This wasn’t about a valuable asset for the Moretti syndicate.

This was about a dead brother’s legacy, the last living connection to a life Dante had lost.

“If Vesper died under my watch, it would mean I failed Leo,” Dante said, his grip tightening on the halter. “Marco knew that. Kroll knew that.”

“Kroll?” I asked, finishing the bandage and stepping back to examine my work.

“The man who wants my territory,” Dante said. “And the man Marco now works for.”

The horse stood quietly now, his breathing even.

The swelling in his leg was already beginning to subside, the tension draining from his massive frame.

I wiped my hands on a clean towel, looking at the neat bandage.

“He’s going to be fine,” I said. “He needs rest, but the joint is clean.”

Dante looked at the bandage, then at me, the harsh lines of his face relaxing slightly.

“You did well, Mara,” he said.

It was the first time he had used my name without a threat behind it, and it made my chest tighten.

Before I could reply, a soft, scraping sound came from the roof above us.