A ruthless mafia boss stopped in his tracks when a starving dog refused to let him get near a little girl sleeping on a pile of trash. Seconds later, the child whispered that her dying father had sent her to find the one man the entire city feared—and what she pulled from beneath her sweater changed that feared criminal's life forever.

The old ironworks factory sat like a blackened skeleton against the grey morning sky. Rusted smokestacks spewed thick grey smoke into the snow, and heavy chain-link fences surrounded the ten-acre industrial complex.

Through my high-powered binoculars from the ridge half a mile away, I counted at least forty armed guards patrolling the outer catwalks. Spotlights swept the perimeter, and two heavy armored vehicles were parked near the main loading bay.

Inside my command vehicle, my elite commanders were making final preparations.

“Boss,” Marcus said, checking his tactical vest. “We’re outnumbered three to one. If we attack head-on, Cassian will execute Dominic before we reach the third floor.”

“We aren't attacking head-on,” I said, looking down at a dynamic blueprint of the factory’s underground drainage pipes—a map provided by Dominic’s encrypted drive.

The door of the command vehicle slid open.

I turned around, surprised to see Chen holding a heavy tactical leash. Behind him stood Bear.

The dog was looking vastly different than he had eight hours ago. Dr. Evans had cleaned his wounds, bandaged his back leg tightly with a reinforced support brace, and fed him well. The dog’s coat was still matted, but his posture was upright, his dark eyes burning with protective fury.

“He wouldn’t stay in the vehicle,” Chen explained nervously. “The moment we loaded the tactical gear, he started barking at the door.”

Bear walked straight up to me, resting his snout against my gloved hand. He gave a low, resonant growl toward the direction of the ironworks.

“He knows his master is inside,” I murmured, stroking the dog’s head. “Good boy, Bear. You’re coming with us.”

At four o'clock in the morning, the operation began.

My sniper teams eliminated the guards on the outer catwalks simultaneously with silenced fire. While Marcus led a decoy assault team against the front gates with three armored trucks, throwing flashbangs and heavy automatic fire to draw Cassian’s main force to the south entrance, I led a four-man strike team—accompanied by Bear—through the subterranean utility tunnels beneath the factory.

We moved silently through the dark, water-filled pipes, guided by the thermal imaging on our night-vision goggles.

Bear moved beside me without making a sound. Despite his injured leg, the dog moved like a shadow, his nose lifted, catching the scent of copper, rust, and fresh blood drifting down from the upper levels.

We reached the central boiler room. I forced open the iron grate with a hydraulic jack.

We stepped into the dark interior of the factory.

Above us, the heavy thud of explosive charges and heavy gunfire echoed through the metal rafters as Marcus’s team breached the front gates, creating a glorious, violent distraction.