Here is the complete story from start to end, followed by the candid photo to accompany the climax of this emotional reunion.
“Mister, Your Big Dog Stole My Shoe! Tell Him to Give It Back!” the Maid’s Five-Year-Old Daughter Demanded, Making the Feared Mafia Boss Laugh for the First Time in Years. But When His Doberman Finally Dropped the Tiny Shoe at His Feet, He Froze—Tucked Inside Was a Small Silver Locket Bearing the Name of the Little Sister He’d Lost Twenty Years Ago.
Your dog stole my shoe.
Vincent Raldi stopped with his coffee cup halfway to his mouth.
The voice had come through nine feet of wrought iron at seven forty-six on a Tuesday morning, and it carried the flat certainty of someone who had rehearsed the sentence on the walk over and intended to see it through.
Beyond the gate stood a little girl in a yellow coat, six years old at most. Pale brown hair escaped from two uneven braids. One red sneaker was planted firmly on the frost-bitten pavement; the other foot was wrapped in a white sock dark enough at the toe to prove she had chased the thief at least a block. Her fingers were hooked through the bars.
Two guards stood on the inside of the gate. Both had been trained for intruders, threats, photographers, protesters, drunk businessmen, and one memorable man who had arrived with a sword because he believed Vincent had stolen his parking garage. Neither appeared to know what protocol covered an indignant first grader missing one shoe.
Vincent lowered the cup. Who stole it?
The girl stared at him as though the answer should have been self-evident. Your dog.
Martin, the senior of the two guards, turned his head toward the garden. Mr. Raldi. Atlas was loose during
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