Chapter 1 - The Dog Who Leaned Into My HandEveryone in Adrian DeLuca’s mansion had warned me about Atlas.
The massive black pit bull had supposedly hospitalized one handler, chased another over a stone wall, and killed a man years before Adrian brought him to the estate outside Baltimore.
So when I found Atlas bleeding between two industrial washing machines in the basement, every sensible part of me said to back away.
Instead, I knelt.
My name is Claire Bennett. I was twenty-nine then, working as a housekeeper because cleaning a mansion paid better than the veterinary-assistant jobs I could find without finishing my degree.
I knew frightened animals.
Atlas was not preparing to attack me.
He was trying not to collapse.
A deep cut ran across his shoulder. Blood darkened the fur beneath his collar. His body trembled, but his eyes stayed fixed on me.
“Easy.”
I extended my hand slowly.
Atlas sniffed once.
Then the dog everyone called a monster leaned his enormous head against my knee.
That was when I noticed the scar behind his left ear.
I snapped my fingers softly on that side.
Nothing.
I tried the right.
His ear twitched.
Partial hearing loss.
I almost laughed.
I had significant hearing loss in my own left ear after a childhood infection.
“Well,” I whispered, “apparently we’re both defective.”
Atlas licked my wrist.
The basement door closed behind me.
I turned.
Adrian DeLuca stood there.
Thirty-nine. Tall. Black hair pulled back. Tattoos visible beneath the sleeves of a fitted black shirt. The sort of man whose name appeared in newspapers beside phrases like federal inquiry and organized-crime allegations, although no prosecutor had ever convicted him of anything.
I had worked in his house for seven months and probably spoken to him fifteen times.
He wasn’t looking at me.
He was staring at Atlas.
More specifically, at Atlas’s head resting against my leg.
“He lets you touch him.”
“Yes.”
“He doesn’t let me touch his ear.”
“Because it hurts.”
Adrian’s expression changed.
“You know that?”
“He’s partially deaf on the left.”
For several seconds Adrian said nothing.
Then he came closer.
Atlas immediately stiffened.
Not at Adrian.
At someone entering behind him.
Graham Pike.
Adrian’s chief adviser.
Fifty-seven. Silver hair. Charcoal suit. Perfect manners.
Graham had worked beside the DeLuca family for almost twenty years.
Atlas lowered himself until his chest touched the floor.
His entire body changed.
Fear.
Graham smiled.
“That animal has always been unstable.”
I looked from Atlas to Graham.
Then I noticed Graham did something strange.
He approached the dog from the left.
The deaf side.
Atlas began shaking harder.
May you like
Graham’s smile never moved.
That was the first time I wondered whether Atlas’s reputation had been built by people who needed everyone afraid of the wrong thing.
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