Rain lashed against the floor-to-ceiling glass of the Moretti estate, but inside the grand dining room, the atmosphere had dropped below freezing.

Gunfire continued to echo from the lower levels of the mansion, growing louder with every passing second. Heavy boots thudded against the marble staircase outside the study.

“Santoro’s men are on the second floor!” Marco yelled, reloading his sidearm. “Boss, we’re outgunned up here. The main security squad is pinned down in the courtyard!”

Luca didn't waste a second. He grabbed Vanessa by the collar of her tactical vest, hauling her to her feet with one hand.

“Marco, take the service lift to the lower armory. Rally whatever men are left,” Luca commanded. “Emma, follow me.”

“Where are we going?” I asked, scooping Bella into my arms. Bruno stayed glued to my hip, his golden eyes sharp and alert despite the exhaustion clearly weighing on his old bones.

“The tunnels lead to the old carriage house behind the kennel,” Luca explained rapidly, shoving Vanessa ahead of him into the secret opening behind the bookshelf. “There’s an armored transport parked in the bay. If we can reach it, we can flank Santoro from behind.”

We plunged into the narrow, brick-lined passage. The air was cold and smelled of damp earth. The sound of shouting and gunfire from the mansion became muffled, replaced by the sound of our hurried footsteps.

Vanessa stumbled ahead of us, clutching her bleeding wrist and sobbing quietly. “Luca, please… let me go. I’ll leave the country. I’ll take a flight to Zurich, you’ll never see me again!”

“Keep walking,” Luca commanded coldly, keeping his weapon trained on her spine.

The tunnel sloped downward, ending at a rusted iron hatch. Luca pushed it open, and we emerged into the cold night air behind the estate’s hunting kennels—a secluded cluster of stone outbuildings surrounded by thick pine woods.

Rain poured down in relentless sheets. Through the trees, I could see the blazing headlights of three black SUVs parked near the main courtyard, their engines idling. Men in tactical vests were exchanging heavy fire with Moretti loyalists near the front fountains.

Suddenly, a flashlight beam sliced through the darkness, locking directly onto us.

“Hold it right there!” a rough, grating voice shouted.

Stepping out from behind the kennel shed was Marco Santoro—Salvatore Bellini’s most ruthless enforcer. He was a massive, scarred man holding an assault rifle, flanked by two armed mercenaries.

“Well, well,” Santoro chuckled, his teeth flashing in the dark. “Look what crawled out of the rat hole. The prince of Chicago, dragging his traitor fiancée and a little maid.”

Luca instantly shoved me behind the cover of a stone pillar, shielding Bella and me with his own body. He kept his pistol aimed directly at Santoro’s chest.

“Santoro,” Luca said smoothly. “Salvatore didn't tell you the whole story, did he? He told you to retrieve a flash drive. But he didn't tell you that if you touch that drive, the federal indictments on it will take down your entire crew along with him.”

Santoro’s smile vanished. “I don't give a damn about indictments, Moretti. I get paid five million in cash once your body is cold. Toss the drive over, and maybe I’ll let the girl walk.”

“You’re not touching her,” Luca growled, his voice dropping into a register of pure, lethal promise.

Vanessa suddenly saw her chance. With a desperate shriek, she lunged away from Luca toward Santoro. “Marco, shoot him! Shoot him now! He has the key in his pocket!”

“Get down!” Luca roared.

Gunfire erupted.

Luca fired three precision shots. The two mercenaries flanking Santoro collapsed instantly into the mud. But Santoro dove behind an iron equipment trailer, spraying automatic fire across the stone pillars.

Chips of stone and concrete exploded around us. I crouched against the wet ground, wrapping my entire body around Bella to protect the terrified puppy.

Luca returned fire, his movements calculated and razor-sharp, but he was pinned down behind the pillar. Santoro had the angle on our position.

“You’re out of ammo soon, Moretti!” Santoro taunted from behind the trailer, his heavy footsteps splashing through the mud as he advanced. “End of the line!”

Santoro rounded the corner of the pillar, his rifle raised, pointing straight at Luca’s head.

At that exact second, a dark silhouette burst through the pouring rain.

Bruno.

The old dog didn't hesitate. With every ounce of strength left in his aging body, he leaped through the air, slamming his full weight into Santoro’s chest.

Santoro cursed violently as he was knocked off balance, his rifle discharging into the night sky. He crashed hard into the muddy gravel, fighting off the snarling, snapping German shepherd with his forearms.

“Get this damn mutt off me!” Santoro roared, reaching for a combat knife at his belt.

“Bruno, no!” I screamed, terror seizing my heart.

Before Santoro’s blade could clear its sheath, Luca appeared above him like an avenging shadow.

Luca’s boot slammed down onto Santoro’s wrist with a sickening crack, shattering the bone. With his other hand, Luca grabbed Santoro by the tactical vest, hauled him up, and drove a brutal right hook into the enforcer’s jaw.

Santoro collapsed into the mud, unconscious, blood pooling in the gravel.

Luca stood over the fallen giant, chest heaving in the downpour. He immediately turned and dropped to his knees beside Bruno, who was lying on his side in the mud, panting heavily, his old ribs heaving.

“Bruno,” Luca breathed, his hands checking the dog’s neck and chest for wounds. “Bruno, talk to me, boy.”

The old dog opened his brown eyes, let out a soft whine, and feebly licked the rain from Luca’s cheek. He wasn't shot. He was just exhausted—a warrior who had spent his very last drop of energy to save his master’s life.

Luca let out a long, ragged exhale of pure relief. He pulled the dog against his chest, burying his face in the wet fur once more.

Across the lawn, the sound of gunfire suddenly ceased. The estate’s floodlights flickered back to life, blazing bright white across the courtyard.

Marco and dozens of Moretti enforcers emerged from the treeline, rounding up the remaining Bellini hitmen with their hands above their heads.