Chapter 8 - The Price of Loyalty
The impact was deafening.
Nero struck the mercenary mid-air, his massive jaws clamping onto the man’s shotgun arm, the force of two hundred pounds of momentum slamming the attacker back against the marble fireplace. The shotgun discharged harmlessly into the plaster ceiling with a roaring blast.
The mercenary screamed in terror, dropping his weapon as Nero pinned him to the hearth floor, his teeth locked on the heavy tactical jacket.
"Cover!" Julian yelled, diving behind his oak desk as a third gunman fired wildly into the room from the doorway.
Cora sprinted into the study, stepping out from the shadows of the hallway. She didn't hesitate. She threw the heavy iron flashlight with all her strength, striking the third gunman directly in the side of his head. The man stumbled backward, disoriented for a crucial second.
That second was all Julian Thorne needed.
Julian stepped out from behind his desk and fired two precise shots, neutralizing the third gunman instantly.
The room fell into an abrupt, ringing silence, broken only by the crackle of burning plaster and Nero’s heavy, rhythmic panting as he stood over the incapacitated mercenary on the hearth.
Julian stood in the center of the ruined study, his silver pistol lowered at his side, smoke drifting around his shoulders. He looked at the dead hitmen, then at Cora standing by the doorway with her fists clenched, and finally at Nero, who was standing guard over the room, blood dripping from his ears where a piece of flying glass had cut him.
Julian let out a long, shuddering breath. The icy, unshakeable Don of the southern underworld looked at the poor girl and her dog, his grey eyes shining with a profound, unscripted emotion.
"You came back," Julian whispered, his voice trembling slightly. "You came back into a war zone for me."
"You're Nero’s person now too, Mr. Thorne," Cora said softly, wiping rainwater and ash from her forehead. "And Nero doesn't leave his family behind."
Outside, the siren blasts of arriving federal law enforcement and Julian’s secondary security forces echoed down the long driveway. The assault had failed. The Moretti syndicate was officially broken, its final desperate play crushed in the dark of Julian Thorne's study.
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Julian slowly walked over to Nero, dropped to one knee on the ruined Persian rug, and for the first time in his entire life, wrapped his arms around the massive dog's neck, pressing his forehead against the animal's scarred snout.
Nero didn't growl. He let out a soft, contented huff, leaning his heavy weight against the mob boss’s chest.
