Chapter 1 - THE SOUND INSIDE THE WHITE COFFIN
No one moved.
Not Tomas Vasquez, whose face had gone empty in the terrible way grief empties a man before rage can fill him. Not Rosa, who stood frozen with both hands clamped over her mouth as if one more sound might break her apart. Not my men, who had faced bullets, knives, and betrayal, but now stared at a child’s coffin like it had become the center of the universe.
Only Bruno moved.
He scratched again.
Harder.
The sound of his claws against polished white wood made every person in that funeral home flinch.
The funeral director looked at me with pale eyes. “Mr. Romano, I can’t just—”
I stepped toward him.
“You can,” I said. “And you will.”
He swallowed. “There are procedures.”
“There’s a child in that box,” I said. “And my dog hears something.”
Marco, still pinned against the wall by Tony, suddenly lifted his head.
“No,” he whispered.
That one word told me everything.
Not surprise.
Fear.
I turned slowly toward him. “What did you say?”
Marco’s lips trembled. “Nothing.”
Bruno barked once. Sharp. Furious.
The funeral director reached for the latch with shaking hands.
Rosa sobbed. “Please, God. Please, no.”
Tomas took one step forward, then stopped as if his legs could not decide whether to carry him toward hope or horror.
The first latch clicked open.
Then the second.
The room held its breath.
When the lid rose, the smell of flowers flooded out first.
Then cold air.
Then Rosa screamed.
Elena Vasquez was not lying peacefully.
Her small fingers were curled against the satin lining.
Her face was pale, terrifyingly still, but her lips—her lips moved.
A tiny breath.
Barely there.
But alive.
Bruno shoved his head into the coffin and whined with such agony that I felt something crack inside my chest.
“Call an ambulance!” I roared.
Tony released Marco and grabbed his phone. One of my men ran for the front doors. The funeral director stumbled backward, nearly falling over a chair.
Tomas reached into the coffin, sobbing, “Elena. Mija. Mija, wake up.”
I grabbed his wrist before panic made him lift her wrong. “Don’t move her. Let the medics do it.”
Rosa collapsed to her knees beside the coffin, whispering prayers so fast the words tangled together.
Elena’s eyelids fluttered.
Her mouth opened.
Only one word escaped.
“Dog…”
Bruno placed his massive head gently beside her hand.
Her fingers twitched against his fur.
That was when I knew.
This was not a funeral anymore.
This was a crime scene.
And somewhere between the street, the hospital, the morgue, and this coffin, someone had decided a living child was more useful dead.
My eyes moved to Marco.
May you like
He was no longer trying to explain.
He was trying to run.
