Chapter 7 - The Mastermind Cornered
Inside the central office of Pier 42, the air was thick with cigar smoke and the scent of expensive bourbon.
Dominic Valenti, a ruthless mob boss in his late fifties with slicked-back gray hair and a tailored wool coat, sat behind a steel desk counting stacks of hundred-dollar bills.
Four burly enforcers stood around the room, weapons held at the ready.
“Where the hell is Viktor?” Dominic barked out in frustration, glancing at his watch. “He was supposed to confirm the explosion at Moretti’s estate two hours ago!”
“His phone is going straight to voicemail, Don Dominic,” one of his lieutenants replied nervously. “Maybe the signal is bad in the storm.”
“Or maybe Viktor failed,” a smooth, deadly voice spoke from the shadows of the doorway.
Dominic leaped out of his leather chair, reaching for his drawer, but the glass windows of the office shattered inward in a violent explosion of splintering wood and steel.
Bruno burst through the doorway like a demon unleashed from hell.
The massive Cane Corso didn't hesitate. He slammed into the nearest guard, sending the man flying across the room into a glass display cabinet.
Before the other three guards could acquire their targets, my men flooded into the office, weapons raised, securing the room within four seconds flat.
“DON'T MOVE!” Marco yelled, pointing his rifle straight at Dominic Valenti’s chest.
Dominic stood frozen behind his desk, his face drained of all color, his eyes wide with absolute horror as he looked at me stepping into the room.
And then his eyes fell on Bruno.
The massive black dog stood in the center of the office, his Kevlar vest covered in dust, standing guard directly in front of me, his lips curled back in a terrifying, victorious growl.
“Gabriel...” Dominic stammered out, his hands shaking as he raised them slowly into the air. “This... this is a misunderstanding...”
“A misunderstanding?” I repeated, walking slowly toward his desk, resting my hands on the mahogany surface, leaning in close to his pale face. “You tried to poison my house, Dominic. You hired my guard to hurt a three-year-old child and her mother.”
Dominic’s yellowed eyes darted frantically toward his guards, but every single one of his men was pinned to the floor, handcuffed and disarmed.
“I... I paid two million dollars for that information,” Dominic rasped out, his voice cracking with pathetic desperation. “Take the pier, Gabriel! Take the money! Just let me leave!”
I looked down at Bruno, who was watching Dominic with razor-sharp focus.
“Bruno,” I called out softly.
The dog looked up at me.
May you like
“What do we do with snakes?”
Bruno let out a loud, thunderous bark that shook the pictures off the office walls, stepping forward until his broad chest touched Dominic’s legs. The old mob lord fell backward into his leather chair, sobbing in sheer, unadulterated terror.
