God. Ellie, come here. She hurried through the gate before Martin could stop her, took her daughter by the shoulders, and checked her over as though expecting an injury. I told you to stay beside me.
He stole my shoe.
That does not mean you chase a dog onto somebody’s property.
The woman finally looked at Vincent properly. Recognition arrived almost at once. Her expression went still.
The Raldi name did that in certain parts of Boston. Vincent had spent years trying to turn a family empire built on fear, ports, protection payments, and political favors into something that could survive daylight. The newspapers had started calling him a developer instead of an heir to organized crime. But neighborhoods remembered longer than headlines.
Mr. Raldi, she said carefully. I’m sorry. We’ll leave. Your daughter hasn’t done anything wrong.
Vincent looked at the sneaker again. Atlas had not moved.
My dog
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