“Four armed men came to reclaim a 130-pound Cane Corso from my pet store… but the moment his billionaire owner arrived, the dog refused to obey—and chose me instead.”

In less than a second, the atmosphere in the shop shifted from quiet tension to lethal readiness.

Roman was on his feet before I could even blink, snatching his sidearm off the table and racking the slide with a sharp, metallic snap. He moved with the terrifying speed of a predator.

“Get in the back office,” Roman ordered, grabbing my arm and pulling me toward the reinforced door behind the grooming stations. “Under the desk. Do not come out until I tell you.”

“What about Titan?” I demanded, pulling back.

“Titan stays with me,” Roman said, his eyes blazing.

As if on cue, the massive Cane Corso was already up, his ears pinned back, his lips curled in a silent, terrifying snarl. He didn't look like a battered rescue dog anymore; he looked like a war machine primed for battle.

Bang! Bang!

Heavy impacts hammered against the reinforced plywood over the front window. Someone was trying to breach the front entrance with explosive charges.

“Harper! Move!” Roman shouted, shoving me toward the back office just as the front of the shop erupted in a blinding flash of white light and thunderous sound.

The blast wave blew the plywood boards inward, sending splintered wood and glass flying across the room. Through the smoke and choking dust, shadows spilled over the threshold—four, five, six heavily armed operatives clad in unmarked tactical gear, their assault rifles sweeping the room with laser sights.

At the front of the pack stood a man in a tailored overcoat, his face calm, composed, and terribly familiar.

Marcus.

“Well, well, well,” Marcus’s voice echoed smoothly over the ringing in my ears as he stepped into the ruined storefront. He held a suppressed pistol casually at his side. “I must admit, Roman, I didn't think you’d track the beast to a rundown animal shelter in the slums. You’ve gone soft.”

Roman stepped out from the shadows of the central aisle, his posture rigid, his sidearm locked dead on Marcus’s chest.

“You betrayed the company, Marcus,” Roman said, his voice dropping into a register so cold it could have frozen water. “Ten years of loyalty, and you sold us out for a hostile buyout.”

“Loyalty doesn't pay the bills, Roman. Power does,” Marcus smiled coldly, raising his weapon slightly. “And the board agrees with me. Once we harvest the encryption keys from that mutt and eliminate the only witness—you—Calder Global will finally have a leader who knows how to share the wealth.”