They Framed My Dog To Seize My Port

On my third day back in the Lakeshore District, my neighbor Lucia arrived with her injured daughter and had me summoned to the Blood Oath Hall. She said my son Rocco had held a gun to Ella, forced her to hand over the port shift key, and burned her wrist with a red-hot family crest. By Lakeshore rules, whoever leaked the key owed a blood debt, and the guardian had to surrender the warehouse, the port charter, and three million dollars in damages. What they did not know was that Rocco was not much of a talker, could not use a gun, and could never have forced a grown woman into an old elevator shaft. I ran my thumb over the port badge on the table and slowly looked up. "Since you say you've seen him, bring Rocco in and identify him in person." Twenty minutes later, the iron doors of the Blood Oath Hall swung open. Everyone was waiting for a young man who would take the fall for me. Lucia even tried to offer some friendly advice. "Vera, don't risk everything the Rossi family has left for the sake of one son." But Rocco had never been human. He was a two-year-old black Cane Corso.

Oleh yuemi