Thieves Stole A Blind Girl’s Guide Dog—Until The Mafia Boss Arrived And Made Them Regret It

Mrs. Fam pointed toward the heavy, frosted-glass door at the very back of the diner. It was a VIP booth, permanently reserved, where the city's true power brokers ate their meals far away from the prying eyes of the street.

"Who is he?" Brier asked, her voice trembling.

"His name is Gabriel Rossi," Mrs. Fam said quietly. "He runs the port, the unions, and the streets south of the river. He's not a good man, Brier. But he is a man of his word. Go in there. Tell him what happened."

Brier hesitated. She was terrified of Silas, but walking into a room with a mafia boss felt like stepping out of a cage and directly into a lion's den. She looked down at Posie, who was tracing the edge of her wheelchair, looking so devastatingly small and lost.

Brier took a deep breath, pushed the heavy door open, and stepped into the back room.

The booth was dimly lit. A man sat alone, eating a plate of eggs and reading a financial newspaper. He wore a tailored black suit that looked completely out of place in a greasy spoon diner. Two massive men in dark overcoats stood silently in the corners of the room.

Gabriel Rossi didn't look up from his paper. "I didn't ask for a refill."

"I'm not here to pour coffee," Brier said, her voice shaking but defiant.

Gabriel paused. He slowly lowered the newspaper. He was younger than she expected, perhaps in his late thirties, with sharp, aristocratic features and eyes so dark they looked like polished obsidian. He took in her bruised cheek, the torn collar of her shirt, and the sheer desperation radiating from her posture.

"Mrs. Fam sent you," Gabriel stated. It wasn't a question.

"My daughter is blind," Brier said, stepping closer to the table, ignoring the warning glare from his guards. "Last night, men broke into my apartment. They beat me and they stole her guide dog. The police won't help."

Gabriel took a sip of his black coffee, his expression completely unreadable.

"It is a tragedy," Gabriel said smoothly. "But I am not the pound, Miss. I run businesses. I don't chase stolen pets."

"He's not a pet!" Brier pleaded, stepping forward. "His name is Brutus. He's a hundred-and-fifty-pound Caucasian Shepherd mix. The man who took him is named Silas. He runs an underground exotic animal ring."