The Shadow of the Hound

The alarms wailed through the luxury penthouse like a dying siren, flashing intermittent crimson emergency lights across the white marble and glass surfaces.

“Rocco! Secure the perimeter!” Lorenzo shouted into his wrist communicator while simultaneously drawing a matte-black Sig Sauer pistol from a concealed holster beneath his arm. His movements were lightning-fast, devoid of panic, driven entirely by the cold calculus of survival.

“They’ve already cut the elevator cables, sir!” Rocco’s voice roared back over the static. “They’re coming up the exterior maintenance rigging! There’s half a dozen of them—heavy ordinance!”

Lorenzo slammed his fist down on the desk console, engaging the emergency blast shutters. Across the sprawling living room, heavy steel plates began sliding down over the floor-to-ceiling glass windows, blocking out the rainy Manhattan skyline with dull, metallic thuds.

“Get down!” Lorenzo ordered, spinning toward Nina.

Nina didn't hesitate. She dropped flat onto the Persian rug behind the heavy oak desk, pulling Ghost down with her. The massive Rottweiler was no longer whimpering or acting like a lost pet; his posture had shifted instantly into that of an apex predator guarding its pack. His muscles rippled beneath his fur, his ears perked forward, tracking the muffled sound of heavy boots stamping across the ceiling tiles of the floor above.

“They aren't here for me,” Nina whispered, her heart hammering against her ribs like a trapped bird. “They’re here for the collar.”

“They’re here to wipe out anyone who knows the ledger exists,” Lorenzo corrected, crouching low as he aimed his pistol toward the double doors of the study. “Including you.”

The heavy oak doors suddenly exploded inward.

Splinters of mahogany rained across the rug as a concussion grenade rolled into the room, hissing white-hot smoke across the floorboards.

“Grenade!” Lorenzo yelled, lunging forward and kicking the device hard toward the far corner of the study just as it detonated with a deafening boom, shattering the remaining glass shelves and filling the air with acrid white smoke.

Through the haze, two heavily armed men in black tactical gear and night-vision goggles swarmed through the shattered doorway, automatic rifles raised.

They didn't even get a chance to acquire their targets.

Ghost didn't bark. He launched himself across the desk like a black missile.

The first operative took a round to his chest from Lorenzo’s Sig Sauer, dropping instantly, but the second mercenary swung his rifle barrel toward Nina. Before he could squeeze the trigger, Ghost collided with his chest with the force of a speeding truck.

The man hit the floor hard, his rifle clattering across the marble. Ghost’s jaws clamped instantly around the thick tactical padding of the operative’s forearm, a bone-chilling crunch echoing through the room as the man screamed in agony.

“Clear!” Lorenzo shouted, stepping over the fallen operative and firing two precise shots down the hallway to suppress any reinforcements attempting to push through the smoke.