THE MAFIA BOSS’S DOG HAD REFUSED FOOD FOR MONTHS — UNTIL A BROKE CLINIC WORKER SAW THE PAIN NO ONE ELSE COULD SEE

Red emergency lights flashed silently along the baseboards of the hallways as the penthouse went into absolute lockdown. Heavy steel blast shutters descended over the massive glass windows, blocking out the rainy night and converting the luxurious living space into a dark, impenetrable bunker.

"Miles, secure the lower lobby," Jared ordered, his voice crisp, rapid, and entirely devoid of panic. "Activate the perimeter defense grid. Tell the floor commanders to use lethal force on anyone who steps out of the service elevators."

"Understood, boss," Miles said, pulling a heavy matte-black sidearm from his shoulder holster before sprinting back toward the private elevator lobby.

Jared turned to Willa.

She stood in the center of the library, her body rigid with sudden shock. King stood beside her, his silver fur standing on end along his spine, a low, guttural growl vibrating from deep within his chest.

Jared walked over to his desk, opened a hidden compartment beneath the wood paneling, and pulled out a sleek, compact firearm along with a secure radio device. He walked over to Willa, grabbing her hand and pulling her toward the back of the library where a heavy oak bookshelf stood.

He pressed a hidden button beneath the third shelf. With a mechanical click, the entire bookshelf swung outward, revealing a hidden, reinforced safe room equipped with independent air filtration and communication monitors.

"Get inside," Jared commanded, pushing her gently toward the threshold.

"What is happening?" Willa demanded, her eyes wide with fear as she resisted his push. "Who are the Morettis? Why are they coming here?"

"The Morettis are a rival syndicate that has been looking for an excuse to challenge my control over the city for three years," Jared explained quickly, his eyes searching her face. "They used Brendan Miller as bait. They knew I would take him. They knew I would protect you. They’re using your existence to claim I acted outside the council’s rules so they can launch an all-out war."

Willa felt a cold dread wash over her. "This... this is all because of me? Because you brought me here?"

"No," Jared said firmly, his hands gripping her shoulders, forcing her to look into his eyes. "This is because they think I’ve grown weak. They think that because I care about what happens in this house, I won't burn the city to the ground to defend it."

He looked down at King. "King. Get in."

The massive mastiff didn't hesitate. He trotted into the safe room, turning around to sit in the center, his dark eyes fixed on Willa.

"Stay inside," Jared told her, stepping back toward the library. "The door locks automatically from the inside. Do not open it for anyone except me or Miles."

"Jared, wait!" Willa called out, reaching out to catch his sleeve before he could pull back.

Jared stopped, looking down at her hand clenching the fabric of his dark shirt.

"Don't... don't get killed," she whispered, the words slipping out before she could stop them, surprising even herself with the genuine panic behind them.

Jared looked at her for a long, silent second. A rare, breathtakingly soft expression flickered across his harsh features before vanishing back into the shadows of war.

"They brought a hundred men to my tower, Willa," Jared said softly, pulling his sleeve from her grip and slamming the heavy steel safe room door shut. "They should have brought an army."

The steel door sealed with a heavy pneumatic hiss, leaving Willa in the dimly lit, soundproof room.

On the wall of the safe room, a bank of security monitors flickered to life, displaying real-time feeds from every corner of Kensington Tower.

Willa watched in breathless terror as the nightmare unfolded across the screens.

In the main lobby sixty floors below, heavy armored vehicles smashed through the glass entrance. Dozens of men wearing tactical gear and carrying automatic weapons poured into the building, opening fire on Jared’s security forces.

Muzzle flashes illuminated the grand marble entrance in chaotic bursts of light. Tracers crossed the room as glass shattered, stone pillars crumbled, and bodies fell on both sides of the conflict.

It was an all-out war in the heart of Manhattan.

Willa pressed her hands against her mouth, her heart hammering against her ribs like a trapped bird. She watched screen after screen as the rival forces pushed through the lower floors, breaching the secondary security doors and flooding into the elevator shafts.

Then, on the screen monitoring the private penthouse foyer, she saw Jared.

He moved with terrifying, lethal grace. Accompanied by Miles and five elite bodyguards, Jared held the narrow choke point of the elevator lobby. He was not a boss who hid behind his men; he stood at the absolute front line, his weapon firing with terrifying precision, driving back wave after wave of intruders who tried to force their way onto his floor.

The air in the security monitor feed was thick with smoke and copper flashes.

Suddenly, on screen six—which monitored the private emergency stairwell behind the kitchen—Willa saw three tactical operatives wearing dark uniforms break through the heavy reinforced door.

They had bypassed the main elevator defense entirely.

They were inside the penthouse.

Willa’s blood ran cold. She watched as the three men silently fanned out through the quiet, darkened kitchen, their weapons raised, searching the rooms one by one.

They were heading straight for the library.

Willa looked around the small safe room. There were no weapons inside—only medical supplies, water, and emergency monitors.

She looked down at King.

The dog had stood up. His heavy lips pulled back over his teeth, revealing impressive, lethal fangs. His eyes were fixed on the steel door. He knew the threat was on the other side.

The heavy steel handle of the safe room door suddenly twitched.

Click.

Someone outside was using a electronic bypass device on the keycard lock.

Willa backed up against the far wall, grabbing a heavy metal oxygen tank from the emergency rack, holding it up like a club. Her breathing was shallow, her heart racing as she prepared for the final, violent confrontation.

The digital panel above the door flashed green.

The heavy steel door swung open.

Standing in the doorway was a broad-shouldered operative holding a silenced submachine gun. He raised the weapon, his eyes widening in surprise as he saw the girl inside.

"Found her," the man muttered into his shoulder radio.

Before he could pull the trigger, a silver streak of fury exploded past Willa.

King lunged.

One hundred and forty pounds of muscle, bone, and ancient protective instinct hit the operative directly in the chest. The force of the impact slammed the man back into the library, his weapon discharging wildly into the ceiling as he crashed onto the floorboards.

King’s massive jaws clamped down on the operative’s tactical vest, shaking him with terrifying, primal force.

The second operative in the hallway raised his rifle to shoot the dog.

"NO!" Willa screamed, sprinting out of the safe room and swinging the heavy oxygen tank with every ounce of strength in her body.

The solid metal tank struck the second operative squarely across the side of his helmet with a sickening CRACK. The man staggered backward, dazed, his weapon slipping from his gloved hands.

Before he could recover, a loud shot echoed through the library.