The Mafia Boss Saw Me Bandaging a Stray Dog — Then He Quietly Followed Me Home Alone

Chapter 5

Raphael looked at the dog for a long time, long enough to make her wonder what he was thinking. Then he said, quietly, “Perhaps it’s time he had one.”

And for reasons Maya couldn’t explain, the look on Raphael Marino’s face at that exact moment was not the look of a businessman studying a stray dog. It was the look of a man remembering someone he had lost.

Sunday arrived with clear skies and the kind of crisp autumn air that made Brooklyn feel smaller, quieter, almost intimate. Maya spent most of the morning cleaning kennels at the shelter, but her thoughts kept drifting back to the previous afternoon — specifically to the look on Raphael’s face when he’d stared at the stray. It hadn’t been admiration. It hadn’t been curiosity. It had looked dangerously close to grief.

By noon the adoption event had slowed. Families came and went. Volunteers folded tables and packed away supplies. The white dog remained in his kennel near the back office, watching the world with patient brown eyes. Maya stopped beside him several times throughout the day; each time he wagged his tail, and each time she felt a little more guilty about leaving him there.

“You’re making this difficult,” she whispered, scratching behind his ears.

The dog leaned into her hand. Across the room, two volunteers were speaking quietly while organizing paperwork. Maya wasn’t paying attention until she heard a familiar name.

“You mean Raphael Marino?”

“Keep it down.”

“What’s the big deal?”

“You seriously don’t know who he is?”

Maya’s attention sharpened instantly. She pretended to focus on the kennel while she listened.

“I know he’s rich.”

“That’s one way to describe it.”

“Then what?”

A nervous laugh. “People say he owns half the city. I don’t know if that’s true. But every time his name comes up, people stop asking questions.”

A chill ran through Maya despite the warmth of the room. She wanted to hear more, but the shelter director entered moments later and the conversation died on the spot. The volunteers returned to work as if nothing had happened.

Raphael Marino owns half the city. People stop asking questions. It explained the vehicles, the deference, the way rooms changed when he walked in. It explained almost nothing about why he kept appearing in her life.

Late that afternoon, Maya finished her shift and headed home. The neighborhood glowed beneath golden sunlight. Children rode bicycles through the side streets. Store owners arranged pumpkins outside their shops. Everything felt peaceful. She turned the corner toward her apartment building and stopped.

The white dog sat beside the entrance, waiting.

“What are you doing here?” she asked.

The dog immediately stood and trotted toward her, tail going. She looked around for a leash, an owner, anyone. Nothing. Just the dog, alone again.

“You can’t keep doing this,” she sighed.

The dog wagged his tail harder.

“He seems to disagree.”