She Was Only a Dog Trainer Trying to Heal a Traumatized Shepherd — Then the Mafia Boss Who Owned Him Made Her the Key to Surviving a Deadly Betrayal

Chapter 5

The secure phone arrived at six-thirty the next morning, delivered by a man who looked like he could break concrete with his bare hands and said exactly four words: “Kyodori sent this.” I signed for it, locked my apartment door, and stared at the device like it might explode.

Black. Unmarked. One contact saved. Just “Roman.” No last name.

My regular phone buzzed — a text from the clinic coordinator. *Contract canceled effective immediately. New arrangement in place. All Luna communications go through new number.*

So it was real. I’d signed my life over to a man I’d met twelve hours ago.

The secure phone buzzed. *Walk starts in 90 minutes. Same route. Eyes open. R.*

I showered, dressed in my usual uniform — dark jeans, comfortable boots, a jacket with deep pockets — and tried not to think about how my hands were shaking. Tried not to think about the way Roman’s thumb had brushed across my knuckles, about cedar and smoke and dark eyes that saw too much.

I failed on all three counts.

Luna was waiting at the building’s private entrance on East 78th, held by a different handler this time — a woman in her forties with sharp eyes and the kind of posture that suggested a military background.

“Miss Kleinhart.” Professional. Clipped. “I’m Sophie. Building security. I’ll be shadowing your route today. You focus on the dog and the environment. I focus on keeping you both alive.”

She handed me Luna’s lead. The dog pressed against my leg immediately, calm but alert.

“If you spot anything unusual, you signal me. Don’t engage. Don’t investigate. Just mark it and keep moving.”

“How do I signal you?”

Sophie tapped her left ear, and I noticed the nearly invisible earpiece. “I’m listening to everything. You say ‘Luna, easy’ in that particular tone you use when she’s reactive, and I know you’ve spotted something.”

“Clear.”

We started walking. The route I’d established over two weeks looped through the Upper East Side’s quietest streets — tree-lined blocks where old money lived behind limestone facades. At this hour the neighborhood was just waking up. Dog walkers. Nannies with strollers. The occasional executive heading to early meetings.

I’d always loved this time of day. The city felt manageable. Predictable.

Now I was looking at it like a threat map. Part of me — the part that had built a quiet life out of invisible work — wanted to believe I was overreacting, that the city was just the city, full of people standing on corners with coffee cups. But I’d spent four years reading animal behavior, and the first rule of observation is this: coincidence repeats, pattern means purpose. A man who stands on the same corner with the same coffee cup at the same time two days running isn’t waiting for someone. He’s watching for someone.

Sophie moved through the crowd like a ripple — never too close, never out of reach. Twice I glanced back and caught her pretending to check her phone at a newsstand, her eyes not on the screen but on the street behind me. I’d worked alone for years. Trusting my back to a woman I’d known for twenty minutes should have felt wrong. It didn’t. It felt like the first time Luna had leaned her full weight against my leg — heavy, and strange, and safer than I’d expected.

We were ten minutes in when I saw him. Thirties, navy jacket, a coffee cup from the Starbucks on Lex, standing at the corner of 76th and Madison, scrolling his phone like he was waiting for someone. Nothing unusual — except I’d seen him yesterday. Same corner. Same jacket. Same coffee.

My pulse kicked up. I kept walking, kept my pace steady, kept my expression neutral.

“Luna, easy,” I murmured, running my hand along her back in the calming pattern she’d learned to trust.

Sophie’s voice came through, quiet and close. “Copy. Keep moving.”

At 74th and Park, I saw the second one — a woman in her late twenties, athleisure wear, pretending to stretch against a building’s facade, but her eyes tracked me as we passed. I’d seen her two days ago. Different location. Same watchful quality.

“Luna, easy.”

“Confirmed. Two so far.”

“Yes,” I said quietly, like I was talking to the dog.

By the time we completed the loop and returned to Roman’s building, I’d spotted four repeating faces. Four people who’d been on my route multiple times over the past week, always in slightly different positions, always with plausible cover stories. Four people I would have missed completely if I hadn’t been looking.

Sophie walked me to the private elevator. “Good eye. Most people don’t catch surveillance until it’s too late. You caught it clean.”

“What happens now?”

“Now you write up everything you remember, and Mr. Kyodori decides how to respond.” She pressed the button for me. “He’s waiting for you. Penthouse level.”

The doors closed, and my stomach dropped as the elevator climbed.