The first thing I noticed was not the flowers. Not the grieving parents in the front row. Not the tiny white coffin resting beneath soft lights,

Three days after the raid at Port Newark, the morning sun broke through the clouds over Queens, casting warm light through the windows of my private estate.

The brownstone’s sunroom was quiet.

Sitting in a soft, velvet armchair was Elena Vasquez. The dark circles under her eyes had faded, her skin was rosy and warm, and she was wearing a bright yellow sweater her mother had brought her from home.

Dr. Vance had completely flushed the toxin from her system. Physically, she was healed.

Tomas and Rosa Vasquez sat beside her on the sofa, holding hands, staring at their daughter as if she were a vision that might vanish if they blinked.

I stood near the doorway, holding a cup of black coffee, watching them in silence.

Elena was holding a pad of paper and a box of colored pencils. She was drawing a horse—a tall brown stallion running through a field of purple flowers.

Bruno lay stretched out on the rug right beside her chair. His heavy head rested directly on her foot, his tail giving a soft, lazy thump against the floor every few seconds.

"Look, Mr. Dominic," Elena said softly, her voice still a little raspy from the breathing tube she had used days earlier. She held up the drawing.

I walked over, dropping to one knee beside her chair, and inspected the paper with serious intensity.

"That is a very fine horse, Elena," I said gently. "Much better than the ones on the wall at La Estrella."

Elena giggled—a bright, beautiful sound that filled the sunroom like music. She reached down with her free hand and patted Bruno’s broad head.

"Bruno told me you were coming," she whispered, leaning closer to me.

I blinked, surprised. "Bruno told you?"

"When I was in the dark box," Elena said softly, her green eyes clear and completely innocent. "I couldn't move my arms. I couldn't open my eyes. I was so scared because I thought I was all alone in the dark."

The room went completely still. Tomas and Rosa held their breath.

"And then?" I asked quietly.

"And then I heard a voice," Elena smiled, stroking Bruno’s soft ears. "It was a big doggy scratching on the wood. He put his head right next to mine and kept whispering, 'Stay awake, little bird. The Don is coming.' So I stayed awake."

I looked down at the dog. Bruno looked up at me with his dark, intelligent eyes, letting out a soft, heavy sigh as he rested his chin back on her foot.

I cleared my throat, feeling a strange, unfamiliar tightness in my chest that had nothing to do with smoke or gunshots.

"He’s a very smart dog," I muttered, brushing a speck of dust off my trousers.

Tony stepped into the doorway, leaning against the frame, holding a manila folder. He caught my eye and gave me a subtle nod.

I stood up slowly. "Tomas, Rosa... the car is outside. My men will take you to your new house in upstate New York. A nice town, good schools, fresh air. The restaurant in Queens is being sold, and the funds have been transferred to your new bank account."