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 8

The investigation moved fast. By noon the next day, Roman’s people had identified the source of the tampering: a vet tech named Mitchell Brand, who’d been feeding information to Klov’s operation for three weeks. Clinic schedules. Medication protocols. Security gaps. Small details. Valuable details.

Roman didn’t kill him. He did something worse.

I was in the penthouse living room when he made the calls. One to the New York State Veterinary Licensing Board. One to the clinic owner. One to a detective in the NYPD who apparently owed him favors. By the time he hung up, Mitchell Brand had lost his license, his job, and was facing criminal charges for falsifying medical records.

“He’ll be in court by Friday,” Roman said, setting his phone down. “Broke and unemployable. If he’s very lucky, Klov will cut him loose. And if he’s not lucky, Klov will make an example of him for getting caught.”

I stared at him. “You just ended his entire career.”

“He sold access to my dog and put you in danger.” Roman’s voice was flat. “That has consequences. Non-lethal consequences. I don’t kill people for incompetence. I ruin them.” He looked at me, and I saw the absolute certainty in his eyes. “This is who I am, Odessa. This is what I do. If that bothers you, now’s the time to say so.”

It should have bothered me. Should have sent me running back to my old life, where the worst thing that happened was late rent and difficult clients. Instead, I just nodded.

“He made his choice. He gets to live with it.”

Something shifted in Roman’s expression. Approval, maybe — recognition that I was adapting faster than he’d expected.

“Come here.” He was standing by the windows, and I walked over to where he stood. He pointed down at the street below, where a black sedan was parked across from the building entrance.

“Klov’s watching. He knows you’re here. He knows I moved you into protected territory. Now he has to decide if you’re valuable enough to extract or expendable enough to eliminate.”

My mouth went dry. “And which do you think I am?”

“To him? Valuable. You’ve cost him an inside source and exposed his surveillance pattern. He can’t let that go unanswered.” He turned to face me, and we were close enough that I could see my own reflection in his dark eyes. “To me? Essential.”

The word hit me harder than it should have.

“Essential,” I repeated.

“You see things my people miss. You think like someone who understands behavior, not just threats. And Luna trusts you more than she trusts anyone except me.”

His hand lifted, and for a second I thought he was going to touch my face. Instead, he gestured toward the hallway.

“Klov escalated,” he said. “The tail this morning was a message. Until I know his next move, you don’t go back to your apartment. I have a guest room, private bathroom, everything you need. Sophie will bring clothes and anything else from your place.”

“You can’t just —”

“I can, and I am.” His voice went quieter, more dangerous. “You signed a contract that puts you under my protection. That means I decide what’s safe and what isn’t. And right now, your apartment isn’t safe.”

I wanted to argue. I wanted to push back on the assumption that he could reorganize my life because it suited his operational needs. But I looked at his face and saw something I hadn’t expected.

Genuine concern. Not the calculating assessment of a valuable asset. Actual worry.

“How long?” I asked.

“Until the threat level drops.” He stepped back, giving me space. “This isn’t a cage, Odessa. It’s a safe room. You can leave whenever you want. But if you leave, you do it knowing Klov’s people are watching, and I can’t respond fast enough if something goes wrong.”

I thought about the man with the cracked Rolex. The way he’d known about my mother. The casual ease with which he’d threatened my entire life.

“Fine,” I said. “But I need to call my mom. Tell her I’m staying with a friend for a few days.”

“Use the secure phone. The line’s clean.”

He showed me to the guest room — spacious and personal, with windows that overlooked the park and blackout shades that could turn the space into a fortress. Sophie arrived twenty minutes later with a bag of my clothes and toiletries, moving with the quiet efficiency of someone who’d done this before.

I unpacked, called my mother, lied smoothly about staying with a college friend who was in town, and tried not to think about the fact that I was now living in Roman Kyodori’s penthouse, sleeping three doors down from a man who made my pulse race and my judgment dissolve.

Tried not to think about how much I wanted him to look at me the way he had this afternoon — like I was more than just useful.