The silence inside the funeral home was not the kind that brings peace. It was heavy, sour, and thick with betrayal.

My hands were still locked onto Bruno’s collar, the leather digging into my palms as the one-hundred-and-twenty-pound monster trembled against my boots. He wasn’t growling at Marco anymore. He wasn't focused on the traitor pinned against the floral-wallpapered wall by Tony’s heavy hands. Bruno was entirely consumed by the polished white casket resting under the soft halo of the parlor lights.

His massive head pressed hard against the brass trim of the lid. A low, desperate whine vibrated deep within his chest—a sound I had never heard in the eight years he had bled for me.

"Boss..." Tony’s voice cracked from across the room, his thumb still jammed under Marco’s jawline. "What is he doing?"

"Open it," I repeated. My voice didn't sound like my own. It sounded like grinding stones.

peeked out from behind a arrangement of lilies, his face pale as chalk. "Mr. Moretti, please... this is highly improper. The family—the health codes—"

I didn't waste breath arguing. I pulled my silver heavy-frame Colt from my shoulder holster and racked the slide back. The metallic click echoed through the chapel like a crack of thunder.

"Open the damn lid, or I put a bullet through your knee and open it myself."

Tomas Vasquez, tears streaming down his hollow cheeks, stepped forward and laid a trembling hand on the funeral director’s arm. "Do it," the father whispered, his voice broken. "Do what Don Moretti says."

The director fumbled with a brass key pulled from his vest pocket, inserting it into the side latch of the wooden casket. The heavy velvet curtains behind the altar seemed to shudder as the lock clicked open.

Bruno didn't wait. He reared back on his hind legs, placing his massive front paws directly onto the rim of the casket, pushing his snout into the crack before the lid was even halfway lifted.

Rosa Vasquez sobbed, hiding her face in her husband’s chest, unable to watch. But I couldn't look away.

The lid swung open.

Elena Vasquez lay nestled in white silk, her small hands folded over a stuffed yellow bunny. Her skin was waxy and pale, framed by dark curls. To any normal eye, she was a sleeping child preparing for the earth.

But Bruno didn't see a corpse.

He leaned down, his wet nose pressing directly against the collar of her pink dress, taking a deep, shuddering breath. Then, his tail gave a tiny, frantic thump against the wooden pedestal.

I leaned over the edge, dropping to one knee beside the beast. "Bruno... what do you hear?"

I pressed my ear against the cool silk lining near the child's chest.

At first, there was only the sound of my own blood pounding in my ears. Then, past the smell of formaldehyde and embalming fluid, past the suffocating scent of roses... I heard it.

Thump.

It was fainter than a bird's wing fluttering against a windowpane.

...Thump.

A delayed, agonized rhythm.

"She's alive," I breathed.

The room shattered. Rosa screamed—a sound of raw, terrifying hope. Tomas dropped to his knees beside me, reaching out with hands that shook violently, hovering over his daughter’s face but too afraid to touch her.

"How?" Tony yelled, shoving Marco to the floor and rushing over. "The coroner signed off! The county morgue—"

"Harlan," I hissed, the truth clicking into place like the gears of a trap. "The coroner is on Harlan's payroll. They didn't hit her to kill her. They took her, knocked her out with something heavy to fake the death, and intended to bury her alive or swap the body before the vault closed!"

Marco tried to crawl toward the back exit. He didn't make it two feet. Bruno turned like a lightning bolt, snapping his jaws inches from Marco’s throat, pinning the traitor to the carpet with a roar that shook the glass light fixtures.

I reached down into the silk lining, slipping two fingers against the small pulse point on Elena's neck. It was ice cold, but beneath the surface, a tiny spark was still fighting the dark.

"Call an ambulance," I roared at the funeral director, who was frozen in place. "NOW!"

I picked up the little girl, wrapping her small, chilly body in my heavy wool overcoat. Bruno stood right beside me, walking shoulder-to-shoulder as I marched toward the doors.

"What about Marco?" Tony asked, his gun drawn, pointing at the shivering underboss on the floor.