Chapter 5 - The Weight of Steel
Nero didn't bark. A trained protection dog of his lineage didn't waste breath on noise when moving toward a target.
He exploded into the room like a 130-pound missile of muscle and bone.
Tommy barely had time to turn his head before the massive dog struck him full in the chest, tearing him out of the rolling desk chair and slamming him against the concrete floor. The satellite phone flew across the room, shattering against the steel equipment rack.
“Ah! Get off! Get off me!” Tommy screamed, scrambling frantically as Nero pinned him to the floor with two heavy paws on his collarbone, his massive jaws snapping inches from the guard’s throat.
Clare rushed into the room behind Nero. She didn't look at Tommy. She ran straight to the central control panel on the main desk.
The jammer control was a heavy black box with three blinking red toggle switches labeled FREQ-BLOCK 01, 02, 03.
She slammed all three switches down.
The low, sub-audible hum that had vibrated through the mansion’s electrical wiring for the last twelve hours suddenly ceased. The LED indicators flickered from red to green.
Cellular service was restored.
Clare grabbed the desk landline and dialed Dante’s direct private satellite number—a number she had memorized three years ago for emergency domestic situations.
The line rang once.
Twice.
Three times.
Come on, Dante. Pick up.
On the floor, Tommy tried to reach for the ankle holster strapped beneath his pant leg. Nero let out a bone-chilling roar that echoed in the tiny room, his teeth scraping against Tommy’s leather jacket collar. Tommy froze, his hands spreading wide on the floor. “Okay! Okay! Don't let him bite!”
On the fourth ring, the line clicked.
“Speak,” Dante’s voice came through, cool, clipped, and backgrounded by the low hum of an engine.
“Dante! Don't cross the bridge!” Clare shouted into the receiver. “It’s a trap! Marco set you up! Tommy is in the basement right now coordinating with a hit team on 95th Street!”
Silence stretched over the phone line for two agonizing seconds.
In the background of the call, Clare heard the screech of heavy tires.
“Clare,” Dante said, his voice terrifyingly calm amidst the background noise of high-speed evasive maneuvering. “Where is Lily?”
“She’s in our quarters—”
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“Lock her in the panic room behind the wine cellar rack. Now. Marco had a second team staged near the estate perimeter. If the jammer is down, they know they’ve been burned.”
The line went dead.
