Chapter 8 - THE CANE CORSO'S REVENGE
The moment Dante finished speaking, a deep, window-shattering roar echoed from the darkened hallway behind Victor Vance.
It wasn't a bark. It was the primal, terrifying sound of a hundred-pound black cane corso breaking through reinforced wood.
Victor's guard spun around just in time to see a mass of solid muscle and black fur flying out of the dark service pantry like a cannonball. Nero slammed directly into the gunman's chest, sending him crashing backward against the oak wall with a sickening thud. The heavy revolver slipped from his fingers, clattering across the polished floorboards.
"Shoot them!" Marco screamed, lunging across the table for the laptop.
Victor scrambled for his dropped pistol, but Clare reacted with terrifying speed. She shoved Lily behind a heavy marble pillar, dropped to her knees, and kicked the pistol across the floor straight toward Dante's feet.
Dante caught the weapon, pivoted, and fired two rounds into the ceiling. The deafening cracks silenced the room instantly.
"Don't move!" Dante roared.
Marco froze, his hands hovering inches above the laptop keyboard. Victor’s guard was unconscious on the floor, pinned beneath Nero’s massive, sixty-pound front paw, the dog's low, rumbling growl vibrating through the floorboards.
Victor raised his hands slowly, his face drained of all color. "Dante... wait. We can talk about this. It's just business—"
"Business is over, Victor," Dante said, walking slowly toward the table.
He didn't shoot. He didn't need to. The perimeter alarms outside suddenly shifted tone, replaced by the wailing sirens of federal black-and-whites and tactical units swarming the front driveway.
Marco slowly straightened up, looking down at his hands as if he didn't recognize them anymore. The silver signet ring on his finger caught the chandelier light one last time.
"You always were too sentimental, Dante," Marco whispered, his voice cracking. "That's what's going to get you killed in the end."
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"No, Marco," Dante replied, his voice cold as winter ice. "Sentimentality is what kept me human. Greed is what made you a ghost."
Two minutes later, federal agents in full tactical gear breached the dining room doors, weapons raised. But there was no resistance left. Marco Bellini and Victor Vance placed their hands behind their backs without a word, letting the heavy steel handcuffs snap shut around their wrists as they were led out into the pouring rain.
