Chapter 1 - The Whispered Name
The heavy iron gate of the East Wing had been left unlatched by three inches. It was a minor mistake, the kind of human error Damon Castellano eliminated from his payroll with swift severance packages.
Across the manicured lawn, four armed guards stood paralyzed. Salvo, Damon’s chief of security, had his hand frozen over the grip of his sidearm. Nobody moved. Nobody dared to shout or run, knowing that sudden movement would trigger the hundred-and-twenty-pound apex predator resting near the stone fountain.
The Warden stood up slowly. His massive, muscular frame tense, dark coat glinting under the autumn sun. His broad jaw set as his ears pressed back. He had put two trespassers in intensive care the previous year. He was not a pet; he was a silent weapon.
The little girl walked right into his territory.
She wore a simple cream lace dress and clean white sneakers. Long brown curls fell over her shoulders as she skipped past the clipped boxwood hedges, completely oblivious to the four men holding their breath, waiting for a tragedy.
"Stop!" Salvo's voice rasped in a strangled whisper, afraid to pitch it higher. "Don't move, little girl!"
The child didn't hear him. She stopped three feet from the beast.
The Warden lowered his heavy chest, a low rumble stirring deep in his throat. He took two slow, deliberate steps forward, his dark eyes locked on the tiny stranger. The guards raised their weapons, preparing for the unthinkable, though they all knew firing now risked hitting the girl.
Damon stepped out onto the marble staircase overlooking the courtyard. His dark eyes narrowed, his expression cool, analytical, yet rigidly still. He opened his mouth to give the single command that would halt the animal—Stay.
Before the word could leave his lips, the girl extended her small hand, palm up, toward the massive snout.
"Hi, Apollo," she said softly.
The reaction was instantaneous and shocking.
The killer instinct vanished from the dog’s posture. The low growl dissolved into a faint whimper. The Warden dropped his nose directly into her small palm. Then, to the absolute horror and bewilderment of every guard present, the beast sank to his front knees, bowing his massive head until it rested gently against the little girl’s dress.
She wrapped her tiny arms around his thick neck, burying her face into his black fur.
"I missed you," she whispered into the dog’s ear. "Mommy said you were keeping a big house safe."
Damon felt a cold sensation creep up his neck. He walked down the stone steps with measured, deliberate strides. The guards parted instantly as he approached the courtyard.
"Who brought this child onto my property?" Damon’s voice was dangerously low, carrying a chill that froze the air around him.
Salvo stepped forward, sweat glistening on his forehead. "Don Damon... she must have slipped in through the side kitchen delivery entrance. The new catering company hired extra help for tonight's gala."
Damon didn't look at Salvo. His eyes were pinned on the child. He knelt three feet away, bringing himself down to her level. The Warden immediately raised his head, placing himself protectively between Damon and the girl, letting out a soft, warning huff toward his owner.
Damon froze. The beast he had owned for three years—the dog that obeyed only him—was shielding a child from him.
"What is your name?" Damon asked, keeping his voice level and devoid of aggression.
The little girl looked up with wide, emerald-green eyes. "Clara."
Damon’s heart gave a violent, uncharacteristic thump against his ribs. Those eyes were unmistakable. He had seen them in photos he kept locked inside his personal vault. He had looked into those exact eyes three years ago before the woman who owned them vanished off the face of the earth.
"Clara," Damon repeated softly. "Where did you learn that name? Apollo."
"My mommy told me," Clara said innocently, gently scratching the Warden behind his floppy ears. "Apollo was her baby before I was born. But then a bad man made her leave him."
Damon’s breath caught in his throat. Three years ago, he had acquired the dog through an anonymous broker after a high-society scandal swept through Chicago. He had been told the dog belonged to an estate whose owner had fled the country to escape a forced marriage to the ruthless Moretti family.
That owner was Clara’s mother—Nora Vance.
The only woman Damon Castellano had spent three years, and millions of dollars, trying to locate.
Damon stood up slowly, turning to Salvo. "Where is the catering staff right now?"
May you like
"In the main kitchen, boss," Salvo replied, his voice shaking slightly.
"Seal every exit," Damon commanded, his tone turning into cold steel. "Nobody leaves this estate. If Nora Vance is inside my house, bring her to my study immediately."
