Chapter 1 - The Dog in the Laundry Room
“Easy,” Rosie whispered as the enormous black dog bared his teeth.
Dante Castellano entered behind her and stopped when he saw the broken leather strap hanging from Titan’s collar.
Three numbers were scratched beneath the blood-darkened leather.
Dante suddenly realized the dog had not escaped by accident.
Rosalind Whittaker did not move.
That was the first thing Dante noticed.
Everyone else who worked inside the Castellano estate knew what to do when Titan appeared without his handler: back away, find a door, and put something solid between yourself and the dog.
Rosie had apparently missed that lesson.
Or ignored it.
She stood beside the industrial washing machines with one hand raised, her green housekeeping dress damp from the knees down. A stack of white sheets lay forgotten on the marble floor.
Titan stood six feet away.
One hundred and twenty pounds of wet black muscle.
His broken collar dragged beside his front paw.
Blood streaked his shoulder.
A low growl vibrated through the room.
Rosie felt it through the soles of her shoes more clearly than she heard it.
Her left ear had been almost completely deaf since childhood. Her right ear worked well enough, but years of compensating had taught her to pay attention to things other people missed.
Hands.
Eyes.
Breathing.
Posture.
Fear.
And Titan was terrified.
Not furious.
Terrified.
Rosie slowly turned her body sideways.
“I'm not coming closer.”
Titan's ears shifted.
“You can come to me.”
Dante watched from the doorway.
Behind him stood Adrian Cole and Marco Bell, two men who had worked security for him long enough to know that interrupting him without good reason was dangerous to their employment.
Neither spoke.
Rosie lowered herself carefully.
Her plus-size frame made crouching awkward in the narrow space between the machines, but she didn't care.
Titan stared.
Then Rosie saw it.
He kept presenting his right side.
When she shifted left, he repositioned.
When a machine clicked behind his left shoulder, he didn't react.
Rosie's fear changed into recognition.
“Oh,” she whispered.
“You too?”
Titan blinked.
Rosie touched her left ear.
Then pointed toward his.
His growl softened.
Dante's expression changed.
“What is she doing?” Marco whispered.
Dante raised one hand.
Silence.
Rosie extended her palm.
Titan approached.
One step.
Then another.
He smelled her fingers.
His nose was cold.
Rosie saw the blood more clearly now.
The shoulder wound was deep enough to need attention but not immediately life-threatening. More disturbing were the old scars beneath his coat.
Circular marks.
Jagged lines.
Damaged tissue behind his ear.
Someone had hurt this dog long before today.
Rosie's jaw tightened.
Six weeks ago she would have been treating an animal like Titan beneath bright veterinary lights.
Six weeks ago she had possessed a license, an apartment, savings, and the dangerous belief that telling the truth protected honest people.
Then Gregory Vale had brought an emaciated German shepherd into the clinic.
The dog was dehydrated and covered in untreated wounds.
Vale wanted the medical record changed.
Rosie refused.
Her supervisor told her to reconsider.
She refused again.
Forty-eight hours later, the clinic accused Rosie of mishandling controlled medications.
There was no proof.
There didn't need to be.
Vale had attorneys.
The clinic had insurance.
Rosie had a sixteen-year-old brother named Noah and three months of rent overdue.
She lost everything.
The Castellano estate paid cash.
So Rosie washed sheets.
And now she was kneeling before the most feared dog in the house.
“Come on,” she whispered.
Titan followed her to the enormous utility basin.
Rosie ran warm water.
She soaked a clean sheet and touched it gently to his back.
Titan froze.
Rosie froze too.
Seconds passed.
Then Titan leaned against her.
All one hundred and twenty pounds of him.
Rosie's throat tightened.
“Yeah,” she whispered. “I know.”
She climbed partially into the basin to reach the wound.
Water soaked her apron.
Titan let her clean him.
That was when Dante finally stepped inside.
Titan's head snapped up.
Rosie turned.
The man standing in the doorway was impossible to mistake.
Tall.
Broad-shouldered.
Black shirt.
Black trousers.
Long dark hair slicked away from a face that rarely revealed what he was thinking.
Black-and-gray tattoos covered his forearms and disappeared beneath his collar.
Dante Castellano.
Rosie had been told he owned shipping companies, restaurants, real estate, and enough of Baltimore's waterfront that people became strangely careful when saying his name.
Rumors supplied the rest.
Rosie trusted rumors less than most people did.
Rumors had destroyed her career.
Dante looked at Titan.
Then Rosie.
Then Titan again.
“You.”
Rosie turned her right ear toward him.
Dante noticed.
“What?”
He walked closer.
Titan didn't growl.
Dante stopped.
Rosie saw genuine surprise flash across his face.
“What did you do to him?”
“I cleaned his wound.”
“That isn't what I asked.”
Rosie frowned.
“He was hurt.”
“Titan doesn't let strangers touch him.”
“He isn't letting me do anything.”
Dante's eyes narrowed.
Rosie returned to cleaning the wound.
“He decided I wasn't going to hurt him.”
Behind Dante, Marco stared as though Rosie had announced she could fly.
Dante approached the basin.
Titan watched him but remained against Rosie.
Dante crouched.
Rosie expected Titan to become affectionate.
He didn't.
Interesting.
“You're staying here,” Dante said.
Rosie's head snapped toward him.
“Excuse me?”
“With Titan.”
“That isn't what you said.”
Dante's mouth almost moved into a smile.
Almost.
“What did you hear?”
“You said, ‘You're mine.’”
Marco suddenly found the ceiling fascinating.
Adrian coughed.
Dante stared at Rosie for several seconds.
“I said you're on mine.”
“Your what?”
“My staff.”
“I was already on your staff.”
“Not anymore.”
Rosie stood.
She was shorter than Dante, but she somehow managed to look unimpressed anyway.
“Then I quit very quickly.”
Dante actually smiled this time.
Titan looked between them.
Dante pointed toward the dog.
“Starting tonight, you're responsible for him.”
“I wash laundry.”
“You used to be a veterinary technician.”
Rosie stopped.
“How do you know that?”
“I know who works inside my house.”
“Apparently not, because my employment form says laundry attendant.”
“I read more than employment forms.”
That bothered her.
Dante noticed.
“You refused to falsify an animal's medical records.”
Rosie's expression hardened.
“You investigated me.”
“I investigated everyone living under my roof.”
“I don't live under your roof.”
“Staff residence is on the property.”
“That's still incredibly creepy.”
Marco coughed again.
This time Rosie was almost certain he was hiding laughter.
Dante ignored him.
“Titan needs someone.”
“He needs a veterinarian.”
“He has one.”
“Then call them.”
“They're coming.”
“Good.”
Rosie returned her attention to Titan.
When she lifted his damaged ear, something caught her eye.
A faded patch of ink.
She leaned closer.
Someone had tried to remove an identification tattoo.
Three digits remained visible.
Dante saw her expression.
“What?”
“There's a tattoo.”
He came closer.
Rosie moved Titan's ear carefully.
Dante stared at the numbers.
The color drained from his face.
It happened so quickly Rosie wondered if she had imagined it.
“What does 417 mean?”
Dante didn't answer.
“Mr. Castellano?”
He stood.
“Adrian.”
“Yes?”
“Lock the property.”
Rosie stared at him.
“What?”
“No one leaves.”
Dante turned toward Marco.
“Find Elias.”
Marco's face changed.
“Now?”
“Now.”
Something had shifted.
Rosie looked at Titan.
The dog had begun trembling.
Not from cold.
She followed his gaze.
The laundry-room door was still open.
Beyond it stretched the brightly illuminated corridor.
Empty.
Almost.
A shadow disappeared around the far corner.
Titan suddenly climbed out of the basin.
Water exploded across the marble.
“Titan!”
The dog didn't attack.
He ran.
Rosie grabbed the broken strap and followed.
“Rosie!” Dante called.
She didn't stop.
Titan raced down the corridor, through the service hall, and toward a door Rosie had never seen open.
He stopped outside it.
Growling.
Dante caught up behind her.
“Move away.”
Rosie looked at the door.
A thin trail of blood crossed the floor.
Not Titan's.
It came from the other side.
Dante reached for the handle.
Before he touched it, three slow knocks sounded from inside.
Titan's growl died.
May you like
And someone behind the locked door whispered one word.
“Rosalind.”
