after a betrayal from inside his own mansion left feared mafia boss aleandro collapsed on the floor, his fiercely loyal guard dog bruno refused to let anyone approach him—not the guards, not the staff, not even the people trying to help

The wooden door of the pharmacy room shattered inward as a hundred and sixty pounds of furious muscle slammed into it.

Dr. Vance screamed as he was knocked off his feet, the glass syringe in his gloved hand flying across the room and smashing against the tiled wall. Clear liquid splattered across the floor.

Before the doctor could scramble toward his fallen bag, Bruno was on top of him.

The dog didn't bite his neck. He planted both broad, crushing paws directly onto Vance’s chest, pinning the old man to the floor, his massive jaws opening inches from the doctor's face, dripping hot saliva onto his glasses.

"Get him off me! Get him off!" Vance shrieked, his face turning bright red under the suffocating weight. "Marco! Shoot the dog!"

Marco stepped into the room, his gun aimed directly at Vance's forehead.

"Potassium chloride, Arthur?" Marco asked, his voice dripping with disgust as he pointed to the broken syringe on the floor. "He trusted you for twenty years. He paid for your daughter's medical school in London."

Vance stopped screaming. His eyes went wide with pure horror as he realized his offshore account had been uncovered. "Marco... please... they have my family! Morello threatened to kill my grandchildren if I didn't open the gate!"

"You should have come to Aleandro," Marco said coldly. "He would have saved your grandchildren and erased the Morellos. Instead, you sold out the only man who kept this city safe."

Marco looked at Bruno. "Hold him."

Bruno let out a low, terrifying rumble deep in his throat, pressing his weight further onto Vance’s ribs. The old man gasped for air, unable to move a muscle.

"Put him in the cellar," Marco commanded two guards who rushed into the room. "Keep him alive until the Boss wakes up. Aleandro will decide how he dies."

Ten minutes later, the medical wing was completely secured. A trusted secondary physician, brought in under heavy guard from a private clinic, verified that Aleandro’s IV lines were clean.

By dawn, the rain had stopped. Golden light poured through the tall windows of Aleandro's private master suite.

Aleandro lay in his massive four-poster bed, hooked to a heart monitor. His face was pale, but his breathing was steady and deep.

Sitting on the edge of the mattress, her tiny legs dangling over the side, was Lily. She was eating a warm croissant Clara had brought her, leaving tiny buttery crumbs on Aleandro's silk sheets.