The Mafia Boss’s Pitbull Suddenly Went Wild—Then the Waitress Did Something That Shocked Everyone

Naomi stood in Belvin’s private dressing room, watching him strap a black tactical holster across his muscular chest.

When Belvin had broken the news about Maya, Naomi had nearly fainted from terror. But Belvin had caught her, held her tightly against his chest, and sworn on his life that Maya would not be harmed.

"You can't go alone," Naomi said, her voice shaking as she handed him a spare magazine for his custom SIG Sauer 9mm.

"I won't be alone," Belvin said, sliding the magazine into the grip with a sharp click. "Leo has twenty men staging around the perimeter of Pier 42. Snipers are already taking positions on the surrounding warehouses."

"Vance expects me," Naomi insisted, stepping closer, her eyes blazing with a mix of terror and fiery resolve. "If you show up without me, his men at the hospital will pull the trigger. I’m coming with you."

"No," Belvin said firmly, grabbing her shoulders. "It’s too dangerous. Vance is a sadistic psychopath. I am not letting you anywhere near him."

"Belvin, look at me!" she demanded, pulling his hands down to her chest. "He wants me because he thinks I’m weak! He thinks I’m just an accountant’s helpless daughter! But I know how Vance operates! I know his voice, I know his patterns, and I know he will never let Maya live even if you surrender!"

Belvin stared at her, mesmerized by the fierce, protective flame burning in her eyes. She wasn't the trembling waitress from Corso Restorante anymore.

"And Titan comes with us," Naomi added, turning to look at the pitbull sitting stoically by the door, wearing a heavy tactical harness Naomi had custom-fitted for him.

Belvin looked down at the dog. Titan’s posture was rock solid, his dark eyes locked on Belvin as if understanding every word of the conversation.

"He’s never been in a live firefight since the raid," Belvin cautioned.

"He’s ready," Naomi said confidently. "He doesn't fight out of fear anymore, Belvin. He fights for us."

Belvin let out a long, dark breath, then reached out, cupping the back of Naomi’s head, pulling her into a fierce, breathless kiss.

"If anything happens to you tonight," Belvin whispered against her cheek, "I will burn this city to the ground."

"Nothing is going to happen," she promised softly. "We finish this tonight."

At 11:30 PM, three black SUVs glided silently through the dark, abandoned industrial district surrounding Pier 42.

The pier jutted out into the pitch-black waters of the Hudson River, an sprawling, rusted shipping warehouse looming at the edge of the wooden docks. Cold fog rolled off the water, obscuring the moonlight and blanketing the area in ghostly silence.

Belvin’s Maybach pulled up fifty yards from the main warehouse entrance.

Belvin, Naomi, and Titan stepped out into the chilly night air. Titan walked between them, his tactical harness fitted with a silent vibration collar that Naomi controlled via a wrist transmitter.

Inside the warehouse, high-powered halogen lights illuminated a central clearing surrounded by towering stacks of rusted shipping containers.

Standing in the center of the light, flanked by eight heavily armed mercenaries, was Julian Vance.

He looked older than Naomi remembered—his sharp features weathered by four years in hiding, a jagged white scar running from his collarbone up to his jawline where Belvin’s bullet had nearly taken his life.

"Belvin!" Vance’s voice echoed off the steel walls of the warehouse. "You actually came! And you brought my little interest payment!"

Naomi stepped forward, holding Titan’s short lead. Her face was a mask of cold, unyielding iron as she looked at the man who had destroyed her childhood.

"Julian," Naomi said, her voice echoing clearly across the vast space. "You're still hiding behind hired guns like a coward."

Vance laughed—a dry, grating sound. "Little Naomi Rivers. Look at you. Working for the man who tried to murder me. Your father must be turning in his grave."

"My father is alive, Vance!" Naomi blurted out, testing a suspicion that had been forming in her mind for weeks.

Vance’s laughter cut off instantly. A subtle flicker of annoyance passed over his eyes—a micro-expression that Naomi, trained in reading subtle behavioral cues, caught immediately.

"Your father is hiding like a rat," Vance sneered, recovering quickly. "Just like you were until Santoro picked you up off the restaurant floor."

Belvin stepped half an inch in front of Naomi, his hand resting casually inside his suit jacket. "The hospital, Vance. Order your men to step down, or this warehouse becomes your tomb."

Vance pulled a red detonator switch from his coat pocket, holding his thumb over the button.

"I have men at the hospital, Santoro. And I have ten pounds of C4 wired to the structural columns of this warehouse," Vance gloated, a mad, triumphant grin stretching across his face. "You don't dictate terms here! Naomi steps across that line alone, or everyone dies!"

Naomi looked at Belvin. She saw the muscle ticking in his jaw, saw the subtle movement of his left hand behind his back—the signal to Leo’s snipers outside.

She knew what she had to do.