Don Montecarlo turned to him slowly, his gaze cutting like a blade. "Do not swear, Enzo. Your ignorance is your shame."
I held Miso closer, his small body limp in my arms. His white fur was soaked red, sticky against my skin. My tears fell onto his face, but he did not move. He never would again. My left hand found my wrist, fingers pressing down hard against the bare skin where my mother's bracelet once sat, pressing until the pressure burned, until it was the only thing I could feel besides the grief.
"He was just a puppy," I whispered, my voice breaking apart. "He didn't do anything wrong. He didn't deserve this."
Don Montecarlo's cane struck the ground again, louder this time, filled with anger. He gripped the silver head with both hands and rested his chin on his knuckles, and the room went still in a way that had nothing to do with the hour and everything to do with what that posture meant. Every man in the family who had seen it before felt their mouths go dry.
"You think this is a joke?" he thundered, his voice echoing across the hall. "You think harming the innocent is something to laugh about?"
The children flinched.