Bound by Blood and BeastI looked down at the enormous dog, who had now settled comfortably against my leg.

"Marco?" The word tore from my throat, choked with betrayal and horror.

The pathetic, cowardly manager who had cried in the pantry was gone. In his eyes was the cold, calculating detachment of a deep-cover operative.

"I'm sorry, Olivia," Marco said, not lowering his weapon an inch. "Or should I say, Little Miss Valenti. You have no idea how hard it was to keep you oblivious for fourteen years. Minimum wage, shitty apartments, just enough poverty to keep your head down and your eyes off the news."

"You..." Dante growled, his body coiling like a spring, positioning himself between Marco's gun and me. "You were the one who pulled her from the fire."

"Lorenzo paid me a fortune to bury her alive in the system," Marco sneered. "Why kill a child when you can keep her as an insurance policy? But then you had to bring your damn dog into my restaurant. You had to let him catch her scent. Fourteen years of careful management, ruined by a mutt."

On the floor between us, Orion let out another weak, shuddering whine. His golden eyes were dimming, his chest heaving irregularly as the toxin coursed through his blood.

Tears burned my eyes, but beneath the tears, a cold, blazing fury ignited in my veins.

*Hide in the wine rack, little bird. Keep the lion close.*

The final memory clicked into place.

The night of the massacre. The man who had grabbed me by the wrist and dragged me from the burning cellar hadn't been a rescuer. It had been Marco. He had held a gun to my mother’s head before dragging me out the service hatch.

"You killed my mother," I whispered, rising slowly to my feet.

"Alessia, stay down," Dante commanded through clenched teeth, his hand subtly inching toward the backup blade strapped to his ankle.

"She was weak," Marco said, smirking. "Just like your father. And just like you, little bird. Lorenzo wants you alive for the Council vote tomorrow—to sign over the deeds to Chicago. But Dante Moretti dies tonight."

Marco leveled the barrel directly between Dante’s eyes. His finger tightened on the trigger.

In that fraction of a second, the impossible happened.

Orion, summoning every ounce of his remaining strength, lunged from the floor with an ungodly, guttural roar.

Eighty kilograms of dying fury crashed into Marco’s chest. The shot went wide, shattering the grand mirror above the mantelpiece into a million glittering shards. Marco screamed as Orion’s massive jaws clamped down on his gun arm, bone splintering with a sickening crunch.

"Move!" Dante roared, grabbing my arm and pulling me behind the heavy oak desk as the other three operatives opened fire.

Automatic rounds chewed through the mahogany desk, splintering the ancient wood into shrapnel. Dante didn't flinch. He drew the backup blade from his ankle and threw it with lethal precision. The heavy steel blade buried itself into the throat of the nearest shooter, dropping him instantly.

Dante snatched the fallen man’s submachine gun before his body even hit the rug, pivoting and unleashing a devastating burst into the remaining two guards.

Silence crashed back over the room, thick with the smell of blood, cordite, and burning draperies.

Marco was pinned against the floor, sobbing in agony, his arm mangled, Orion standing over him like a dying sentinel. The dog’s legs were shaking violently, his breathing shallow, frothy blood dripping from his muzzle.

"Orion... Orion, drop!" I cried, falling to my knees beside the magnificent beast.

The dog released Marco’s arm, his knees buckling. He collapsed heavily across my lap, his great head resting against my chest, his tail giving one last, agonizingly faint thump against the bloody floor.

"Hold on, boy... please, hold on," I sobbed, pressing my hands against his chest, feeling his heart fluttering erratically.

Dante kicked Marco’s weapon across the room, kneeling beside Marco and planting his heavy boot directly onto the man's crushed throat.

"The antidote," Dante snarled, pressing down until Marco’s eyes bulged with terror. "What did you give him? Where is it?"

"In... in my vest pocket," Marco wheezed, clawing at Dante's boot. "Atropine... fast-acting neurotoxin... you have five minutes before his heart stops..."

Dante ripped the small auto-injector from Marco's tactical pouch, immediately driving the needle into Orion’s muscular shoulder. The dog flinched, letting out a sharp yelp before his breathing deepened, the violent tremors slowing.

"He's going to make it," Dante breathed, looking down at me, his face streaked with soot and blood.

Suddenly, the compound’s external sirens began to wail—a deafening, continuous klaxon that signaled a catastrophic perimeter breach.

Enzo’s voice crackled through Dante's fallen earpiece, frantic and drowned in gunfire.

*"Boss! Boss, do you copy?! The front gates are down! Rossi brought the entire northern syndicate! They've surrounded the main house with heavy armor! We can't hold the courtyard!"*

Through the shattered terrace windows, the night sky was torn open by flares. Red and white tracer rounds streaked across the dark waters of the Hudson, lighting up the armada of black SUVs breaching the tree line.

Dante looked at the window, then down at Marco, whose lips were curled into a bloody, triumphant sneer.

"You're surrounded, Moretti," Marco rasped. "Lorenzo isn't waiting for the Council. He’s going to burn this house to the ground, just like he burned Chicago."

Dante didn't flinch.

He reached down, picked up the discarded assault rifle, and racked the slide with a clean, metallic *clack*. Then he turned to me.

He didn't look at a scared waitress. He looked at a queen standing in the ruins of her throne room. He extended his hand to me.

"Alessia," Dante said, his voice steady, calm, and terrifyingly cold amidst the sound of encroaching war. "Fourteen years ago, you hid in the dark while they took everything from you."

I grabbed his hand, letting him pull me to my feet. Beside me, Orion struggled up, his golden eyes blazing with renewed, feral life, ready to kill or die at my side.

"I'm not hiding anymore," I said, my voice cutting through the wailing sirens.