Chapter 4 - The Threat at Dawn
The sky over Chicago was the color of bruised iron when the first shots rang out.
Sophia bolted upright in her bed, her heart slamming against her ribs. Beside her, Emma whimpered, burying her face in the pillow. From the living room floor, Bruno exploded into motion.
The sixteen-year-old dog didn't hesitate. Despite his stiff hip and arthritic joints, he vaulted across the room with terrifying speed, his massive body slamming against the heavy oak front door just as a loud crash echoed from the hallway outside.
"Mommy?" Emma cried out, her small voice trembling.
"Stay here, sweetie! Stay under the covers!" Sophia hissed, leaping out of bed and grabbing a heavy iron poker from beside the small electric heater.
Before she could reach the living room, the door splintered inward.
A masked man in tactical black gear shoved his way through the frame, a suppressed submachine gun raised and leveled straight toward the interior of the apartment. He smelled of melting snow and cheap gun oil.
"Clear the room—" the intruder barked over his shoulder.
He never finished the sentence.
Bruno didn't growl this time. There was no warning, no posturing. There was only the primal fury of a sixteen-year-old apex predator defending his pack. The Cane Corso surged forward like a runaway freight train, his jaws locking onto the intruder's forearm with a sickening crunch of bone and Kevlar.
The man shrieked, his weapon discharging wildly into the ceiling as he crashed backward onto the linoleum floor.
A second gunman appeared in the shattered doorway, raising his rifle toward the dog.
Crack. Crack.
Two muffled shots echoed from the hallway outside, perfectly timed and lethally precise. The second intruder dropped instantly, a clean entry wound centered between his tactical shoulder blades.
Stepping over the falling body, Alessandro Moretti entered the apartment.
His black overcoat was unbuttoned, his white shirt collar slightly open, and a smoking Glock 9mm was held steady in his right hand. His dark hair was windswept, and his eyes burned with a terrifying, apocalyptic fury.
He didn't look like a businessman or a landlord. He looked like the angel of death.
"Bruno," Alessandro commanded sharply. "Release."
The dog held the pinned intruder for one agonizing second longer, his amber eyes fixed on the man's throat, before slowly letting go at his master's command. The intruder scrambled backward, weeping hysterically, clutching his mangled arm before passing out from shock.
Sophia stood frozen in the bedroom doorway, the iron poker slipping from her numb fingers and clattering loudly against the floor.
Alessandro holstered his weapon with practiced ease. He didn't look at the bleeding men on the floor. His gaze swept past Sophia, scanning the small bedroom until it landed on Emma, who was peering out from beneath the blankets with wide, frightened eyes.
"Are you hurt?" Alessandro asked, his voice low and vibrating with residual adrenaline as he looked back at Sophia.
"N-no," Sophia stammered, shaking from head to toe. "We’re... we’re fine. Oh God, the door—"
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"Pack a bag," Alessandro interrupted, stepping further into the ruined apartment and looking down at Bruno, who was limping heavily, blood smeared across his heavy jowls from the scuffle. The old dog let out a sharp breath, his left hind leg visibly trembling under his weight.
"Pack a bag, Sophia," Alessandro repeated, his tone leaving no room for argument. "You and Emma are moving into the main house. Effective immediately."
