across the floor between them. A living barrier. “Where are we going?” Kiara finally asked, her voice barely audible over the engine’s purr.
“Home?” Mateo said simply. “Who’s home?” “Yours now.” The car pulled through gates that looked like they could withstand a siege. The estate beyond was a fortress disguised as a villa. Three stories of honeycoled stone, surrounded by manicured gardens and walls topped with surveillance cameras that tracked their approach like predatory eyes.
The driver opened Kiara’s door. She didn’t move. I can’t just disappear, she said. I have an apartment, a landlord who will Your landlord has already been paid through the end of the year, Mateo interrupted. Your belongings are being collected as we speak. You’ll have them by morning. Ice flooded her veins. You had no right.
I had every right. Mateo’s voice was silk wrapped around steel. The moment you touched my dogs, you became valuable. Valuable things don’t live in Secondiliano with a corrupt cop hunting them. He stepped out of the car and all three dogs followed him like shadows. He turned back offering his hand. You have two choices, Kiara.
You can fight me, run from me, hate me, and I’ll still keep you here because I need what you can do. Or you can accept that for the first time in 6 months you’re safe. She stared at his outstretched hand, strong, scarred across the knuckles. A hand that had broken bones and signed death warrants. A hand that had also just offered her something she’d forgotten existed.
Safety. She took it. The interior of the villa was exactly what she expected. Marble floors, oil paintings worth more than lives, furniture that looked like it belonged in a museum. But Mateo didn’t lead her to a guest room or a cage. He led her to the kennels. They were behind the main house connected by a covered walkway.
Not cages, but luxury suites, climate controlled rooms with raised beds, automatic feeders, and enough space for the dogs to move freely. The walls were reinforced concrete. The doors were steel. They sleep here when I have business, Matteo explained, releasing the dogs from their collars. But lately, they’ve been, he paused, choosing his words carefully.
Unpredictable. Kiara watched as the three pitbulls immediately went to their separate corners, pacing, whining softly. Dante kept circling back to the door, looking for her. They’re anxious, she said quietly. not vicious. Someone trained them to react to threat with violence, but they were never taught how to deescalate.
They’re living in constant fight or flight mode. Matteo’s jaw tightened. I paid the best trainers in Europe. You paid people who train attack dogs, Kiara corrected, stepping into the kennel, not people who understand trauma. Dante immediately approached her, pressing his massive head against her hip. She ran her hand along his spine, feeling the tension coiled in every muscle.
“What happened to you?” she whispered. “His previous handler beat him,” Mateo said from the doorway before I acquired him. “The man thought fear was the same as respect.” “What happened to the handler?” Mateo’s smile was cold. “Dante happened.” Kiara looked up at him, understanding, crystallizing. “You didn’t buy these dogs as weapons.
You rescued them.” “I gave them purpose,” Mateo said. “There’s a difference.” “No,” Kiara said softly, scratching behind Dante’s ear as the massive dog leaned into her touch. “You gave them a different kind of prison.” For a long moment, Matteo said nothing. Then he stepped into the kennel, closing the distance between them.
He was so close she could feel the heat radiating from his body. “Then fix them,” he said. “Fix them, and I’ll fix your problem.” Detective Bianke isn’t a problem you can fix with money. I wasn’t planning to use money. The promise in his voice was darker than any threat. Kiara should have been terrified. Instead, she felt something almost like hope. “Threemonths,” she said.
“Give me three months with them.” Mateo extended his hand. “You have two.” She shook it, sealing a deal with the devil. Dante sat between them and smiled. Kiara woke to silence so complete it felt like suffocation. For 6 months she’d lived with the constant symphony of secondondiliano, sirens, shouting, the rattle of delivery trucks at dawn.
Here in the Raldi estate, there was nothing but the whisper of expensive air conditioning and the distant sound of waves against cliffs. She sat up in the guest room Mateo had assigned her. It was larger than her entire former apartment, decorated in cream and gold with a window that overlooked the Bay of Naples.
The sunrise painted the water in shades of blood orange and violet. A knock at the door made her flinch. “Avanti,” she called, pulling the blanket up to her chin. A woman in her 50s entered, carrying a tray of espresso and corneti. She had sharp eyes and the posture of someone who’d seen too much and judged all of it. Senora Mancini, the woman said, setting the tray on the bedside table.
I’m Lucia. I managed the household. Senor Rinaldi has requested you join him for breakfast at 8. The dogs have already been fed, but they’ve refused to eat. Kiara glanced at the clock. 7:15. They’re waiting for you, Lutia added. Something almost like amusement flickering across her stern face. All three of them are sitting outside your door like statues.
It’s unsettling the staff. When Kiara opened her bedroom door 20 minutes later, dressed in the clothes that had mysteriously appeared in the closet, simple black trousers and a soft gray sweater that fit perfectly. She nearly tripped over Dante. The massive dog was lying across the threshold like a guardian sphinx. Nero and Virgil flanked him on either side, all three heads lifted in unison.
“Bonjouro,” she murmured, crouching down to greet them properly. “Dante’s tail began a slow, heavy thump against the marble floor. You’re supposed to be eating breakfast, not staging a vigil. They haven’t left that spot since 6:00 a.m.,” came Mateo’s voice from down the hall. He emerged from a doorway.
Dressed in tailored black trousers and a white shirt with the sleeves rolled to his elbows. Without the armor of his suit jacket, he looked almost human. “Almost.” I tried to move them. He continued, walking toward her. Dante nearly took my hand off. Kiara stood and all three dogs immediately pressed against her legs, forming a protective triangle around her. He wouldn’t have bitten you.
He was warning you. The distinction doesn’t comfort me, Mateo said dryly. Walk with me. It wasn’t a request. They moved through the villa, Kiara, Mateo, and their three-headed shadow, until they reached a sunlit terrace overlooking the gardens. A table had been set with more food than two people could possibly eat.
Fresh fruit, pruto, cheeses, pastries, and a silver pot of espresso that smelled like heaven. Mateo pulled out a chair for her. The gesture was so unexpectedly courteous that she hesitated before sitting. “You’re wondering why you’re here?” Mateo said, pouring her espresso with practiced ease. Beyond the obvious.
The obvious being that you’ve kidnapped me. I prefer strategically relocated. His lips curved into something that might have been a smile on a less dangerous man. You’re not a prisoner, Kiara. You’re an employee. Employees usually get to negotiate their contracts. Negotiate, then? She wrapped her hands around the tiny espresso cup, letting its warmth steady her.
What exactly do you want from me? Matteo leaned back in his chair, and Dante immediately moved to his side, but the dog’s eyes never left Kiara. I want you to do what you did last night. Whatever that was. I want my dogs to be controllable without being broken. Why? The question came out sharper than she intended. You said it yourself.
They’re weapons. Why do you care if they’re traumatized? Something flickered across Matteo’s face. Anger, maybe. Or something more complicated. Because weapons that can’t be controlled are liabilities, he said evenly. And because Dante saved my life 3 years ago when an assassin got past my security. He took two bullets meant for me.
The least I can do is give him peace. Kiara studied him. This man who ordered murders over dinner and spoke about his dog with something almost like love. 2 months isn’t enough, she said. Finally. They need at least four, maybe six. You have three, Matteo counted. And in exchange, Detective Stephano Bianke will never find you.
I’ll make certain of that. How? Mateo’s smile was cold and final. That’s not your concern. Kiara looked down at Dante, who had moved back to her side, his enormous head resting on her knee. She thought about Bianke’s hands around her throat, his breath hot with whiskey and rage, his promise that she belonged to him.
She thought about the evidence he’d planted. the colleagues who’d believed his lies. The cell door closing behind her. She thought about havingnowhere left to run. For months, she said quietly. And I want it in writing that I can leave when the job is done. Mateo extended his hand across the table. 4 months. And Kiara? He waited until she met his eyes.
You can leave whenever you want, but something tells me you won’t.” She shook his hand, and Dante’s tail thumped approvingly against the marble. In the gardens below, Rocco Santos watched through binoculars and radioed his team. “The waitress is staying,” he said. “Increase perimeter security and run a deeper background check.
I want to know everything about her, including why Bianke wants her so badly.” The hunt had followed her home. Rocco Santos didn’t trust her. Kiara could feel his suspicion like a physical weight as he led her through the estate’s southern wing toward the kennels. He was a mountain of a man, 6’4 with shoulders that strained against his tactical vest and eyes that missed nothing.
“You understand what those dogs are capable of?” Rocco said, not bothering to phrase it as a question. His voice had the gravel of a lifetime smoker. Last year, Nero tore through a Kevlar sleeve and broke the trainer’s arm in three places. The trainer was ex-military. He knew what he was doing. “Then he was doing it wrong,” Kiara replied, keeping pace despite his purposefully brisk stride.
Rocco stopped so abruptly she nearly collided with his back. He turned, looking down at her with something between annoyance and curiosity. You’ve been here one night, and you think you know better than professionals who’ve trained protection dogs for 20 years? I think, Kiara said carefully, that there’s a difference between training a dog to attack and teaching a dog to trust.
Your professionals taught them the first part. I’m here for the second. Trust, Rocco repeated as if the word tasted wrong in his mouth. These aren’t pets, Senorina. They’re instruments, tools. The Dawn doesn’t need them to trust. He needs them to obey. If that’s true, then why am I here? Rocco’s jaw worked, chewing on an answer he didn’t want to give.
Finally, he jerked his head toward the kennel entrance. Because in the last 6 months they’ve become unpredictable, aggressive toward the staff, aggressive toward each other. Last week, Virgil nearly killed one of the groundskeepers for walking too close to the Dawn’s office window. What happened to the groundskeeper? 18 stitches, hazard pay, an NDA.
Rocco pulled a set of keys from his belt. The dawn is attached to these animals. Against my professional recommendation, he refuses to have them put down. So here you are, the miracle worker from the restaurant. The skepticism in his voice could have cut glass. I’m not a miracle worker, Kiara said quietly.
But I know trauma when I see it. Rocco unlocked the reinforced steel door and immediately the sound hit her. Not barking, but something worse. A cacophony of whining, pacing, the scrape of claws against concrete, the audio signature of animals trapped in their own nervous systems. The kennel was immaculate, state-of-the-art.
Each suite had orthopedic bedding, temperature control, automatic water dispensers. It looked like a luxury hotel for dogs, but it felt like a prison. Dante was pacing a trench into his section, back and forth, back and forth, his breath coming in short, anxious pants. Nero was pressed into the far corner of his suite, trembling, his eyes too wide.
Virgil was attacking his own bed, shaking it violently, growling at phantom threats. Jesus, Kiara breathed. They’ve been like this since dawn. Rocco said, “We tried feeding them, exercise. Nothing works. The vet says they’re physically healthy, but but they’re not.” Kiara finished. They’re terrified. She approached Dante’s enclosure slowly, reading his body language.
His ears were pinned back. His tail was rigid. Every muscle was coiled for violence or flight. But his eyes, his eyes kept darting to the door, searching. He’s looking for Mateo. She realized the Dawn left 2 hours ago for a meeting in Naples. He won’t be back until tonight. And the dogs know it. Kiara crouched in front of the enclosure, making herself small, non-threatening.
How often does Mateo leave them here? Whenever he has business that requires discretion. How long? Sometimes days. Kiara closed her eyes, understanding crystallizing with painful clarity. They’re not weapons. They’re attachment cases. Mateo is the only stability they have. And every time he leaves, their nervous systems think he’s abandoning them.
They don’t know if he’s coming back. Dogs don’t think like that, Rocco said dismissively. Yes, Kiara said, looking up at him. They do, especially dogs who’ve been abandoned before. Dante had stopped pacing. He was standing at the gate now, staring at her with an intensity that made her breath catch.
His whole body was vibrating with tension, but he wasn’t growling. He was waiting. “Open it,” Kiara said. “Absolutely not. He won’t hurt me. You don’t know that? Yes, I do. She stood,never breaking eye contact with Dante. Open the gate, Rocco, or I walk out of here right now, and you can explain to your dawn why his miracle worker quit after 10 minutes.
Rocco’s hand moved to the weapon at his hip, then to the keys at his belt. If he attacks you, he won’t. The lock clicked. The gate swung open. Dante exploded out of the kennel, not at Kiara, but past her, racing in a frantic circle around the room, searching for Matteo. When he didn’t find him, the dog let out a sound that broke her heart.
A keening, desperate whine. Kiara sat down on the concrete floor, cross-legged, and waited. It took 30 seconds, an eternity, before Dante approached. He came slowly, suspiciously, his nose working, processing her scent. Then he did something that made Rocco swear softly. Dante collapsed beside her, rolled onto his back, and exposed his belly.
Complete submission. Total surrender. Kiara placed her hand on his chest, feeling his rabbit heartbeat beginning to slow. “Bravo,” she whispered. Say elikuro luis. You’re safe. He always comes back. Dante’s breathing steadied. His eyes began to close. Behind her, Rocco holstered his weapon.
I’ll be damned, he muttered. No, Kiara said, scratching behind Dante’s ear as the massive dog melted into sleep. They’ve been damned. We’re going to fix it. Three weeks into the rehabilitation, Mateo stood on the second floor balcony of the villa with his morning espresso and watched Kiara work magic he didn’t understand.
She was in the training yard, a half acre of manicured grass enclosed by stone walls with all three dogs off leash. This alone would have been suicide a month ago. Now Dante, Nero, and Virgil moved around her like satellites orbiting a sun, attuned to her smallest gesture. “Dante, heal!” she called, her voice calm, but absolute.
“The massive pitbull, who’d been investigating something in the far corner, immediately trotted to her left side, and sat, eyes up, waiting. She didn’t reward him with treats. She rewarded him with a hand on his head and a quiet bravo. Mateo had spent a fortune on trainers who used shock collars, prong chains, dominance rolls, men who believed that controlling a dog meant breaking its spirit first.
Kiara had thrown all of it away on her second day. They don’t need pain, she’d told him, standing in his office with dirt on her knees and Dante’s fur on her sweater. They need consistency, boundaries, and someone who doesn’t confuse fear with respect. Now, watching her work, Mateo understood the difference. She never raised her voice, never struck them, never used force.
Instead, she’d become the alpha through something far more powerful. absolute unshakable certainty. When she said sit, there was no question in her tone. When she called them, there was no doubt they would come. She had rewritten the pack hierarchy without violence, and the dogs had accepted her leadership with something close to worship.
“Nero, Virgil, down,” Kiara commanded, her hand dropping in a sharp downward gesture. Both dogs immediately dropped to their bellies, even though they’d been 20 ft away midplay. They stayed down, watching her, waiting for release. Mateo’s chest tightened with something he refused to name.
“She’s good,” Rocco said, materializing beside him with his usual ghostlike silence. “Better than good. In 3 weeks, she’s accomplished what 6 months of professional training couldn’t. I’m aware, Matteo replied, not taking his eyes off Kiara. She was laughing now, releasing the dogs from their stay command and running across the yard with them, chasing her in a game that looked chaotic, but was actually perfectly controlled.
She could stop them with a word, start them with a gesture. They would die for her. Mateo knew the feeling. We finished the deep background check you requested,” Rocco continued, his tone shifting to business. “You’re not going to like it. Tell me.” Detective Stephano Bianke, Naples vice, 15-year veteran, decorated, connected, also corrupt as they come.
We found payoffs from three different families, including the Vulp crew. But he’s careful. Nothing that would stand up in court. Matteo’s jaw tightened. And Kiara, she was his CI, confidential informant. Word is she witnessed Bianke execute a suspect during a raid 2 years ago. Unarmed kid. Wrong place. Wrong time.
Bianke made it look clean, but she saw it. When she threatened to report him, he flipped the script. Meaning meaning he planted evidence in her apartment. cocaine enough to make her look like a dealer instead of an informant. Her word against a decorated cop. Rocco paused. She ran the night before her arrest. She’s been running ever since.
Mateo’s hand tightened around the espresso cup until the porcelain cracked. Where is Bianke now? That’s the problem. He’s been asking questions. He knows she worked at Imperro. Three days ago, he visited the restaurant, questioned the staff. Marco gave him nothing, but but he’s hunting. Matteo finished.
Below,Kiara had all three dogs sitting in a perfect line, their attention locked on her. She was teaching them to wait, not through force, but through trust. Teaching them that good things came to those who controlled themselves. Mateo made a decision. “Double the perimeter security,” he said quietly. “Put a detail on Detective Bianke. I want to know everywhere he goes.
Everyone he talks to.” And Rocco, “Boss, if he gets within a kilometer of this estate, you call me first. Not the police, not anyone else. Me.” Rocco nodded and disappeared as silently as he’d arrived. Matteo drained the cracked espresso cup and descended the stone steps to the training yard. Kiara saw him approaching and smiled.
A real smile, unguarded, and something in his chest cracked wider than the porcelain. “They’re ready for the advanced work,” she called out, brushing hair from her face. “Watch this, Dante, Nero, Virgil, Defender.” All three dogs immediately moved to form a triangle around her facing outward, a living shield.
They didn’t bark, didn’t snarl. They simply positioned themselves as a barrier between her and any potential threat, including Mateo. Libero, she said, releasing them. They relaxed, but stayed close. You taught them to protect you, Mateo said, stopping at the edge of their formation. I taught them to protect what they love. Kiara corrected. There’s a difference.
Is there? She tilted her head, studying him with those clear, knowing eyes. You tell me, Mateo. Do your men follow you because they fear you or because they believe in you? Both, he answered honestly. That’s the problem with ruling through fear, she said softly. The second someone stronger comes along, you lose everything.
But loyalty, real loyalty, that’s permanent. She walked past him towards the villa, and all three dogs followed her without a backward glance. Mateo stood alone in the training yard, master of a criminal empire, and realized with absolute clarity that he’d lost control of something far more dangerous than his dogs.
He was falling for the woman who tamed them. And in his world, that was the most lethal vulnerability of all. Detective Stephano Bianke sat in his unmarked Alfa Romeo across from Restorante Imperero and watched the evening shift arrive. He’d been watching for 3 days, smoking through two packs of Malro and drinking espresso that tasted like battery acid.
His jaw achd from grinding his teeth. His knuckles were still bruised from the last time he’d lost his temper. Kiara was close. He could feel it the way a shark smells blood in the water. She’d been careful. 6 months of careful, but everyone made mistakes eventually. The fake passport, the cash only apartment, the bleached hair and colored contacts.
All of it bought her time, but time always ran out. He’d found her by accident, really. A vice sweep in Secondo, checking in with his network of informants when one of them mentioned a new waitress at Imperero who kept her head down and never asked questions. “Pretty girl, quiet, wrong neighborhood for that kind of work,” the informant had said. Scared of something.
Stephano knew that fear. He’d put it there. The memory of Kiara’s apartment, the way she’d looked at him when she found the planted cocaine, the betrayal in her eyes turning to terror, still warmed him better than the espresso. She’d been his, his informant, his project, his. And then she’d threatened to destroy him over one stupid mistake.
The kid had been reaching for something. Stephano had reacted. It was a clean shoot. Would have been ruled justified if she’d kept her mouth shut. But no, Kiara had to have a conscience. Had to threaten to go to internal affairs. So he’d made her the criminal instead. Now she thought she could hide from him. Start over. Disappear.
He flicked his cigarette out the window and checked his watch. 8:15. The dinner rush would be starting. Time to ask some more pointed questions. He’d already tried the subtle approach, flashing his badge, asking the manager if a woman matching Kiara’s description worked there.
Marco had stonewalled him with the deadeyed loyalty of someone who’d seen police corruption up close and decided which side he was on. Subtle, was over. Stephano waited until the bus boy, the skinny kid who dropped the tray, according to Marco’s story, came out for a smoke break. The kid couldn’t have been more than 20, all nervous energy and acne scars. Perfect.
Stephano crossed the street, timing it, so he intercepted the kid in the alley beside the restaurant, away from cameras, away from witnesses. “Luca, right?” Stephano said pleasantly, showing his badge. The kid’s eyes went wide. I I didn’t do anything, officer. I swear I Relax. Stfano smiled. I’m not here about you. I’m looking for someone.
A waitress who used to work here. Blonde, late 20s, about this tall. He held up his phone, showing a photo of Kiara from 2 years ago before she’d run. Luca’s face did something complicated. Recognition. Fear.The mental calculation of whether lying to a cop was worth whatever came next. I don’t. Stephano’s hand shot out, grabbing the kid’s collar and slamming him against the brick wall hard enough to knock the wind out of him.
Let me rephrase, Stephano said, his voice still pleasant, his smile still fixed. I know she worked here. I know something happened a month ago involving her and some dogs. I know she left with someone in a very expensive car. What I don’t know is where she went. And you’re going to tell me. I can’t. The man.
He’ll kill me. Stephano’s fist caught Luca in the solar plexus. The kid doubled over gasping and Stephano hauled him back upright by his hair. The man in the car, Stephano pressed. Who was he? I don’t know his name, Luca wheezed. Nobody knows his name. We just We call him Call him what? Ilfantasma. Luca sobbed. The ghost.
He owns half of Naples. You can’t touch him. Nobody can. Stephano felt ice slide down his spine. He knew that name. Everyone in law enforcement knew that name. even if they pretended not to. Mateo Rinaldi, the untouchable, the ghost who walked through crime scenes and left no fingerprints, no witnesses, no evidence. Describe the car, Stephano demanded.
Black Mercedes, tinted windows, three Three dogs inside, huge dogs. She got in the car with them and never came back. Stephano released the kid, letting him collapse against the dumpster. His mind was racing, recalculating. If Kiara had somehow gotten herself involved with the Raldi family, this changed everything.
He couldn’t just walk up to Raldi’s door and demand his property back. He’d need leverage, a plan, time, but not too much time. He pulled out his phone and dialed a number he’d sworn he’d never call. A number that connected him to people who made him look like a saint. “It’s Bianke,” he said when the line picked up.
“I need information on Matteo Raldi’s current location, properties, security details, everything.” The voice on the other end laughed. A wet, ugly sound. That kind of information costs, detective. Name your price. You got someone inside his operation. Stephano smiled, thinking of Kiara’s face, the way she’d looked at those dogs like they were holy. Better.
I’ve got his weakness. He hung up and lit another cigarette, staring at Rtorante Impro’s glowing windows. Kiara thought she’d found sanctuary with a monster. She didn’t understand yet that monsters didn’t protect, they possessed. And Stephano had possessed her first. He’d find her. He’d burn down whatever fortress she was hiding in.
And when he dragged her out, she’d remember who she really belonged to. The net was tightening, and Kiara Mancini was running out of places to run. The storm rolled in from the bay just after midnight, turning the sky black and violent. Lightning cracked across the horizon like bones breaking, and thunder shook the villa’s ancient foundations.
Kiara woke to the sound of Dante howling, a primal, terrified sound that cut straight through her chest. She was out of bed and running before she was fully conscious, barefoot, still in the oversized t-shirt she slept in. The kennels. She had to get to the kennels. But when she burst through the villa’s back corridor, she found the kennel doors already open and Matteo standing in the doorway, silhouetted by lightning, his face twisted with frustration.
“Basta!” he was shouting over the thunder. “Dante, Fermo, stop!” The command did nothing. All three dogs were in full panic. Dante pacing frantically, Nero pressed into the corner, shaking so hard his chain collar rattled. Virgil barking at shadows, at the storm, at invisible threats only he could see. Mateo grabbed Dante by the collar, trying to physically force the dog to lie down.
Dante snapped, not a bite, but a warning, teeth flashing inches from Matteo’s hand. “Don’t,” Kiara said sharply. Mateo spun, his face dangerous. He was shirtless, wearing only black pajama pants, his hair disheveled. He looked more human than she’d ever seen him and more frightening. “They need to be controlled. They need to be comforted,” Kiara corrected, pushing past him into the kennel.
“Step back. You’re making it worse. I’m making it.” Mateo’s jaw worked. “These are my dogs, and right now you’re scaring them.” She turned to face him fully, and something in her expression made him freeze. You’re using the same energy as the storm. Loud, aggressive, unpredictable. They can’t tell the difference between you and the threat.
Another crack of lightning. Virgil yelped and bolted to the far corner, colliding with Nero. Both dogs snarled at each other, confusion turning to misdirected aggression. Kiara dropped to her knees on the concrete floor. Dante,” she said, her voice low and steady. “Vienni.” The big dog stopped pacing, his ears swiveled toward her voice like radar dishes. She didn’t call again.
She simply sat grounded, radiating calm in the middle of the chaos. Slowly, hesitantly, Dante approached. When he was close enough, she placedboth hands on either side of his massive head and pressed her forehead to his. “Lo,” she whispered. “I know.” “Fapora! Mariel Sikuro! It’s scary, but you’re safe.
” She began humming, low, rhythmic, the same frequency she’d used in the restaurant. The sound seemed to cut through the storm’s violence, creating a pocket of peace. Dante’s breathing began to slow, his trembling eased. Mateo watched, transfixed. “Sit with me,” Kiara said quietly, not looking at him. “Slowly! No sudden movements.” “Kiara, sit with me, Mateo,” he obeyed, lowering himself to the floor beside her.
this close, she could feel the heat radiating from his skin. Smell the combination of expensive soap and something darker, more elemental. “Put your hand on his chest,” she instructed. “Match his breathing in and out. Slow.” Mateo placed his hand beside hers on Dante’s rib cage. The dog tensed, but Kiara’s other hand stroked his flank, keeping him steady.
“Feel that?” she murmured. His heartbeat. It’s slowing down because we’re showing him there’s nothing to fear. Predators don’t sit still during danger. By sitting, we’re telling him the storm can’t hurt him. Another crack of thunder. But this time, Dante only flinched. Matteo kept his hand steady, his breathing synchronized with the dogs.
Nero crept closer, curiosity overcoming fear. then Virgil. Within minutes, all three dogs had collapsed around them. A pile of muscle and fur and slowly calming heartbeats. The storm raged outside, but inside the kennel there was only breath and warmth and silence. “How did you learn this?” Mateo asked, his voice barely audible.
Kiara was quiet for a long moment. “My father had PTSD, combat vet. He’d have episodes during storms. Thought he was back in the war. I learned that sometimes the strongest thing you can do is just be present. Be calm. Show someone they’re safe by believing it yourself. Your father, Matteo said carefully.
The medical bills you were trying to pay at Imperro. Dialysis, kidney failure. The VA wouldn’t cover half of it. She stroked Dante’s ear. He died 3 months before I ran from Bianke. Mateo’s hand moved from Dante’s chest to cover hers. The gesture was so unexpected, so gentle that she froze. “I’m sorry,” he said. “Don’t be. He was in pain.
At least now he’s not about your father,” Mateo interrupted. “About Bianke, about what he did to you. About the fact that you’ve been carrying this alone.” Kiara turned to look at him and the expression on his face stole her breath. It wasn’t pity. It was recognition. One survivor seeing another. Mateo. He leaned forward slowly, giving her every opportunity to pull away.
When his lips met hers, it was soft, questioning, nothing like the violence she’d expected from a man like him. She kissed him back. Dante’s tail thumped once against the floor, a sound of approval. When they broke apart, the storm was already fading, rolling back out to sea. The dogs were asleep in a pile between them, peaceful, protected.
This is a terrible idea, Kiara whispered. “I know,” Mateo agreed. “I’m not staying after 4 months.” “I know,” he said again. but his hand tightened around hers. They sat in the kennel until dawn. Surrounded by sleeping dogs holding on to each other like survivors of a shipwreck, holding on to driftwood. Neither of them mentioned that the storm outside had ended.
The storm inside them was just beginning. Kiara was in the training yard with Virgil, working on controlled aggression drills when Rocco’s voice crackled through the estate’s intercom system with a single word that made her blood turn to ice. Pitia. She dropped the training sleeve and ran toward the main house, Virgil matching her stride.
By the time she reached the front courtyard, Mateo was already there, flanked by four of his men, all armed. Beyond the iron gates, three police vehicles were parked in a deliberate show of force. Two patrol cars and an unmarked sedan. “Detective Stephano Bianke stood at the gate with a piece of paper in his hand and a smile that made Kiara want to vomit.
” “Mateo Reinaldi,” Stephano called out, his voice carrying the false authority of a man with a badge and a vendetta. I have a warrant to search these premises for a fugitive. Kiara Mancini, wanted for distribution of narcotics and fleeing custody. Roco was already at the gate, his massive frame blocking the entrance. Show me the warrant.
Stephano passed the paper through the bars. Rocco examined it with the careful attention of someone who’d seen forged documents before. His expression darkened. This warrant was issued by Judge Kuso, Rocco said slowly. He retired 8 months ago. Then it was recently reissued, Stephano replied smoothly.
Now open the gate. Or I’ll call for reinforcements and a battering ram. You’ll call for nothing, Matteo said, stepping forward. His voice was silk over razors. You’re 40 km outside your jurisdiction, detective. Naples vice has no authority in Pacilo, and that warrant,” he gestured dismissively, “isn’t worth thepaper it’s printed on.
” Stephano’s smile widened. “I have authorization from the regional command, and unless you want me to add obstruction of justice to your very long list of alleged crimes, you’ll open this gate and produce Kiara Mancini. Kiara felt the world tilt. She recognized the play. Stephano didn’t need a legitimate warrant. He just needed to get inside, cause chaos, and use the confusion to grab her.
By the time anyone sorted out jurisdiction and paperwork, she’d be in his custody, and Matteo’s hands would be tied by his need to stay invisible to law enforcement. Stall him,” Mateo said quietly to Rocco, then turned and grabbed Kiara’s arm. “Inside now, no.” Mateo’s eyes flashed dangerously. “This isn’t a negotiation.
” “You’re right. It’s not.” Kiara pulled her arm free. “If I hide, he’ll tear this place apart. He’ll use this as an excuse to raid the estate, seize property, arrest your staff.” He doesn’t care about legality. He cares about punishment. Then I’ll handle it by doing what? Killing a cop? That’s what he wants, Mateo.
He wants you to cross a line that forces you into the open. She stepped closer, lowering her voice. He’s not here for justice. He’s here for me, so let me deal with him. Absolutely not. Listen to me, Kiara insisted, her hand on his chest. You’ve given me sanctuary. You’ve protected me. But I won’t let you burn down everything you’ve built because of me.
Behind them, Stephano was getting impatient. I’m counting to 10, Raldi. Then I’m coming in one way or another. Mateo’s jaw was granite. Every instinct he had, every violent territorial impulse was screaming at him to eliminate the threat. His hand moved toward the weapon at his back. “Please,” Kiara whispered. “Trust me!” It was the please that did it.
Mateo had been begged before, for mercy, for life, for quick deaths. But Kiara wasn’t begging for herself. She was begging for him. He stepped back, his hand falling away from his weapon. “Roco,” he said, his voice tight with suppressed rage. “Open the gate.” The iron gates swung open with a mechanical groan. Stephano walked through with three uniformed officers behind him, his expression triumphant.
He swept his gaze over the assembled group until his eyes landed on Kiara. The naked possession in his stare made her skin crawl. “There you are,” Stephano said softly. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you, Toro.” Kiara forced herself to stand still, to not retreat behind Matteo’s protective presence.
I’m not going with you, Stephano. That’s not your decision to make. He pulled handcuffs from his belt. Kiara Mancini, you’re under arrest for a low, rumbling growl cut through his words. Dante emerged from the villa’s entrance, flanked by Nero and Virgil. All three dogs moved as one unit, positioning themselves between Kiara and Stephano in a perfect defensive formation.
They didn’t bark, didn’t lunge. They simply stood there, 150 lb of controlled violence, times three, and stared at the detective with eyes that promised death. The three uniformed officers immediately stepped back, hands moving to their weapons. Call off your dogs, Raldi, Stephano said, but there was a tremor in his voice now.
They’re not his dogs, Kiara said quietly. Not anymore. She stepped forward, and the three dogs moved with her, maintaining their protective triangle. Stephano raised the handcuffs, and Dante’s lips peeled back from his teeth in a silent snile. “You’re going to shoot them?” Kiara asked. Three protected animals on private property in front of witnesses.
How will you explain that in your report, detective? Stephano’s hand shook. She could see the calculation happening behind his eyes. The costbenefit analysis of violence versus victory. This isn’t over, he finally said, lowering the handcuffs. Your warrant stands. Next time I come back, it’ll be with legitimate authorization.
And when I take you, Manscini, there won’t be any dogs to hide behind. Then I’ll be waiting, Mateo said softly. And detective, next time you show up at my gate with fraudulent paperwork, you won’t leave. It wasn’t a threat. It was a promise. Stephano held Mateo’s gaze for 3 seconds, then turned and walked back through the gates.
The police vehicles pulled away in a spray of gravel. The moment they disappeared, Kiara’s legs gave out. Mateo caught her before she hit the ground, pulling her against his chest. The dogs immediately surrounded them both, whining, pressing close. “It’s not over,” Kiara whispered. “No,” Mateo agreed, his arms tightening around her.
“It’s not, but now I know what I’m dealing with.” He looked at Rocco over Kiara’s head. Find out everything about Detective Stfano Bianke, Mateo said, his voice cold and final. Where he lives, where he drinks, who he loves, and then find out how to make him disappear. Stfano came back 6 days later, but this time he didn’t bother with gates or warrants or the pretense of law.
He came at 3:00 in the morning with two men who weren’t policeed. Enforcers borrowedfrom the Vulpa family, men who owed him favors and didn’t ask questions. They cut the power to the estate first, plunging the villa into darkness. Then they breached the south wall, where Rocco’s camera coverage had a 30-second gap in its sweep pattern.
Someone had given them intelligence. Someone inside had sold them out. Mateo woke to the sensation of cold steel pressed against his temple and Stephano’s whiskey soaked breath in his face. “Move and I paint your expensive sheets with your brain,” Stfano whispered. Mateo went perfectly still, his mind racing through calculations.
His weapon was in the nightstand, 18 in away. Rocco’s men were stationed throughout the villa, but in the dark, without power, coordination would be chaos. The panic button under his pillow was useless without electricity. “Where is she?” Stephano demanded. “Who?” The gun barrel cracked against Mateo’s cheekbone hard enough to split skin.
Blood ran hot down his face. “Don’t play games, Kiara. Where is she? Guest wing, third floor. Matteo’s voice was steady despite the coppery taste of blood in his mouth. But you won’t make it there. Really? Stephano laughed. A brittle sound. Your security is scattered. Your alarms are dead.
And I’ve got two very motivated friends with me who are being paid extremely well to make sure I walk out of here with my property. He grabbed Mateo by the hair and hauled him out of bed, pressing the gun to his spine. You’re going to take me to her, and you’re going to call off those dogs, or I’m going to shoot you, then shoot them, then take her anyway.
They moved through the dark villa. Stephano’s two enforcers, flanking them with military precision. One of them had cable ties and duct tape. The other had a shotgun. Both had the dead eyes of men who’d done worse things for less money. You made a mistake, Raldi, Stephano said as they climbed the stairs, thinking you could keep her. She’s mine.
She’s always been mine. I made her. I can unmake her. You’re a dead man, Mateo replied calmly. Bold words from someone with a gun to his. The growl started low, almost subsonic, vibrating through the darkness like an earthquake’s warning tremor. Stephano froze on the landing. Six eyes reflected the moonlight streaming through the tall windows.
Three pairs glowing like coals in the shadows. Dante, Nero, and Virgil stood at the top of the stairs in perfect formation, blocking the path to the third floor. To Kiara. Call them off. Stephano hissed, jamming the gun harder into Mateo’s spine. I can’t, Mateo said. And for the first time that night, he smiled. They’re not listening to me anymore.
Dante, Fermo, Stephano shouted the command he’d heard Mateo use. Down. The dogs didn’t move. They simply stood there, three shadows carved from violence, waiting. Shoot them, Stephano ordered his enforcers. The man with the shotgun raised it, aiming at Dante, his finger tightened on the trigger. A taco, came Kiara’s voice from the darkness behind the dogs.
Attack! What happened next happened too fast for the human eye to track properly. Dante launched himself down the stairs like a missile. 120 lb of muscle and fury hitting the shotgun wielding enforcer square in the chest. The gun discharged into the ceiling, plaster raining down as the man went backward, screaming.
Dante’s jaws locked around his forearm, and the sound of bones breaking was audible even over the chaos. Nero and Virgil split left and right in a flanking maneuver that was pure tactical precision. Nero hit the second enforcer low, going for the legs, severing tendons with surgical accuracy. Virgil went high, his jaws closing around the man’s weapon hand, forcing him to drop the pistol before dragging him to the ground.
It was coordinated, practiced pack hunting at its most efficient. Stephano’s gun swung away from Mateo, tracking desperately between the three attack points, trying to find a target that wouldn’t hit his own men. Mateo moved. He spun inside Stephano’s guard, grabbed the detective’s wrist, and slammed it against the banister.
The gun clattered down the stairs. Stephano tried to throw a punch, but Mateo was faster, angrier, and had four weeks of watching Kiara suffer for this man’s obsession, fueling every movement. He drove his fist into Stephano’s solar plexus, doubling him over, then brought his knee up into the detective’s face. Blood exploded from Stephano’s nose.
He stumbled backward, hit the wall, slid down. The two enforcers were no longer screaming. The dogs had them pinned, not killing, but holding. Their jaws locked around limbs and throats with just enough pressure to prevent movement without tearing flesh. Kiara appeared at the top of the stairs, silhouetted by moonlight, wearing one of Mateo’s shirts and nothing else.
In her hand was the estate’s backup radio. “Frommo,” she said quietly. “Stop!” All three dogs immediately released their targets and returned to her side, sitting in perfect formation, not even breathing hard.Blood stained their muscles, but their eyes were clear, focused, waiting for her next command. Stephano stared up at them from the floor, his face a mask of blood and terror. You You’re insane.
That’s assault. That’s That’s self-defense, Matteo corrected, picking up Stephano’s dropped weapon. You broke into my home, threatened my life. My dogs protected me. He smiled. Cold and final. Tragic, really. All three of you dying in a home invasion gone wrong. Stephano’s eyes went wide. “You can’t.
There’ll be an investigation. There will be no investigation,” said a new voice from the ground floor. Rocco emerged from the darkness with six of his men, all armed, all looking extremely displeased at having been outmaneuvered. He surveyed the scene, the broken enforcers, the bleeding detective, the dog standing guard, and shook his head.
Someone cut our south perimeter. We’ve already identified the guard who took the bribe. He won’t be a problem anymore. Rocco’s tone made it clear what won’t be a problem meant. As for this mess, he looked at Mateo, awaiting orders. Mateo looked up at Kiara, standing at the top of the stairs like an avenging angel flanked by hell hounds.
“What do you want?” he asked her simply. Kiara descended the stairs slowly, the three dogs moving with her in perfect synchronization. She stopped in front of Stephano, looking down at the man who terrorized her, controlled her, tried to own her. “I want him to know what it feels like,” she said softly. “To be powerless.” She crouched down to Stephano’s level.
Dante moved with her, positioning his massive head inches from the detective’s face. “Ringia,” she whispered to the dog. “Growl.” Dante’s snarl was the sound of nightmares. Deep rattling promising death. Stephano whimpered. Actually whimpered, pressing himself against the wall as if he could phase through it.
“Please,” Stephano begged. Please, Kiara, don’t. Now you beg, she said. Now you say please. She stood, looking at Mateo. Make him disappear, she said. I don’t care how. Just make sure he never comes back. Mateo nodded once. It was done. They found Detective Stephano Bianke’s body 3 days later in a burnedout car on the outskirts of Casata, 40 km from Naples.
The official report stated he’d been investigating a lead on a drug trafficking ring when his vehicle was ambushed. Ballistics matched the bullets to a weapon registered to the Vulpi family. One of the enforcers who’d broken into the Raldi estate and subsequently disappeared. The narrative wrote itself, “Dirty cop, dirty deals, inevitable, dirty end.
” Internal Affairs launched a preuncter investigation that concluded within a week. They found the offshore accounts, the payoffs, the trail of corruption. Stephano had been too arrogant to properly hide. His legacy was buried alongside his body, and the case was closed with the kind of efficient finality that only happens when powerful people want something forgotten.
Kiara watched the news coverage from the villa’s library. Dante’s head resting on her lap and felt nothing but a distant cold relief, not satisfaction, not guilt, just the quiet exhale of a hunted animal finally allowed to rest. “It’s over,” Mateo said from the doorway. She looked up at him.
This man who’d killed for her, who’d dismantled a corrupt cop’s entire existence with the same casual efficiency he might use to cancel a dinner reservation. He was holding two glasses of wine and wearing an expression she’d learned to recognize as concern disguised as neutrality. “Is it?” she asked. The warrant is void.
The investigation is closed. Bianke’s partner has been transferred to a traffic detail in Salerno. Mateo crossed the room and handed her a glass. You’re free, Kiara. The woman who didn’t exist can stay dead. Or you can reclaim your name. Your choice. Free, she repeated, testing the word. It felt foreign on her tongue after so long.
Your four months are up in 2 weeks,” Mateo continued, his voice carefully neutral. “I keep my promises. You can leave whenever you want.” Kiara looked down at Dante, whose tail was thumping a slow, hopeful rhythm against the Persian rug. She thought about the training yard, the garden walks, the storm in the kennel when Mateo had kissed her like she was something precious instead of damaged.
She thought about waking up in a place where no one was hunting her, where the only eyes watching her were canine and adoring. “And if I don’t want to leave,” she asked quietly. Mateo’s carefully maintained neutrality cracked. He set down his wine glass and knelt in front of her chair, his hands covering hers.
“Then stay,” he said simply. “Not as an employee, not as someone hiding. Stay as as what? As mine, he finished. As theirs, he gestured to Dante as the woman who tamed the monsters and made them into something better. Kiara smiled. A real smile, the first one in months that didn’t carry the weight of fear. I didn’t tame you, Mateo.
Didn’t you? His thumb traced circles on herpalm. 6 months ago. I would have killed Bianke myself slowly, publicly made an example. But you asked me to trust you, and I did. You’ve changed everything, Toro. The dogs, the estate. Me? He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small velvet box. Inside was a ring.
Not ostentatious, not a claim of ownership, just a simple band of white gold with three small diamonds set in a row. One for each of them, Mateo explained. And all of them for you. Kiara took the ring, held it up to the light, watched it catch fire in the late afternoon sun streaming through the windows. I’m not asking you to marry me, Matteo clarified quickly. Not yet.
I’m asking you to stay, to build something with me, to She kissed him, cutting off his uncharacteristic rambling. When she pulled back, she slipped the ring onto her own finger. “Yes,” she said simply. Dante’s tail thumped harder, and from somewhere in the villa, Nero and Virgil started barking in what could only be described as celebration.
Two weeks later, Kiara walked through the estate gardens in the golden light of early evening. All three dogs moving around her in a loose protective formation. They’d just finished an advanced training session. Recall work at distance, multiple target defensive positioning, the kind of highlevel obedience that required absolute trust between handler and animal.
They were perfect. Not because they’d been broken into submission, but because they’d been given something worth protecting. Matteo followed 10 paces behind, his hands in his pockets, watching the woman who’d somehow infiltrated his fortress, and conquered it from within. Rocco walked beside him, shaking his head in amused disbelief.
She’s got them better trained than any military unit I’ve ever seen, Roco observed. And somehow, boss, she’s got you just as well trained. Mateo didn’t deny it. There are worse fates. The men are calling her La Regina, Rocco continued. The queen, they respect her, fear her a little honestly. Word is spreading through the families that Mateo Raldi’s woman can control his Cberus with a whisper.
“Good,” Mateo said. “Let them talk. Let them know that anyone who threatens her will answer to more than just me.” Ahead, Kiara turned, her hair catching the light, and called back to him. “Are you coming, or are you going to lurk back there all evening?” I’m appreciating the view,” Mateo called back.
She rolled her eyes but smiled, and the three dogs sat in perfect unison, waiting for him to catch up. When he reached her, she took his hand, threading her fingers through his. “You know what’s funny?” she said as they continued walking together, the dogs leading the way down the garden path. “What? 6 months ago, I was running from one monster and accidentally found three more.
And somehow they all turned out to be exactly what I needed. Three? Mateo raised an eyebrow. Kiara looked up at him, her expression playful. Dante, Nero, Virgil, and me? You, she said, squeezing his hand. Are the keeper of monsters who needed someone to keep him too. Matteo pulled her close, kissing the top of her head as they walked. Behind them, the sun set over the Bay of Naples, painting the sky in shades of amber and rose.
The villa stood like a fortress at their backs, impenetrable, secure. Inside those walls, a waitress had become a queen. Three killers had become protectors, and a man who’d ruled through fear had learned that the strongest chains were the ones forged from trust. The Cberus of Naples had found their mistress, and the ghost of Naples had finally found his home.
In the garden, Dante looked back at the two humans walking together, then at his brothers flanking them. His tail wagged once, satisfied. The pack was complete. The territory was secure, and for the first time in his violent life, the beast was at peace.
