One million dollars. The words cut through the underground arena like a death sentence.

The heavy thud of heavy combat boots echoed up the narrow, concrete stairwell of the apartment building. One pair, two pairs, three pairs—marching with disciplined, military precision. They weren't trying to be quiet. They wanted their presence known.

Leo gripped the iron wrench so tightly his knuckles turned chalk-white. He stepped in front of the sofa, positioning himself defensively between the door and his sister. "Maisie, get behind the couch. Stay down," he whispered urgently, his heart hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird.

Maisie didn't move. She tilted her head, listening intently to the vibrations traveling up through the floorboards and the distinct rhythm of the approaching footsteps. But more importantly, she felt the shift in the room behind her.

Cyrus was no longer lying relaxed on the floor. The German Shepherd had risen to his feet in a single, fluid motion. There was no growl, no frantic barking, no slamming against walls. Just absolute, terrifying stillness. The dog’s body went rigid as steel, his head lowered, eyes locked squarely on the apartment door. A low, vibrating growl rumbled deep within his chest—a sound not of blind panic, but of calculated, lethal defense.

*Knock. Knock. Knock.*

Three heavy, authoritative raps rattled the flimsy wooden door of the apartment.

"Mr. Doyle," a deep, gravelly voice called out from the hallway. It wasn't the voice of a common thug or a street-level debt collector. It was Victor, Julian Hart’s personal right-hand man—a towering enforcer with a scarred cheek and eyes that had seen too many betrayals to count. "Open the door. We're not here to break anything."

Leo swallowed hard, his throat dry as sandpaper. "Go away! We don't want your money! Take the dog back!"

"The boss doesn't take returns, Mr. Doyle," Victor replied evenly through the wood. "And he certainly doesn't leave loose ends. Open the door before my men decide to use a battering ram. Your front door looks like it wouldn't survive a stiff breeze anyway."

Knowing that resisting was futile against a syndicate that could track them anywhere in the city, Leo slowly let go of the wrench, wiped his sweaty palms on his jeans, and reached for the doorknob. He turned it and pulled the door open.

Victor stood on the threshold, flanked by two armed enforcers in sleek black suits. But what caught Leo off guard wasn't the guns or the grim expressions. It was what Victor was holding in his hands: a thick leather harness, a heavy-duty titanium leash, and a manila folder stuffed with legal documents.

"What is this?" Leo demanded, blocking the doorway.

Victor looked past Leo, his cold gaze locking onto the massive German Shepherd standing protectively beside the blind girl. For a split second, a hint of genuine astonishment flickered across the enforcer's hardened face. Then, he looked back at Leo and tossed the manila folder straight into the living room.