RAGING FLAME
The guards leaned in, whispering something more in Italian, and suddenly, the vet’s entire demeanor shifted.
“Ah, la moglie di Aiden Wolf,” he said, his tone tinged with a newfound respect. “Capisco. Portate subito il cucciolo nella stanza sul retro.”
The mention of Aiden’s name changed everything. It was as if a veil of fear and reverence had fallen over the vet. He gestured for me to follow him, and we hurried to a treatment room where the puppy was gently laid on a small examination table. The little dog whimpered softly, his fur a blend of cream and light brown, with one ear perked up and the other flopped over. His eyes, dark and round, were filled with pain and confusion.
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