Chapter 5 - The Loyal Guardian
I stood holding the revolver, looking down at Marco.
"You hear that, Marco?" I said softly. "A better man than either of us just spared your life."
Marco wept bitterly, nodding his head against his chest. "Thank you... thank you, Carmine... thank you..."
"Don't thank me," I said, putting the gun back into my holster. "You aren't staying in New York. You're going to a maximum-security medical facility in Sicily. A place owned by our allies. You will spend the rest of your days doing hard labor in the sulfur mines, completely cut off from your family, your money, and your name. You will be a ghost."
I nodded to Tony. "Pack him up. Send him on the four AM cargo flight out of JFK."
Tony nodded, signaling two soldiers to pick up the chair and haul Marco away into the dark back corridors of the building.
I walked toward the main exit. Bruno followed closely beside my left hip, his heavy head brushing against my leg with every step.
We walked out onto the street. The sky in the east was beginning to turn a faint, soft shade of grey as dawn approached over Queens. The air was cool, fresh, smelling of early morning rain.
I got into the back seat of my sedan, and Bruno jumped up beside me, resting his massive head on my knee.
I reached down and stroked his thick, dark fur, running my fingers over his ears.
"You knew, didn't you, boy?" I whispered to him. "You knew the whole time."
Bruno let out a long, quiet sigh, closing his eyes beneath the touch of my hand. He wasn't whimpering anymore. The tension that had held his body rigid all day at the funeral home was finally gone. He had fulfilled his duty. He had protected the memory of the little girl who had fed him half her sandwich and tied a purple ribbon to his collar.
Two days later, Elena Vasquez was laid to rest in a quiet cemetery overlooking the hills of Long Island.
I attended the service, standing at the back near the tree line, wearing a black suit. I didn't bring my soldiers. I didn't bring my guns. I only brought Bruno.
We watched from a distance as Mateo and his wife lowered their little girl into the earth. When the service concluded and the mourners began to walk back toward their cars, Mateo looked across the green grass toward the trees.
He saw me standing there. He saw Bruno sitting at my side.
Mateo didn't say a word, but he raised his hand and gave me a slow, respectful nod of gratitude.
I nodded back, touched the brim of my hat, and turned to walk toward my car.
Bruno paused for a moment at the edge of the paved path. He turned his heavy head back toward the small grave covered in fresh white flowers and purple ribbons. He let out one single, soft bark—a final goodbye to his little friend—and then turned and followed me into the morning light.
May you like
From that day on, Bruno never left my side. But whenever we passed a playground in Queens, or saw a child wearing purple sneakers crossing the street, the hundred-and-twenty-pound beast would stop, lower his head in quiet respect, and watch until they were safely on the other side.
He was the deadliest weapon I owned. But beneath the scars and the muscle, he had a soul that knew the difference between the monsters of the world and the angels we were supposed to protect.
