Chapter 7 - The Strike
We arrived back at the Westchester fortress under the cover of a pitch-black midnight.
The house was on complete lockdown. Floodlights illuminated every square inch of the perimeter, and two dozen heavily armed security operatives patrolled the grounds with tactical gear and assault rifles. The air smelled of impending war.
Dante immediately sequestered himself in the tactical command center on the subterranean level of the estate.
"Stay in the suite, Olivia," he had told me before descending the stairs, his thumb tracing my jawline one last time. "Orion will remain with you. The doors are reinforced titanium. No one gets in."
"Dante, please be careful," I had pleaded, clutching his jacket lapels. "Don't let him drag you down to his level."
He had kissed my forehead gently. "I will end this, my love. For us."
Hours dragged by like centuries.
In the east wing suite, I paced the hardwood floor, unable to sit still. Orion lay near the heavy door, his ears perked, his head raised in constant vigilance. The grandfather clock in the hallway struck three in the morning.
Suddenly, every light in the mansion flickered and died.
The hum of the HVAC system cut out. Complete, suffocating blackness swallowed the room.
Orion rose instantly, his hackles raised along his entire spine, a low, menacing rumble vibrating through his chest.
"Emergency backup power should have kicked in," I whispered into the dark, my heart seizing with dread. "Why hasn't the generator started?"
A muffled *thud* echoed from the corridor outside, followed by the distinctive, choked gasp of a man losing consciousness.
Someone was inside the house.
Before I could reach for the bedside telephone, the heavy mahogany door of the suite burst open with a deafening crack.
Flashlights blinded me—strobe lights designed to disorient and confuse.
Orion launched himself into the air like a guided missile.
A horrific scream of agony tore through the darkness as Orion’s massive jaws clamped onto the forearm of the first intruder. The man slammed against the wall, dropping his tactical shotgun as Orion thrashed his head violently, snapping the man's arm bone with an audible *crack*.
"Kill the damn dog!" a voice screamed from the hallway—a voice I recognized with chilling clarity.
Enzo Falcone.
A second man stepped through the doorway, leveling a silenced pistol at Orion’s flank.
"No!" I shrieked.
Driven by pure, unadulterated instinct, I grabbed the heavy bronze lamp from the nightstand and hurled it with all my strength. The heavy base struck the shooter squarely across the side of his skull, knocking his aim wide just as he pulled the trigger.
*Pffft-pffft.*
The rounds ricocheted off the stone fireplace behind me. The gunman stumbled backward into the corridor, cursing.
"Grab the girl!" Enzo barked, stepping into the room with a taser drawn.
Orion released the broken guard and pivoted toward Enzo, his fangs bared, blood coating his muzzle. But before the dog could leap, the second guard recovered, firing a heavy stun dart directly into Orion’s muscular shoulder.
High-voltage electrical current surged through the dog’s body. Orion let out a strangled, agonized yelp, his massive legs locking up as he crashed heavily onto the floor, his muscles spasming violently.
"Orion!" I screamed, lunging toward him.
Heavy hands grabbed me from behind. A thick, chemically treated cloth was clamped roughly over my mouth and nose. The sweet, cloying stench of chloroform flooded my lungs.
"Got the prize," Enzo sneered, his greasy face looming over me as my vision began to tunnel into blackness. "Let's see how tough Dante Moretti is when he has to trade his empire for his little pet."
I fought wildly, clawing at the arms holding me, but my strength vanished in seconds.
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The last thing I saw before the darkness swallowed me whole was Orion, fighting through the paralyzing electric shock, dragging his heavy body across the floor toward me, whimpering my name with his dying strength.
***
