Rain hammered the rear courtyard of the Moretti mansion when the third professional handler made the same mistake as the first two.

The muffled thud reverberated through the concrete foundations of the estate, sending a shower of fine dust down from the exposed ceiling pipes.

Leo scrambled at his console as emergency red halogen lights kicked on, painting the room in a bloody hue. "Main power grid to the south gate just went dark! Primary back-up generators are offline!"

Roman didn't panic. He reached smoothly for the custom Kimber .45 resting in his shoulder holster, checking the chamber with a crisp, practiced movement. "Communications?"

"Jammer active," Leo reported, his hands flying across the keys. "High-bandwidth military grade. Nothing is getting out to the local precinct or our outer security teams."

Roman turned to Emma. She had stepped back against the wall, her chest heaving slightly, but her hands weren't shaking. She had survived eight months in the home of Chicago's most feared syndicate boss; she knew panic was a death sentence.

"Stay behind me," Roman said, his voice flat and commanding.

"What about Brutus?" she asked instantly.

Roman paused, looking at her with a flicker of genuine surprise. "He's in the holding kennels off the courtyard."

"If the south gate power is cut, the electric locks on those kennels drop," Emma said, her brain working rapidly through the estate's structural layout. "If intruders come through the courtyard with weapons, they'll shoot him where he stands."

Roman didn't argue. He tapped a code into the wall panel beside the heavy steel door. The emergency lock disengaged with a loud pneumatic hiss. He pulled the door open, revealing the dark corridor beyond.

"Leo, stay on the surveillance feeds using the local battery backup. Tell me who is on my property."

"On it, boss," the tech replied.

Roman moved down the corridor with terrifying silence, his weapon held ready. Emma followed two steps behind, her eyes scanning the shadows. As they reached the stairs leading up to the main floor, the heavy wooden doors at the top burst open.

A man in tactical black gear slammed through, carrying an automatic rifle. He didn't wear Moretti security colors.

Before the intruder could raise his weapon, Roman fired twice. The silenced gunshots sounded like heavy book covers snapping shut in a quiet room—thump-thump. The intruder collapsed backward down the stairs, dead before he hit the landing.

Emma sucked in a sharp breath, her back hitting the cold stone wall, but she didn't scream.

Roman stepped over the body without looking down. He reached out, grabbed the dead man's tactical radio from his vest, and placed the earpiece in his own ear. He listened for three seconds, his jaw tightening into solid granite.

"It's not a hit squad," Roman whispered.

"What is it?" Emma asked softly.

"It's an extraction team," Roman replied, looking down at her in the dim red light. "They aren't looking for me. They came for the safe inside the master office. And they know the exact layout of the house."

"Matteo," Emma realized out loud.

"Matteo," Roman agreed chillingly. "He was the only one who had the primary codes to the vault and the dog's scheduling."

They reached the top of the stairs, emerging into the grand hallway of the mansion. The glass windows overlooking the courtyard were shattered, rain and cold wind blowing across the polished hardwood floors.

In the center of the courtyard, surrounded by four tactical mercenaries holding weapons, stood Matteo Raldi. He was clutching a heavy metal briefcase pulled from Roman's private office.

And ten feet away from him, backed against the rain-slicked stone fountain, was Brutus. The massive dog was snarling, his lips pulled back over flashing white teeth, blood dripping from his shoulder where a stray bullet had grazed his skin.

"Shoot the damn dog!" Matteo screamed over the sound of the howling wind and rain. "Shoot him and let's go!"