The first thing I remember is the smell of lemon polish on my hands. Not the shouting. Not the shattered glass

The first thing I remember is the smell of lemon polish on my hands.

Not the shouting. Not the shattered glass. Not even Titan’s terrifying growl.

I was folding towels in an upstairs linen closet when a violent crash shook the hallway. My five-year-old daughter, Sophia, stopped coloring beside me and looked up with wide, questioning eyes.

“Mommy... what was that?”

“Stay here,” I said instantly, my heart taking a sharp, uneasy leap into my throat.

“Why?”

“Because I said so, sweetie. Don’t move.”

I hurried into the grand second-floor hallway and nearly collided with Dante Russo, Adrian Moretti’s head of security. Two armed guards stood behind him, their faces pale, their hands hovering dangerously near their shoulder holsters. None of them entered the master study.

“Dante, move,” I demanded, trying to push past him.

“No.”

His heavy, tattooed arm shot across the doorway, blocking my path like an iron gate.

“What happened?” I asked, my breath catching.

“Elena, go back to the service wing.”

Hearing him use my first name chilled me to the bone. In the eight months I’d worked as a housekeeper inside the sprawling Moretti estate, Dante had always maintained a strict, professional distance. He had always called me Mrs. Castillo.

Then I looked past his arm, through the open double doors.

Adrian Moretti—the most feared, unyielding syndicate boss in Boston—was sprawled motionless beside his mahogany desk. His expensive tailored suit was twisted unnaturally around his body, and broken crystal from a shattered decanter glittered across the Persian rug.

Standing directly over his chest was Titan.

One hundred thirty pounds of solid muscle, dark scar tissue, and terrifying, uncompromising loyalty.

The massive Cane Corso’s enormous paws were planted firmly on either side of Adrian’s ribs. His thick coat bristled along his spine, his dark lips curled back to reveal gleaming white fangs, and a deep, guttural growl rolled from his throat like a heavy engine preparing to explode.

Nobody moved.

“What happened?” I whispered, terror gripping my chest.

“We don't know,” Dante snapped, his eyes fixed on the beast. “He was alone in the room. We heard the crash.”

“Where's the doctor?”

“On his way up.”

“You’ve been standing here while Adrian is lying unconscious? He could be dying!”

Dante turned his head, his expression carved from stone. “You think I’m sacrificing one of my men to that dog? Titan will tear the throat out of anyone who crosses that doorway. He thinks we attacked Adrian.”

Heavy footsteps pounded up the marble staircase behind us.

Dr. Ethan Reynolds appeared at the top of the landing, carrying his black medical bag. He had treated the Moretti family’s inner circle for years, but I had never seen his face look so pale.

Titan’s growl deepened into a chest-vibrating roar the moment the doctor stepped into view.

Dr. Reynolds stopped twelve feet away from the threshold and slowly raised both hands. “I’m not taking another step until somebody controls that animal.”

“Nobody can,” Dante said coldly. “Only Adrian commands Titan. To that dog, every person in this hallway is an executioner.”

My stomach tightened into a painful knot. Every second Adrian lay on that floor, his pulse could be slipping away.

Then I heard something behind me.

A tiny, innocent hum.

My blood turned to pure ice.

I spun around.

“Sophia?”

She wasn't in the linen closet.

She was standing at the edge of the crowd of hardened guards, clutching her yellow coloring book tightly against her chest, her dark curls bouncing slightly as she took a small step forward.

“Sophia, stay there!” I gasped, reaching out frantically.

But she didn't look at me. She looked past the armed guards, past Dante, straight into the dark study.

Straight at Titan.

Before I could grab her dress, my five-year-old daughter stepped between two towering, armed men and walked straight toward the open study door.

“SOPHIA!” I screamed, throwing myself forward, but Dante’s arm caught me by the waist, locking me back.

Inside the room, Titan lifted his massive, scarred head.