d51."Bruno had never before snapped at any of my associates, but during the small girl's burial ceremony, he he promptly placed himself right between the casket and my most relied-upon lieutenant.

Spring returned to New York two years later, melting the last stubborn patches of grey snow along the Hudson and bringing green back to the city parks.

The organization was stronger than it had ever been. The rules were simple, enforced with quiet, absolute authority: zero drug trade near schools, zero extortion of small family businesses, and total protection for the neighborhood. People in the borough didn't fear my men anymore; they viewed us as an impenetrable wall between them and the chaos of the outside underworld.

Bruno was ten years old now—a grand old age for a dog of his size. His muzzle was almost entirely silver, and he spent most of his afternoons sleeping in the warm sunspots on the office floor. But his mind was as sharp as steel.

Shadow, now a towering ninety-pound powerhouse of muscle, speed, and intelligence, had taken over the heavy security duties. He walked at my side everywhere I went, a silent black shadow echoing the dog who had trained him.

On a quiet Tuesday afternoon, Tony walked into my back office. He didn't look worried, but his face carried a serious, reserved expression.

"Boss," Tony said, setting a legal document on my desk. "We have a situation down at the state correctional facility in Jersey."

I picked up the document. "What kind of situation?"

"Marco's brother," Tony explained. "Dominic Ricci. He just finished serving a eight-year sentence for armed robbery. He got out this morning."

I paused, staring at the name on the paper. Dominic Ricci.

I remembered him. Dominic was younger than Marco, meaner, and completely unhinged. He had been locked up long before Marco’s betrayal and execution. He didn't know the full story of why his brother had disappeared. All he knew was that Marco had gone to a funeral two years ago and never come back.

"Does he know what happened?" I asked flatly.

"He knows Marco is dead," Tony replied. "And he knows you were the last person Marco was seen with. Word from our contacts in Jersey is that Dominic has been asking around the old neighborhood, trying to gather a crew of desperate ex-cons."

From his rug near the window, Bruno opened one dark eye. He didn't stand up, but his ears shifted forward, catching the tone in Tony's voice.

Shadow, sitting right beside my desk, instantly stood up, his dark coat bristling, sensing the subtle shift in the room's energy.

"Where is he now?" I asked.

"He was spotted an hour ago heading toward Queens," Tony said, his voice dropping. "Boss... he's asking for directions to Mateo's diner."

A cold, lethal silence descended on the room.

I set the legal document down on the desk. My hands didn't shake. My chest didn't tighten. The time for panic had passed years ago; now, there was only cold, calculated action.

Dominic didn't just want answers. He wanted leverage. And he thought he could find it by targeting the one place he knew was connected to his brother's final days.

"Tony," I said quietly, reaching into my desk drawer for my leather shoulder holster.

"Yeah, Boss?"

"Get the cars. We're going to Queens."

Shadow let out a sharp, low bark, stepping into position beside the door.

I looked over at Bruno. The old hound slowly pushed himself up from his rug, his silver muzzle lifted high. He took two steps toward me, his tail giving a single, steady thump against the floor.

"No, old boy," I murmured, kneeling down to kiss the top of his gray head. "You stay here by the fire. Shadow and I will take care of this."