Bruno had never growled at one of his master’s men, but during the small girl's burial ceremony, he he promptly placed himself right between the casket and my most relied-upon lieutenant.

The echo of a distant airplane taking off masked the sound of Marco collapsing to his knees on the concrete floor.

"No," Marco gasped, shaking his head violently, staring at the locket in my hand. "That’s a lie. Isabella is at home. She doesn't know anything about the business!"

"She knows enough to wear a locket with my dead brother's blood on it," I said coldly, tossing the silver jewelry onto the concrete at Marco's feet.

Bruno let out a low growl, stepping closer to the cowering underboss. The dog’s instincts had been right from the beginning. Marco was tainted, infected by the betrayal residing in his own home.

"Why would my wife kill your brother?" Marco pleaded, looking up at me with desperate, tear-filled eyes. "Why would she extort me?"

"That is exactly what we are going to ask her," I stated, turning away from the trunk. "Tony, call a cleanup crew for Carlo. Send his body to the private morgue. Nobody hears about this."

I grabbed Marco by the collar, dragging him back toward the SUV.

"If she’s involved in this, Dante, I swear to God I didn't know," Marco begged as I shoved him into the backseat.

"Ignorance is not an alibi in our world, Marco," I replied, slamming the door.

We drove straight to Marco’s sprawling estate in Long Island. The house was a monument to the money he had made working for me—high iron gates, manicured lawns, and a pristine white facade.

I bypassed the intercom, using Marco’s security code to open the gates. We pulled up to the front door unannounced.

"Open the door," I commanded Marco. "Quietly."

Marco’s hands shook as he fumbled with his keys, unlocking the heavy mahogany door.

The house was silent, smelling of expensive perfume and fresh lilies.

"Isabella?" Marco called out, his voice cracking.

No answer.

Bruno pushed past us, his nose to the ground, tracking a scent immediately. The dog didn't go upstairs toward the bedrooms. He padded deliberately down the hallway toward Marco’s private home office.

We followed the dog.

The office door was slightly ajar. Bruno pushed it open with his snout and let out a sharp, aggressive bark.

I stepped into the room, my gun drawn.

Isabella wasn't hiding.

She was sitting behind Marco’s massive oak desk, calmly smoking a cigarette, surrounded by stacks of financial ledgers. She wore a tailored black dress, her striking green eyes reflecting zero surprise at our sudden intrusion.

"You're early, Dante," Isabella said smoothly, exhaling a plume of smoke. "I expected you to be comforting the grieving father for at least another hour."

Marco stumbled into the room, staring at his wife as if she were an alien. "Isabella? What are you doing with my ledgers?"

"I'm auditing you, darling," Isabella sneered, not even looking at him. She kept her eyes locked on me. "He’s remarkably sloppy, Dante. He’s been skimming from the construction accounts for three years, long before I entered the picture."

"You killed my brother," I said, keeping the gun leveled at her chest.

Isabella chuckled, tapping her cigarette ash into a crystal tray. "Carlo was a pig. He found out I was funneling Marco’s stolen money into a private offshore account. Carlo tried to blackmail me. He wanted half the cut to keep quiet. So, I invited him to a parking garage to negotiate."

"And you shot him," I concluded.

"Twice," Isabella nodded, utterly remorseless. "But then I realized I had a body and a car that could trace back to me. So, I used Carlo's phone to extort my idiot husband. I told Marco to drop the cash in the alley, knowing he would panic and rush."

"You orchestrated the hit-and-run," Marco breathed, the horror of his wife's sociopathy finally breaking his spirit. "You made me kill that little girl."

"Elena was collateral damage," Isabella dismissed with a wave of her hand. "The plan was for you to drop the money, for me to collect it, and for the Russian mob to take the blame for Carlo's death. But you couldn't even drive a car properly, Marco."

"Why?" I asked, my finger tightening on the trigger. "If you were already stealing his money, why the elaborate extortion?"

"Because I needed a lump sum to disappear," Isabella stated, finally standing up. "And I needed Marco distracted by a crisis so he wouldn't notice the accounts draining."

She opened the top drawer of the desk and pulled out a heavy, leather-bound book.

"But I found something much more valuable than cash while I was digging through his safe," Isabella smiled, a predatory gleam in her eyes.

She tossed the book onto the desk.

"This is Marco’s insurance policy," Isabella revealed. "A detailed ledger of every bribe you’ve paid to the NYPD, every judge on your payroll, and every politician you own, Dante."

My blood ran cold. I glared at Marco. "You kept a burn book on me?"

Marco fell to his knees, weeping. "It was just insurance, Boss! I never intended to use it!"

"Well, I intend to use it," Isabella declared triumphantly. "I have a buyer lined up. A federal prosecutor who is very eager to dismantle your empire, Dante. I walk out of here right now, or this ledger goes straight to the FBI."

Isabella reached for the book, preparing to leave.

But she made one fatal miscalculation.

She forgot about the dog.

"Bruno," I whispered, a single, lethal command.

Bruno didn't bark. He launched himself across the room with terrifying, silent speed.

Isabella screamed as the hundred-and-twenty-pound Rottweiler hit her squarely in the chest, driving her backward into the floor-to-ceiling window.