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

The shockwave of the first rocket propelled grenade rippled through the reinforced foundations of the estate, rattling the crystal chandeliers until they chimed like funeral bells. Dust fell in a fine, choking mist from the coffered ceilings of Dante’s private study, settling over the pools of blood spreading across the ruined parquet.

Marco lay groaning on the floor, clutching his shredded shoulder where Orion’s jaws had torn through sinew and cloth. His eyes were wide with the feverish terror of a traitor who had realized his master’s army might arrive too late to save his life.

"Up," Dante commanded, his voice cutting through the rising din of automatic gunfire echoing from the lower terraces. He racked the slide of his customized rifle with a sharp, brutal rhythm, his gaze sweeping the room.

I didn't hesitate. Adrenaline burned like kerosene in my veins, scouring away the remnants of Olivia Vance—the quiet waitress who counted pennies and smiled on command—and leaving behind Alessia Valenti. My fingers closed around the grip of the tactical sidearm Dante had thrust into my hands. It was heavy, cold, and solid.

Beside me, Orion shook his massive head, a low, thundering growl rumbling in his broad chest. The atropine had done its work, blunting the neurotoxin’s grip, but the dog’s golden eyes burned with an animalistic fury that mirrored Dante’s own. He stood between me and the shattered terrace doorway, hair bristling along his spine, teeth bared in a silent, murderous grin.

"Enzo!" Dante spoke into his tactical throat mic, stepping over Marco’s writhing form. "Report. Status of the gatehouse."

Static hissed violently before Enzo’s gravelly roar broke through, punctuated by the deafening percussion of heavy-caliber machine-gun fire. *"They blew the western perimeter wall with military-grade C4, Boss! Three armored BearCats just breached the lower drive. We’ve bottlenecked their infantry at the fountain, but they have night optics and suppressive fire. We can’t hold the gate for more than three minutes!"*

"Fall back to the interior perimeter," Dante ordered without missing a beat, his voice steady enough to freeze molten iron. "Trigger the claymores along the eastern treeline, then seal the reinforced subterranean blast doors behind you. Do not let them flank the armory."

*"Understood! Moving now!"*

Dante turned his gaze down to Marco. The former restaurant manager curled inward, his face gray with shock. "You brought twenty men into my house, Marco. You poisoned my dog. You threatened the Valenti bloodline under my roof."

"Lorenzo... Lorenzo will hang your skin from the Brooklyn Bridge, Dante," Marco wheezed, spitting crimson onto the rug. "He has half the Commission with him. You broke the compact... bringing her out into the light..."

"The Commission is dead in the water, and so are you," Dante whispered.

Without a second thought, Dante grabbed Marco by the tactical vest, dragging him across the floor like a sack of dead weight, and shoved him into the reinforced steel closet at the rear of the study. He punched a six-digit code into the digital keypad, sealing the heavy magnetic lock with an electronic thud.

"We leave him for the clean-up crew," Dante said, turning to me.

He paused for a fraction of a second, his dark eyes locking onto mine. For all the mayhem exploding around us—the thunder of mortar shells shaking the glass panes, the tracer rounds painting the night sky crimson through the broken terrace doors—his stare was an anchor. His hand reached out, cupping the side of my face, his thumb brushing away a smear of plaster dust from my cheekbone. His touch was burning hot against my freezing skin.

"Can you do this, Alessia?" he asked softly, testing my resolve.

"They took fourteen years of my life," I answered, my grip tightening on the pistol until my knuckles turned ivory. "I'm not letting them take the rest of it."

A feral, possessive smirk curved Dante's mouth. "That’s my girl."

He spun toward the hallway, gesturing for Orion to heal. "Stay low. Stay behind me. We move through the gallery down to the primary command vault. We control the compound's automated defensive grid from there. If Lorenzo Rossi wants a war, I’m going to make sure he pays for every square inch of this soil with a barrel of his men’s blood."

We stepped out into the grand hallway just as a volley of high-caliber rounds tore through the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the rear gardens. Glass exploded in an avalanche of glittering knives, showering the runner rugs. Orion let out a ferocious bark, lunging forward, but Dante’s hand snapped out, holding the massive beast at heel.

Down the long gallery, three armed figures in black tactical gear and Kevlar vests rounded the corner, their assault rifles raised to sweep the corridor.

"Contact!" one shouted in Italian.

Dante didn't wait. He leaned around the marble pillar, his rifle barking twice in sharp, lethal semi-automatic cracks. The lead mercenary collapsed instantly, his helmet knocked clear as he hit the polished hardwood. The second mercenary lunged behind a gilded console table, returning fire, wood splinters flying like shrapnel as a burst of automatic rounds chewed into the pillar above our heads.

"Suppressing!" Dante yelled, firing three rapid rounds into the corner of the wall.

Instinct took over—an instinct I didn't know I possessed, buried beneath years of foster homes and restaurant tables. As the third shooter stepped out to flank Dante, exposing his torso, I raised my sidearm. I didn't close my eyes. I didn't flinch. I lined up the three-dot iron sights with the center of his chest, exactly as Dante had drilled into my memory during our brief hours at the estate, and pulled the trigger.

The recoil bucked against my palms. A sharp report slammed through the hall.

The mercenary stumbled back, clutching his chest where the bullet had pierced the edge of his vest plate. Before he could recover, Orion launched across the polished floor like a gray thunderbolt. The hundred-and-fifty-pound beast hit the man’s chest at full sprint, bowling him over. A sickening crunch of breaking bone echoed above the din, followed by a choked scream that ended abruptly as Orion tore away the tactical collar.

The remaining mercenary turned to run, but Dante stepped smoothly into the center of the hall, squeezed the trigger once, and dropped him mid-stride.

Silence descended on the corridor for two seconds, heavy and suffocating, punctuated only by the distant thrum of vehicle engines outside and Orion's ragged panting as the dog turned back toward us, his muzzle painted in red.

Dante looked from the fallen bodies down to me, a glint of lethal approval in his eyes. "First shot under fire?"

"I aimed for the throat," I whispered, my chest heaving, smelling the sweet, copper stench of fresh blood mingled with gunpowder. "I hit his chest."

"It doesn't matter," Dante said, stepping closer and pulling me against his armor for one brief, bruising heartbeat. "You kept him from raising his barrel at me. You're a Valenti through and through."

He pulled away, his focus shifting instantly back to the tactical layout. "Move. The courtyard is falling. We need to lock the perimeter down before Rossi's armor breaches the terrace."

We moved swiftly through the shadowed corridors of the west wing. Every few seconds, the structure groaned under the sustained assault outside. Lorenzo Rossi hadn't just brought hitmen; he had assembled a private army, using the chaos of the night to launch an all-out blitzkrieg before the other families of the Five Families Commission could intervene.

We reached the heavy oak door that led to the lower bunker stairway. Dante keyed the biometric scanner. The light blinked green, and the heavy hydraulic door hissed open.

"Get inside," Dante commanded.

Before I could cross the threshold, the world exploded into blinding white light.

A concussion grenade detonated on the mezzanine above us. The force of the blast lifted Dante off his feet, throwing him against the wall. I was knocked backward onto the carpet, my ears ringing with a high-pitched, deafening squeal, my vision fractured into dancing shards of light.

Through the haze of smoke and ringing silence, I saw two shadows descend from the second-floor banister on tactical ropes.

They weren't aiming for Dante.