They Poured Champagne on the Blind Dog for Laughs, but the Mafia Boss Knew They Were Hiding Something Worse

Outside, the muffled, sharp crack-crack-crack of suppressed automatic rifle fire cut through the roaring storm hitting the cliffs.

"Stay here," Dominic ordered, drawing a customized 9mm pistol from beneath his jacket with a smooth, lethal speed that told Mara this was not the first time he had drawn a weapon in his own home.

"No," Mara said, dropping to her knees beside Rook.

"Ms. Whitaker—"

"His nasal flushing isn't finished!" Mara yelled over the sudden thrum of the estate’s secondary generator kicking in. "The neural agent is still blocking thirty percent of his olfactory bulb! If he gets scared now, the adrenaline will cause the toxin to bond permanently with his olfactory nerves!"

"We are under attack!" Dominic snapped, stepping toward the door. "My men will handle Vance!"

"Your men are fighting blind in a storm!" Mara shouted back, her hand firmly resting on Rook’s chest. "Vance brought military-grade equipment! He cut your power! He knows your security layout! But he doesn't know this house like Rook knows it!"

Dominic froze in the doorway, his hand on the iron latch. He looked back at the woman kneeling in the red light, her dress torn, her face stained with saline and dog fur, staring at him with absolute, unyielding courage.

Then he looked at Rook.

The Cane Corso had stood up.

He wasn't shaking anymore. His massive, chest-deep breathing had stabilized. The saline flushes had cleared the immediate chemical sludge from his snout, and though his sight was gone forever, his ears were pinned back, tracking the distant thud of footsteps on the floorboards two stories above them.

"Can he track Vance?" Dominic asked, his voice deathly quiet.

Mara reached into her kit, pulled out a small glass spray bottle filled with a clear, peppermint-scented neutralizer, and sprayed it lightly into the air in front of Rook’s nose.

The dog inhaled deeply.

His nostrils flared. His head snapped toward the ceiling. A deep, vibrating growl rolled out of his chest—not of fear, but of recognition.

"The toxin is breaking," Mara said, standing up beside the beast. "He smells the copper and tobacco coming through the ventilation shafts. He knows he’s in the house."

Dominic stepped back into the room, his eyes dark with a cold, terrifying pride.

"Then let us introduce Mr. Vance to the master of this estate," Dominic said.

The door to the medical bay was kicked open from the outside.

A mercenary dressed in black night-vision gear burst into the doorway, his rifle raised.

Before the man could clear his weapon, Dominic fired twice.

BANG! BANG!

The mercenary collapsed backward into the corridor.

Dominic didn't hesitate. He stepped over the body, grabbing a tactical flashlight from the guard's vest and tossing it to Mara.

"Keep close to me," Dominic said. "Caleb and the primary security team are engaged at the front gate. Vance’s strike team breached through the sea caves beneath the house. They are coming up through the service stairwells."

They stepped into the dark, stone-walled corridor that ran beneath the mansion.

The air was damp, smelling of old moss, salt spray, and the distinct, acrid scent of gunpowder.

Rook moved without a leash.

He didn't stumble. He didn't hesitate. Without his sight, the dark meant nothing to him. The red emergency lights and shadows were irrelevant to a creature who perceived the world through vibration, air currents, and molecular signatures. He walked three steps ahead of Dominic, his nose held low, his heavy tail held horizontal in absolute focus.

"Left," Mara whispered, reading the dog’s body language. "He’s tracking an air draft coming from the old wine cellars."

"That connects to the cliffs," Dominic murmured, raising his weapon. "Vance is trying to secure the house from the inside out."

They reached the base of a winding spiral staircase carved into the bedrock beneath the foundation.

Above them, a coarse, raspy voice echoed down the stone shaft.

"Search every room! Find the ledgers and find Vale! If you see the woman or the dog, put them down!"

Dominic’s jaw tightened. It was Arthur Vance.

Rook stopped at the bottom stair.

His lips pulled back over black gums, revealing massive, yellowed fangs. The hair along his spine stood up in a sharp, razor-like ridge. Five years of confusion, darkness, and forgotten trauma condensed into a single, primitive instinct.

He remembered the man who had opened the car door in the freezing water.